The Hite Report on Shere Hite (24 page)
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Authors: Shere Hite
Later, when Friedrich and I were out of the media spotlight, he said:
For me, it was like a curtain had been pulled aside, for a moment allowing you to see a totally different reality behind it â like Ben Bradlee laughing â why? But before you can get to really understand or comprehend it, it is dropped again, leaving you left with only the few clues you have to figure it out. You see just enough to begin to understand, but not enough to get out of the
Twilight
Zone
feeling. And your life, now living with the new knowledge, is changed forever. Your view of the world transformed.
Is the system we are told we have, democracy and freedom of the press, real? Or is this just the charade played outside the curtain: does another power lie
behind it? The power of the lobby or whatever it was which clamped down on my ability to speak or write, publish books in the US. It frightened me.
Not knowing who or what exactly was behind the energy of the attack made it all feel surreal. Was it just âthe boys' reacting? If so, this was sad for the state of American manhood. But since quite a few of my best friends are male, I found this simple explanation difficult to believe. If it was a more doctrinaire group, a religious right, Christian Coalition or pro-pornography, political group, this was even more sinister for freedom in the US.
Could I be blacklisted? Could there be a hidden blacklist of writers now? Or a list of âbooks one should not let oneâs children read'?
There is a common saying, âThis is America, you can't do that!' It is commonly used in cases of injustice, and refers to the belief that American society is based on ideals of justice and fairness.
Was I a naïve idealist to think I could say, not only are women being physically battered in their own homes in the name of love, but also (and even more widespread), they are being emotionally and psychologically battered? And that this is a crime of society against women, not âhuman nature'? That another value system and even social system are possible â could I say this? It seems not.
Being in a country is like living in a family. One is subjected to the most exquisitely subtle pressures to understand, to see the good, not be judgemental, but to work to make things better, not to be negative, and so on.
While the US serves as a home to many exiles from
other countries, it is difficult for us to imagine that we ourselves create exiles. Although many US writers, artists and intellectuals have left in search of artistic and intellectual freedom (including Gertrude Stein, Charlie Chaplin, T.S. Eliot, E Scott Fitzgerald, Josephine Baker, James Baldwin and the Grimke Sisters, nineteenth-century feminists), we have difficulty accepting criticism of our own social institutions and mores, never mind what Amnesty International or others say about the US.
Some now say that many of the New Right Congress, as well as the Patrick Buchanan-allied Christian Coalition, are like disinherited princes who thought that if they played by the rules of the old boy network, the world would be theirs. If it's not, they're angry. They want to prove that it still is.
Perhaps it is not only my identity crisis, but a larger American identity crisis, which is gripping the nation and explains its current reactionary mood, its desire to have a Robespierre or Danton conducting its politics. A crisis similar to that which England went through after losing its empire, or Germany after losing two world wars. One thiks of the Congressional Impeachment trial of Clinton.
It eventually became impossible for me to live and write productively in the US. I was facing political and financial persecution for my ideas, persecution for my (âpolitically correct'?!) political beliefs, and for my political stand for women's rights, as the
Frankfurter
Allgemeiner
concluded in September 1994, and Reuters and
AP
in 1995.
Earlier on, I felt sure the press and others would come to their senses. This couldn't be happening, it was too grossly unfair and unfounded. But it did. I proceeded to live on two levels, between being told, âYou're great', and âYou're a fraud, no one will publish you.' Is this just my problem, or a problem for many writers today?
I was very confused, as this entry from a 1992 diary shows:
We live our lives as if in sleep, we hardly know what we do. The moments of clarity â our bodies stretched out against the sky or small in the forested landscape â these are too hard to live. And so we go along, living as if by following the numbers, happy in our way. If our routine is shattered, we become unhappy. Is this best for us?
Do I have to write to be happy?
Or is it simply necessary to feel authentically, to live a life that is a time clock clicking with pleasure â or is it important to do something worthwhile at the same time? Does it matter, are we just so much physical matter upon the eco system of the universe? Is consciousness a waste of time? We will die anyway, no matter how we fight against our fate. Should I accept it more gracefully?
On another star, another galaxy, my mind may travel even if I am no longer here. Death might be interesting, merging back into the reality out there, the oneness.
But not yet, still I want to experience more warm hugs with a dog I love, more lying in bed wrapped in the embrace of my beloved, hear the words, you are beautiful, I love you, drink in kisses. And I want to walk under the trees, see them bud in spring and then hear the lovely rustle of their leaves in summer, feel the sudden thunderstorms that leave a hazy humid glow everywhere, the sky
at peace after, then smell the wet autumn leaves as they find their way to the earth, lying big and beautiful under my feet. I want to gather them all, lie in them, slosh around in them, happy to be wet with their touch. What a pleasure to be on this planet.
I tried to go on living as if nothing had happened. This is what everyone said to do, âDon't let them get you down, just keep on,' or, âAnyway, as a public figure, what can you expect? Public figures can't sue, you just have to live with it. No matter how wrong the press is, that's freedom of speech!' Or even, âIf you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.' This was all, needless to say, very distressing.
