For the progressives who have been rocked by the Trump election, who thought that this version of white privilege and proto-masculinity was buried, the past is present. It is ugly and furious, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like it’s in control.
Intellectually, I understand that it’s healthy to express emotion. I’ve read Brené Brown. I’ve watched Inside Out. I get it. But it’s hard to express emotion when I’m barely conscious of feeling it.
Phoebe’s Fall, and the emerging genre it is part of, raises questions about the public who feast on the undeniably gripping stories, and the voices we cannot hear in these podcasts—those of the victims, mostly women, most likely killed by men.
Jimmy is, of course, fictional, but as a character he reflects (albeit sometimes exaggeratedly) a broader cultural problem. That we don’t know what to do with male vulnerability.
“For me at the moment, even though I do a million different jobs, the thing that I want to be is just a great dad. I look no further than my own father for inspiration, for being there.”
I realise now that it would’ve been better for us both if I had stayed away sooner. But it was hard for me to let go of you because you were my father and I loved you.
“My decision to present these men in the way that I did was a way of emphasising the problem of subjectivity – whether we can ever truly know the ones we love.” The author of The Love of a Bad Man on the familiarity of manipulation and the cold, close places where masculinity and femininity find each other.