brnineworms's review against another edition

Go to review page

challenging dark informative reflective slow-paced

4.0

Let’s get this out of the way first and foremost: Silvia Federici is a TERF. I hear her recent works are more explicitly trans exclusionary, but even here, in this book published in 2004, her firmly cissexist worldview is apparent. And, look... I get it. Federici is a Marxist philosopher and her analysis, as such, focuses on material reality. I understand why this perspective might lead her to reject a nebulous model of identity rooted in subjectivity and social constructivism in favour of something more tangible. So, while I find her approach to gender rather lacking and overly simplistic at best, I do recognise that it’s not entirely reactionary.
It’s tricky, because gender has historically been conflated with sex. Caliban and the Witch is about gender in Early Modern Europe (predominantly England), a society which, to my knowledge, had no concept of a third gender or of transness. Sure, there were almost certainly people who we would retroactively label trans or nonbinary or genderqueer, but they wouldn’t have thought of themselves that way. Those categories didn’t exist yet, let alone the terminology, so Federici’s exclusivity is a little more defensible here than it would be in a book about gender in the 21st century, or the 20th, or perhaps the 19th. “The female body, the uterus” works well as commentary on how women were reduced to their anatomy and their supposed purpose of bearing children... until you realise that is how the author genuinely conceives (no pun intended) of womanhood.
There’s a lot more I could say about this particular aspect of her philosophy and politics, but I don’t want it to be the only thing I talk about. I took it upon myself to critique this book in good faith and, while the bioessentialism is indeed disappointing, Federici’s writing is otherwise quite thoughtful and insightful.

Caliban and the Witch is surprisingly accessible for how informative it is. It delves into primitive accumulation and the origins of capitalism, the changing role of women in society, the policing of sexuality, and the origin of “the witch” as a figure to fear and punish. It challenges the mainstream view that the witch trials came to an end because the Enlightenment’s scientific discipline triumphed over superstition, instead arguing that superstition was never the point. The Middle Ages were rife with superstition, yet no witches were burned then, and many proponents of the persecution (eg: Thomas Hobbes) didn’t believe in magic. Federici argues that the witch trials existed primarily to subjugate women, and that they came to an end because women were no longer seen as a threat to those in power. She notes similarities with Nazi ideology, which uses a contradictory combination of science and superstition as a means to an end, and with counter-terrorism, which rallies suspicion even without evidence of wrongdoing.

The book has a preface and an introduction, and each chapter has its own separate introduction as well. Together with the meandering and tangent-laden text, it makes for a slow read. It’s also quite dense in places, though the artwork did help to break it up. I often find that illustrations in academic literature don’t add much, but these Early Modern woodcuts and engravings did complement the writing well.

Would I recommend Caliban and the Witch? Yes, I think so. Perhaps it would be best to buy a second hand copy or borrow it from a library if you’re uncomfortable giving money to this particular author, but I don’t think it’s a book that ought to be avoided outright. It’s interesting, I learnt a lot from it, and I’d consider it a solid demonstration of Marxist feminism. 

Expand filter menu Content Warnings
More...