There are some things one never gets over. Or, they take a long time, and it may depend on how long you live. Or maybe they just stay there, like rocks or stones, never disintegrating. Will I get over the attack on me by certain US media, the attempt to destroy my reputation? The violent threats?
Yes!
There may be things one never gets over, but the attack on me by some US media is not one of them!
One day a door opened. My friend Harriet Pilpel had introduced me to Swifty Lazar, the famous agent. He was legendary for his Oscar night Hollywood parties where I met everyone from Orson Welles to Marlo Thomas, Joan Collins to Telly Savalas and Lauren Bacall.
During the attack, he called me suddenly one day, âHi
ya, hon! Listen, all this press is
great
!
How did you do it?!'
âBut,' I stammered, âIt's so terrible â¦'
âNo! Now listen here ⦠I know what to do about this. I'll take you with me to the boxing match tonight and explain!'
The last thing I wanted to do was to see somebody fight with somebody else; I had had enough fighting to last a lifetime. I don't like fighting. But who could say no to Swifty? A real charmer.
Swifty had an odd habit of inviting me places â he always did business while attending other events, or in planes or cars â without telling his host who I was. I think he enjoyed the idea that they might think I was his blonde bimbo date or something. Otherwise I can't explain why he never told anyone: I always had to tell them I was a writer, and introduce myself.
This caused an indelicate situation at an intimate family birthday party for Ted Kennedy in their Sutton Place apartment in New York. Ethel Kennedy greeted us but didn't seem to expect me. Ethel decided I was Irving's date and that she should be loyal to Mary, his wife, and told me to leave! Right in the middle of a birthday speech someone was delivering! Ted tried to stop her, but by that time, I didn't want to stay. Though really, this was just out of shyness. Even when his daughter tried to befriend me, I just left, quietly.
The boxing match was between some poor young boxer and Sugar Ray Leonard, the champion. I had never been to a fight, thinking it a bizarre ritual. I followed Swifty to our seats by the ring. The audience rose to its feet to sing âThe Star-Spangled Banner'. There
were tears in Swifty's eyes, âI just love it! I just love it! Isn't it great? I always cry!' He was happy.
Irving believed the system worked. His hero was Irving Berlin. He, like Irving, could only see America as the âland of the free'. Why should I try to spoil this for him? And, it was in part true. I hoped.
Thankfully, the fight was soon over. Someone had knocked someone else out. We retreated to a late supper at Sardi's, the historic after-theatre restaurant in New York, where everyone greeted him by name. After we were seated, he explained, âListen, kiddo, you've gotta write a novel. I'll sell the idea. How about it?' And so I wrote a satire,
The
Divine
Comedy
of
Ariadne
and
Jupiter.
But I did not write it in the US.
In the end, I decided to leave the country, and spend my time in places that respected my work and discussed it rationally. Not knowing where the attacks in the US came from had created an atmosphere of terror and powerlessness at that time. Even years later, remembering these events, I found myself quivering, when anticipating publishing again in the US. And never again in the US has one of the major publishing conglomerates published a book of mine.
I left the country to work, find peace and a non-hostile atmosphere. I am so glad I did. I have had some of the most productive years of my life since leaving, and have found a much better quality of life.
Great
Years
in
Europe
·
A
New
Publishing
Base
·
The Hite Report on the Family ·
Democratization
of
the
Family ·
Construction
of
âHuman
Nature'
?
·
Having
a
Good
Time
I don't remember quite how we left, or when I decided to go permanently.
I do remember packing.
The apartment I gave up was extremely beautiful, and I was sorry to lose it. It was an exquisite historic building on 64th Street and Fifth Avenue, looking onto Central Park, and built with all the refined European craftsmanship and ornamentation that the 1890s industrial barons could import to the US, in particular, to New York's Upper East Side, and lavish on their town houses. They imported Italian craftsmen, or took advantage of recently arrived immigrants to create ornate mouldings, massive sculptured marble fireplaces, frescoes and parquet floors in assorted woods and
patterns. The proportions were vast, with fifteen-foot ceilings and large dimensions to the rooms. It was a pleasure to live and breathe in them, refreshing.
I was very happy in this apartment where I lived for ten years. It had lovely old fireplaces, wooden floors, ornate ceilings and magnificent proportions. I slept in a bedroom that used to be a ballroom, so big it was with Louis XVI wooden mouldings and a marble fireplace twice as tall as I, its mantle piece held up by two life-sized beautiful sculpted human figures. Having studied history, I enjoyed finding antique wall lights, chairs, tables, and drapery fabrics all authentic for the period, having the furniture upholstered in colours I loved â soft taupes, dusty roses and cream. These blended with the dark oak panelled walls in some rooms, and with the palest green and gold walls in the second floor ballroom. I enjoyed this apartment every minute I lived there. I didn't mind not going out but staying in and working double days, as it was sheer pleasure to be surrounded by so much beauty.
The building itself was a work of art, and I gladly worked for two years with friends restoring the lobby and exquisite interiors, as well as caring for the building's finances. I was president of the co-op, the executive board of the building, for several years.
