Red Pill – Dickensian Edition

“for young ladies will look forward to being married, and will jostle each other in the race to the altar, and will avail themselves of all opportunities of displaying their attractions to the best advantage, down to the very end of time, as they have done from its beginning”

This passage occurs in Nicholas Nickleby shortly after two young women have cut each other to pieces verbally, hypergamously vying for the attention of the book’s namesake, a situationally high value son of a gentleman.

It wasn’t just Dickens that knew the true nature of women. Literary history is littered with warnings and admonishments as to their behaviour. It has been understood, and widely accepted for thousands of years.

How is it then that to even think such things, let alone speak them, is considered heresy for so many people today? How was feminism able to pull the carpet of truth out from under the collective feet of men, putting in its place a tattered old rug woven from lies?

Men let it happen. Collectively, we grew complacent, and failed to heed the warnings of the past. And now we’re faced with an uphill struggle to attempt to restore the social order of things back to balance. I’ve almost got to grudgingly admire feminism for how it has single-handedly repealed centuries of accepted wisdom in the matter of a few decades, imposing the feminine narrative on the Western world, to the point at which we find ourselves today.

There’s very little knowledge of humanity and its associated foibles that hasn’t been written about and known for a long time already. We ignore the wisdom of the past at our own peril.


4 thoughts on “Red Pill – Dickensian Edition

  1. I think George Orwell summed it up nicely with his work 1984.

    Schools are overseen by Government NGOs like the NEA and others that ensure our children are only given the “appropriate and approved” doctrine of PC group think.

    Dickens may get paid homage too as a great writer of the time; but he will never be allowed to be interpreted correctly if it goes against feminism or any hallmark of any other privileged class.

  2. Honestly I dont see feminism being cured. It is going to run its destructive course, our nation will fall to the wayside and some other future nation will look back and hopefuly learn.

  3. Another major factor: single moms raising their sons without the foresight, self-awareness, or inclination to tell their sons the truth about women. (And the same goes for beta, herby fathers.) Heartiste has had a number of posts over the years touching on this.

    I’ve got another pearl from the past, from Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises:

    It was a warm spring night and I sat at a table on the terrace of the Napolitain after Robert had gone, watching it get dark and the electric signs come on […] I watched a good-looking girl walk past the table and watched her go up the street and lost sight of her, and watched another, and then saw the first one coming back again. She went by once more and I caught her eye, and she came over and sat down at the table. The waiter came up.
    “Well, what will you drink?” I asked.
    “That’s not good for little girls.”
    “Little girl yourself. Dites garcon, un pernod.”
    “A pernod for me, too.”
    “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Going on a party?”
    “Sure. Aren’t you?”
    “I don’t know. You never know in this town.”
    “Don’t you like Paris?”
    “Why don’t you go somewhere else?”
    “Isn’t anywhere else.”
    “You’re happy, all right.”
    “Happy, hell!”
    Pernod is greenish imitation absinthe. When you add water it turns milky. It tastes like licorice and it has a good uplift, but it drops you just as far. We sat and drank it, and the girl looked sullen.
    “Well,” I said, “are you going to buy me a dinner?”
    She grinned and I saw why she made a point of not laughing. With her mouth closed she was a rather pretty girl. […] I hailed a horse-cab […] The cab passed the New York Herald bureau with the window full of clocks.
    “What are all the clocks for?” she asked.
    “They show the hour all over America.”
    “Don’t kid me.”
    We turned off the Avenue up the Rue des Pyramides, through the traffic of the Rue de Rivoli, and through a
    dark gate into the Tuileries. She cuddled against me and I put my arm around her. She looked up to be kissed. She touched me with one hand and I put her hand away.
    “Never mind.”
    “What’s the matter? You sick?”
    “Everybody’s sick. I’m sick, too.”

    tl;dr: Some men had strong game then, because they didn’t take shit from women, and the knew how to take control.

    • I’ve not read that, cheers for the link. I was brought up by a single mother – looking back, it’s taken me years to discover how to be masculine again.

      On an unrelated note, I’ve just eaten two entire baguettes, and am about to fly to Cambodia for a 2 week bout of hedonism. Hopefully I’ll come back with some good stories, or failing that, at least an unusual STI.

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