The Bluestocking, Vol VI: Atom bombs, Street Fighter and A Reason Not To Do Drugs

Hello!

I'm beginning to sense that I'm going to spend the introduction to every single one of these apologising for the fact I should have done better. Hey ho. This week, in my day job I interviewed Yvette Cooper and Stella Creasy; and I talked about slash fiction, feminist science-fiction and A/B/O (don't Google that) on Late Night Woman's Hour with Lauren Laverne, Naomi Alderman and others. I also re-read Andrew O'Hagan's phenomenal long piece about ghost-writing Julian Assange's autobiography as prep for a column on the Wikileaker. It's just as good as I remembered.

Helen

A Noiseless Flash

At first, when they got among the rows of prostrate houses, they did not know where they were; the change was too sudden, from a busy city of two hundred and forty-five thousand that morning to a mere pattern of residue in the afternoon. The asphalt of the streets was still so soft and hot from the fires that walking was uncomfortable. They encountered only one person, a woman, who said to them as they passed, “My husband is in those ashes.”

In 1946, the New Yorker published this novella-length account of what happened in Hiroshima when the atomic bomb was dropped. Needless to say, it's very hard to read, but it is an extraordinary piece of journalism, about an event I still struggle to comprehend. We went to Hiroshima last year, and the museum there is devastating - there are dioramas of people with their skin dripping off, and stories of children sucking pus from their fingernail beds to try to salve their scorched throats. I know that there are many terrible things that happen in wars, but the sheer spectacular awfulness of the atom bomb is astonishing.

Stephen Colbert on why women should be in charge of everything

It's not my place to mansplain to you about the manstitutionalized manvantages built into Americman manciety. That would make me look like a real manhole.

The inside story of the Street Fighter movie.

"Let's just put it this way," says Mann, "there were a lot of hormonal guys on this film running amok in Thailand and Australia, so you do the math. We were like cavemen. We were like Vikings. We went there and conquered."

The troubles in Bangkok culminated in the blowout of a local power station, which wasn't built to handle the energy demands of a major motion picture. It was as if the city itself had an allergic reaction to the film production.

For fans of films going horribly wrong, with a side order of cocaine-addled Jean-Claude Van Damme, enjoy.

Drugs are great, mmkay

I was in the kitchen, putting on a kettle for tea, when I heard a knocking at my front door. It was my friends Jim and Kathy; they often dropped round on a Sunday morning. “Come in, door’s open,” I called out, and as they settled themselves in the living room I asked, “How do you like your eggs?” Jim liked them sunny side up, he said. Kathy preferred them over easy.

We chatted away while I sizzled their ham and eggs—there were low swinging doors between the kitchen and the living room, so we could hear each other easily. Then, five minutes later, I shouted, “Everything’s ready,” put their ham and eggs on a tray, walked into the living room—and found it empty. No Jim, no Kathy, no sign that they had ever been there. I was so staggered I almost dropped the tray.

I knew Oliver Sacks was a great writer, but I didn't know he was this good. This account of his early thirties, working as a doctor and chomping handfuls of psychotropics, is ace. Also: don't do drugs.

BREAKING: Global stocks of Helens are diminishing.

(Find out how many people with your name died thanks to the TNR Death Files.)

Quick links: The NYT on how Isis created a "theology of rape", proving once again that vile men will look for any way to justify being vile. Clive James's new poem, Candy Windows, is about action films. Barack Obama's summer reading list is better than your summer reading list. I miss Harriet Harman already. What Rue from Hunger Games did next (became an eloquent advocate for young black American women). Tech and the Great Man Myth. In 1987, Tony Blair sounded like a right bloody socialist. Ian Bogost explains why you hate your phone (because it is bad at functioning as a phone).

GAWP: This man can do the moonwalk. Sideways.

AWW: A dreaming kitten.

AND FINALLY: We've all been there. Why not recreate this experience by reading some Johnlock fanfic?

That's all for this week. Complaints and low-grade drawings of otters to helenlewisbook@gmail.com