Fictionlet
“So how about that Irene Adler episode of Sherlock?” said Alex, scooping a handful of pretzel sticks out of a bowl that walked by. “Was that awesome or what?”
“Eh,” said Greg, as if it were a subject he’d rather not talk about, “I dunno…”
“Oh, here it comes,” said Alex. “Let me guess, you think it’s too sexy, right? You hate that they dare put eroticism into your oh-so-intellectual Sherlock Holmes stories, don’t you?”
“Well, no,” said Greg, “that’s not it. I mean, I don’t like that, but I’ve pretty much come to expect it from anything on television– everyone in show business is constantly giggling like a 13-year-old about how ‘naughty’ they are. Why should Sherlock be any different? That’s not what bugged me about it, but I haven’t quite put my finger on what it was.”
“How about this?” said Brigid, and swigged her drink. “They pretend to make Irene Adler a ‘strong woman’ by turning her into a dominatrix, specifically for the purpose of knocking her back down again. How about, for having the gall to be so uppity that she actually gets a brief advantage over Sherlock, she has to go all fluttery over him, then get swatted and crushed into crying and begging? How about the way at the end she’s finally kneeling in a freakin’ burqa, where she gets rescued like a goddamn damsel in distress because Sherlock had the ‘grace’ to be merciful after putting a whore in her place? How about because it’s the same damn misogynistic crap, just with a fresh coat of paint?”
Greg blinked at Brigid for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I think that might be it.”
-The Gneech
