I Hate Men – A Proud Cultivation of Hatred

 

Book: I Hate Men

Writer: Pauline Harmange

English translation from Frence: Natasha Lehrer

Publisher: 4th State London

Year: 2020, 2022. 

Total page: 99

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I had never heard of the young French radical feminist writer Pauline Harmange. Of course, it’s not surprising that I hadn’t heard of her. While I keep a modest interest in feminist thinkers, I have no particular interest in radical feminists. Like socialism, devotionalism, or rationalism, all aimed at establishing certain principles or ideals, feminism too has many valuable aspects. However, the moment any ideology becomes radicalized—no matter how noble it may be—I feel inclined to distance myself from it.

I was quite surprised by the title of the book I Hate Men, which is why I ended up buying it. Feminists have written many books filled with insults directed at men. For instance, Dale Diana Schwarz has an extremely scornful book titled All Men Are Jerks, though even that shows a bit of leniency with a disclaimer marked by a star: "...until proven otherwise." However, no book has ever been so direct in its hatred of the entire male gender as I Hate Men. Even after scouring Amazon, I couldn’t find another book like it.

It’s widely acknowledged and established that men have imposed a deeply painful and oppressive system upon women. Yet, men have not written a book titled I Hate Women so far. In that regard, I Hate Men is undoubtedly a trailblazer.

There’s a saying often whispered in romantic hearts: “On the other side of hatred lies love.” I, too, believed that this book, despite being tightly woven with hatred, might, in some corner, offer a faint glimpse of love for those deserving of it. But no, the author makes it abundantly clear on the third page of the book itself: “I hate men. All of them, really? Yes, the whole lot of them. By default, I have very little respect for any of them.”

The author herself admits that she is bisexual and is married to a man, living together as husband and wife. By her own admission, it’s clear that she hates her male spouse as well. She hates him, yet doesn’t leave him. At the same time, she also has romantic or sexual relationships with one or more women. With this patchwork of relationships, she passionately pours out hatred toward all men in the world. And what’s her argument? The entire book doesn’t present a single new argument that feminists haven’t already used against men over the past century.

The book isn’t very long—just ninety pages, and even that is printed in the format of a small booklet by the renowned London-based publisher Fourth Estate. If it were printed in a standard book format, it wouldn’t exceed fifty pages.

In this book, the author places significant emphasis on establishing misandry—hatred of men—akin to misogyny, or hatred of women. While she expresses her hatred for men, she clearly states: “We don’t injure or kill men, we don’t prevent them from getting a job or following whatever their passion is, or dressing as they wish, or walking down the street after dark, or expressing themselves however they see fit.” (Page 38). In other words, this hatred is entirely non-violent. She does not physically harm or kill men, obstruct their careers, hinder their dreams, or interfere with their choices in clothing, behaviour, or speech. She simply harbours pure hatred.

But the question is—what will this accomplish? Will men change because of it? Even if they do change, won’t they remain the same “hated men”? What purpose does such hatred ultimately serve?

Workplace discrimination against women still exists in many areas. However, efforts to reduce this disparity are underway in many countries. In the author’s own country, France, such discrimination is far less pronounced compared to the patriarchal societies of many developing nations. Yet, without citing any specific statistics, she claims that the job market is entirely dominated by mediocre, underqualified white men. According to her, while women refrain from applying for jobs unless they feel fully qualified, white men shamelessly secure positions despite their incompetence.

To substantiate such claims, concrete data is essential—something entirely absent from this book.

The author believes that a woman’s love for a man, marriage, and mutual physical attraction—all of it—is a trap. However, she doesn’t question who set this trap. If nature itself laid the trap, does that make nature male as well? Drawing from Paul Dolan’s book Happy Ever After, the author argues that childless, single women are the happiest people on earth. But would all women agree with this claim?

Throughout the book, the author often presents her personal beliefs as universal truths. I don’t think this book contributes to feminism in any meaningful way. Instead, it seems more likely to alienate people from the movement.

We all know that hatred often attracts more attention than love. But such a reality can never be the desired reflection of a civilized society. Yet, over time, we’ve grown accustomed to this unintended outcome, to the point that our civilized brows no longer furrow as much as they should when we witness such things. Love, hatred, joy, sorrow, romance, jealousy, union, separation—these human emotions are the seeds, saplings, trees, and branches of relationships between people. The core element of literature is indeed human relationships. It’s not that hatred has no place in this; in any emotional society where love resides, hatred can also lurk in moments of tension. However, an outright public declaration of hatred towards a specific group of people is not acceptable in art, literature, or civilized society.

To accept a confident declaration of hatred towards an entire group of people—based solely on their identity—cannot be called tolerance, no matter how you spin it. But when someone takes the liberty of writing a book titled I Hate Men, clearly stating that all men are contemptible simply because they were born male, how can this be accepted? If we accept this, then would we also have to accept public expressions of hatred based on religion or race, should they arise in the future?

The provocative title of this book is, in fact, the measure of its commercial success. When the book was first published in French by a small publisher in 2020, only 450 copies were printed. The publisher would have been happy if those sold. But the real twist came from another direction. Upon seeing the controversial title, the French government’s Gender Equality Department raised objections. A notice was sent to the publisher stating that the title of the book was unacceptable. In France, it is difficult to outright ban a book, but the publisher knew that the more something is forbidden, the more people are drawn to it. So, he started promoting the idea that the book might be banned. That, in turn, increased its sales. The publisher printed 2,500 copies, and they sold out quickly.

This small publisher then handed the book over to a larger publisher, and it was translated into 18 languages, including English. Pauline Harmange, the author, became famous. Whether or not the content was substantial, the book succeeded by sparking an empty, sensational debate. This is exactly what happened here.