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“White women—feminists included—have revealed a historical reluctance to acknowledge the struggles of household workers. They have rarely been involved in the Sisyphean task of ameliorating the conditions of domestic service. The convenient omission of household workers’ problems from the programs of “middle-class” feminists past and present has often turned out to be a veiled justification—at least on the part of the affluent women—of their own exploitative treatment of their maids.
In 1902 the author of an article entitled “A Nine-Hour Day for Domestic Servants” described a conversation with a feminist friend who had asked her to sign a petition urging employers to furnish seats for women clerks.
“The girls,” she said, “have to stand on their feet ten hours a day and it makes my heart ache to see their tired faces.”
“Mrs. Jones,” said I, “how many hours a day does your maid stand upon her feet?”
“Why, I don’t know,” she gasped, “five or six I suppose.”
“At what time does she rise?”
“At six.” “And at what hour does she finish at night?”
“Oh, about eight, I think, generally.”
“That makes fourteen hours …”
“… (S)he can often sit down at her work.”
“At what work? Washing? Ironing? Sweeping? Making beds? Cooking? Washing dishes? … Perhaps she sits for two hours at her meals and preparing vegetables, and four days in the week she has an hour in the afternoon. According to that, your maid is on her feet at least eleven hours a day with a score of stair-climbings included. It seems to me that her case is more pitiable than that of the store clerk.”
My caller rose with red cheeks and flashing eyes. “My maid always has Sunday after dinner,” she said.
“Yes, but the clerk has all day Sunday. Please don’t go until I have signed that petition. No one would be more thankful than I to see the clerks have a chance to sit …”
― Women, Race & Class
In 1902 the author of an article entitled “A Nine-Hour Day for Domestic Servants” described a conversation with a feminist friend who had asked her to sign a petition urging employers to furnish seats for women clerks.
“The girls,” she said, “have to stand on their feet ten hours a day and it makes my heart ache to see their tired faces.”
“Mrs. Jones,” said I, “how many hours a day does your maid stand upon her feet?”
“Why, I don’t know,” she gasped, “five or six I suppose.”
“At what time does she rise?”
“At six.” “And at what hour does she finish at night?”
“Oh, about eight, I think, generally.”
“That makes fourteen hours …”
“… (S)he can often sit down at her work.”
“At what work? Washing? Ironing? Sweeping? Making beds? Cooking? Washing dishes? … Perhaps she sits for two hours at her meals and preparing vegetables, and four days in the week she has an hour in the afternoon. According to that, your maid is on her feet at least eleven hours a day with a score of stair-climbings included. It seems to me that her case is more pitiable than that of the store clerk.”
My caller rose with red cheeks and flashing eyes. “My maid always has Sunday after dinner,” she said.
“Yes, but the clerk has all day Sunday. Please don’t go until I have signed that petition. No one would be more thankful than I to see the clerks have a chance to sit …”
― Women, Race & Class
“Someone who is permanently surprised that depravity exists, who continues to feel disillusioned (even incredulous) when confronted with evidence of what humans are capable of inflicting in the way of gruesome, hands-on cruelties upon other humans, has not reached moral or psychological adulthood.”
― Regarding the Pain of Others
― Regarding the Pain of Others
“When our father does the things he needs to do in the world, we understand it is his due. If our mother does the things she needs to do in the world, we feel she has abandoned us. It is a miracle she survives our mixed messages, written in society's most poisoned ink. It is enough to drive her mad.”
― The Cost of Living
― The Cost of Living
“I have no desire to suffer twice, in reality and then in retrospect.”
― Oedipus Rex
― Oedipus Rex
“I had never asked my mother about my father. She had not forbidden it; even if I’d had a general feeling that such questions were discouraged, I had no memory of my mother saying, Be quiet, never speak of it again. Had I been a coward? Indifferent, too absorbed in the petty present to care? Or perhaps I’d believed there’d be endless time for the confusions my knowledge might bring. However it came to pass, at a certain point it became too late to ask such questions—too late because it seemed I should already know their answers, and so an admission of ignorance would be an admission of great carelessness—and then (from shame? from sloth?) I turned father into a concept, an emptiness so abstract it was as good as dead.”
― Little Gods
― Little Gods
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Chinar’s 2025 Year in Books
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