![]() ![]() She wanted to blow up the whole goddamn charade. Solanas wasn’t interested in gender equality or partnerships. The SCUM Manifesto is equally amusing, arresting, and bludgeoning, without claiming allegiance to any one mood. It’s hard to not be swept up in her theatrics, even if you suspect she’s being facetious-and maybe she isn’t. Solanas edges past absurdity and into a kind of fanatical idealism in which men are strategically exterminated and women are free to “create a magic world.” There’s no more war in Solanas’s would-be utopia no government no economy just big-hearted women “grooving” on each other. Part satire, part feminist cri de coeur, part science-fiction reverie, it’s a text whose rhetorical power depends on excess. The SCUM Manifesto, which Solanas self-published a year earlier and peddled on the streets of New York, can’t be read at face value. “Read my manifesto and it will tell you who I am,” she said. She claimed she had lots of reasons-but didn’t elaborate. ![]() She’d turned herself in to a rookie traffic cop in Times Square, explaining that Warhol had “too much control of life.” When reporters at the station asked why she did it, Solanas was more evasive. On June 3, 1968, Valerie Solanas was hauled into Manhattan’s 13th Precinct booking room after shooting Andy Warhol in the torso. “I told you from the start just how this would end.” - Hole Valerie: or, The Faculty of Dreams: A Novel by Sara Stridsberg. ![]()
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