Ask the Author: Maggie Hasbrouck
Answered Questions (5)
Maggie Hasbrouck
Sorry about that, I sent you a PM
Maggie Hasbrouck
Yes, Like many women and girls, rape and its after effects have impacted my life in heart breaking and profound ways. Inspired by the #metoo, I wrote a blog piece about one of those times—I've copied it below.
For my Grandmother, who was raped at age 79.
I was eleven years old when we got the news. It was my first life lesson about rape, and power, and what it means to be female. My grandmother had been living independently in the house she’d owned for decades, when in the middle of the night a man broke in through her basement window, entered her bedroom, and raped her. She never went back to live in her home. She moved in with my family for a short time, fell ill, and then transferred to a nursing home where she died at age 82.
So, what was my lesson? I learned that as a female, I will never be safe. Even when I am an old woman—when people ignore me, discount me because I am not pretty, or fertile, or sexually appealing—I will still be at risk of sexual assault. I will always be a potential victim.* Rape and the threat of it shapes the lives of every woman on earth, every single day. It informs where we go, and with whom, what we do, what we wear, who we trust, and even how we think of ourselves. The threat of rape is the perpetual backdrop of our social interactions, the heavy-handed warning to stay inline, the unwanted guest at every party, the noise in the night, and the prerogative of our president. One out of every three women will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime. The odds are not in our favor.
My grandmother did not have the buoying support of women all over the world posting #metoo. She was afraid, repulsed, traumatized, and alone. She carried the weight of her abuse inside her body until the day she died. It is for her, and the thousands of others, that I wrote my book, Muriel Avenue Sluts. It is for her that my protagonist goes to such an extreme in the face of her best friend’s sexual assault. It is for her that my character Greta is an angry, vengeful, and powerful force to be reckoned with. It is for my grandmother that I weave the mind-boggling, gut-wrenching statistics about rape into my book. One out of three women will be sexually assaulted, that’s our reality, and it’s unacceptable. **
Thanks to the brave women who have named Bill Cosby, Harvey Weinstein, and countless other abusers, the world is paying attention. But we have dangerously short attention spans.
So, in the face of unrelenting sexual harassment, assault and rape, what should we do? What can we do? The young women in my novel choose an extreme “solution,” and while I don’t condone vigilante justice—I get it. Because, what is the correct response to one out of every three women being sexually assaulted in her lifetime? What should you do if your best friend, your daughter, your mother, or grandmother is raped? What is the sane response?
I don’t have the answers, but this much I know—we can start by looking at the way we talk about rape, how the words we use put it all on women. Where are the rapists in our statistics? Who are these invisible—and thus blameless—perpetrators? They are our doctors, teachers, politicians, bosses, coaches, film stars, neighbors, soldiers, shopkeepers, fathers, and sons. Why is it that we don’t name them? Why don’t we say, men will rape one out of every three women? Let’s put the unbearable weight of rape culture squarely where it belongs.
***
For a more thorough look at sexual assault statistics and helpful resources go to Rainn.org (rape, abuse, and incest national network) or call the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 800.656.HOPE (4673)
*In talking with my two sisters about my grandmother’s rape, we remembered that there was shame attached, that we didn’t talk about it. We told people that my grandmother moved in with us because she’d been robbed. Life lesson number two, rape is the collective shame of all women.
For my Grandmother, who was raped at age 79.
I was eleven years old when we got the news. It was my first life lesson about rape, and power, and what it means to be female. My grandmother had been living independently in the house she’d owned for decades, when in the middle of the night a man broke in through her basement window, entered her bedroom, and raped her. She never went back to live in her home. She moved in with my family for a short time, fell ill, and then transferred to a nursing home where she died at age 82.
So, what was my lesson? I learned that as a female, I will never be safe. Even when I am an old woman—when people ignore me, discount me because I am not pretty, or fertile, or sexually appealing—I will still be at risk of sexual assault. I will always be a potential victim.* Rape and the threat of it shapes the lives of every woman on earth, every single day. It informs where we go, and with whom, what we do, what we wear, who we trust, and even how we think of ourselves. The threat of rape is the perpetual backdrop of our social interactions, the heavy-handed warning to stay inline, the unwanted guest at every party, the noise in the night, and the prerogative of our president. One out of every three women will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime. The odds are not in our favor.
My grandmother did not have the buoying support of women all over the world posting #metoo. She was afraid, repulsed, traumatized, and alone. She carried the weight of her abuse inside her body until the day she died. It is for her, and the thousands of others, that I wrote my book, Muriel Avenue Sluts. It is for her that my protagonist goes to such an extreme in the face of her best friend’s sexual assault. It is for her that my character Greta is an angry, vengeful, and powerful force to be reckoned with. It is for my grandmother that I weave the mind-boggling, gut-wrenching statistics about rape into my book. One out of three women will be sexually assaulted, that’s our reality, and it’s unacceptable. **
Thanks to the brave women who have named Bill Cosby, Harvey Weinstein, and countless other abusers, the world is paying attention. But we have dangerously short attention spans.
So, in the face of unrelenting sexual harassment, assault and rape, what should we do? What can we do? The young women in my novel choose an extreme “solution,” and while I don’t condone vigilante justice—I get it. Because, what is the correct response to one out of every three women being sexually assaulted in her lifetime? What should you do if your best friend, your daughter, your mother, or grandmother is raped? What is the sane response?
I don’t have the answers, but this much I know—we can start by looking at the way we talk about rape, how the words we use put it all on women. Where are the rapists in our statistics? Who are these invisible—and thus blameless—perpetrators? They are our doctors, teachers, politicians, bosses, coaches, film stars, neighbors, soldiers, shopkeepers, fathers, and sons. Why is it that we don’t name them? Why don’t we say, men will rape one out of every three women? Let’s put the unbearable weight of rape culture squarely where it belongs.
***
For a more thorough look at sexual assault statistics and helpful resources go to Rainn.org (rape, abuse, and incest national network) or call the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 800.656.HOPE (4673)
*In talking with my two sisters about my grandmother’s rape, we remembered that there was shame attached, that we didn’t talk about it. We told people that my grandmother moved in with us because she’d been robbed. Life lesson number two, rape is the collective shame of all women.
Maggie Hasbrouck
Hmm, it really depends on the day. When things are going well, I like to write in the morning for about 4 hours and then paint in the afternoon.
Maggie Hasbrouck
I'm working on a second Muriel Avenue book, but most of my author time these days is spent on the business of launching Muriel Avenue Sluts.
I'm also an artist and am finishing up work for a November 11th show at The Bill Lowe Gallery
I'm also an artist and am finishing up work for a November 11th show at The Bill Lowe Gallery
Maggie Hasbrouck
I was cooking dinner and the title, Muriel Avenue Sluts, just popped into my head. It was intriguing for me to think about what a community of "sluts" might look like and what it would be like to grow up there. I had the bones of the story before my dinner was ready.
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