Friedrich and I lived together in this beautiful apartment for five years. His piano was in the same room with my desk. Panelled in oak on all sides, the room was slightly rounded, with windows looking over the park (just five blocks from the hotel on the park where Rachmaninov had lived for several years when he first
came to the US from Russia). The sound quality was magnificent. I will never forget working there at my desk, while Friedrich was sitting across the room at his piano, an old Steinway, practising and writing transcriptions.
It was sad to move, because my home was beautiful and held many fond memories for me of times together with my friends, and Rusty. But somehow, with Friedrich I was glad to leave New York.
I had used a mortgage on the apartment to finance part of my research, especially towards the end of
Women
and
Love,
as it needed to be edited for a year longer than I had planned â in part, due to the departure from Knopf of my editor, Bob Gottlieb. I had thought I would get this money back when the paperback rights to
Women
and
Love
were auctioned. After the attack, this didn't happen, and I had to sell the apartment. I have not had such a beautiful home since. First, I have not been able to afford one. Secondly, I didn't feel relaxed enough to even look for one. I lost confidence in âsettling down.'
Was continuing with my writing worth losing this home? Had I done something so profound as to be worth paying the price of difficulties in my finances? Hardship on my health, stress, uncertainty? Yes.
Friedrich and I felt so threatened when we left, that we were really fleeing. The US can be very dangerous. We put everything in storage and got tickets to come to Europe, where we lived in hotels â but I wasn't completely sad. To be honest, I found it exciting and thrilling to move. This was a fabulous opportunity â if
I could find a way to make the most of it. It was an everything-is-possible moment.
Packing was hilarious. Dramatic. We were both sad about moving, until the boxes overwhelmed us and everything in their path, and it became a farce. Boxes, boxes everywhere, boxes under us, over us, boxes until we couldn't sleep, and then boxes in vans being loaded and boxes falling over. Friedrich and I in the July heat on the hot pavement. The pizza burgers and endless colas, the endless labelling and filing of boxes!
Then the squabbles we had, the jokes about the filing system. The boxes with no labels that had to be reopened. Fred's brother being some days grumpy, other days a hero, and another man in a bombed out Chevrolet I didn't even know helping us. Hollie and his friend Michael driving the moving van at 6 a.m. and all of us feeling seasick since he had rented it for some bat-out-of-hell rate somewhere, and it didn't drive straight.
We even moved a bathtub! (Yes, a cast metal one.) Also, a roomful of antique porcelain tiles, and five antique sofas with heavy carved wooden frames.
Those were a few very memorable days.
About this time,
Good
Guys,
Bad
Guys
and
Other
Lovers,
a book I wrote at the request of Candida Lacey of the UK publishers Pandora Press, (together with Kate Colleran, who happened to be the daughter of Lee Remick) came out in several countries in Europe, South America and Japan. I began travelling to places where I was asked to speak about it. I visited England,
France, Italy, Spain, Mexico, Germany â and maybe even some places I don't remember! This travel, plus Kate's good spirits and Candida's bright wit, took my mind away from the negative atmosphere created by the small but dangerous little mafia within the US media.
Friedrich and I travelled together too. We made a trip to Moscow in 1989, just after Chernobyl, when Fred played a concert there. He spoke Russian and had friends there, but the atmosphere was strange beyond belief.
Then, one year before the Berlin Wall came down, Friedrich (who is German, after all!) took a small flat in East Berlin for several months. It was interesting to see what things were like. But the last time I left through Checkpoint Charlie, one cold grey morning at 6 a.m., I was stopped and held over an hour while the guards decided whether or not they would let me out.
In fact, I was always travelling. I never seemed to settle down. Didn't I want to?
In the end, I didn't know
where
I lived â as this satire of myself shows. I wrote it, âinterviewing myself', in 1989 for
Marie
Claire,
the Italian magazine. At last my sense of humour was coming back!
Where do you live?
I don't know.
You don't know?
I'm always travelling.
But where do you live?
(Sigh.) Well, I used to live in New York, where I had a large eighteenth-century style apartment for ten years. It was great to work there, to give parties there, and to take my dog out to walk in the park.
But you moved and came to Europe? Why?
Do you want the short answer, or the long answer? The polite answer or the media harassment answer? How much time have you got? I was always in Europe anyway, since my books are published in eighteen countries. Also, don't forget, I married a German! But the real reason is that I got to like living in hotels and not having to take care of an apartment.
You what? You don't mean to tell me you had to take care of your own apartment, clean house? Didn't you have people to do it for you?
Yes, but even if you have people to help you, after all, you're still the manager â in charge of organizing the whole thing, making sure the windows are washed, going food shopping, plus in my case, since my home was also my office and I had a research staff of seven, I was in charge of their work, the computers, whether somebody did or didn't come in for work that day.
Sounds busy.
For ten years, I did all the things one does to keep a large house running, with people coming and going, work going on, at all hours of the day and night, plus my husband being there with his friends in the world of classical music. I was busy every minute. My life was totally full of things, there were a massive number of things to be achieved, there was an almost rigid schedule that had to be adhered to. It was a great way to live, and I also had my dog to keep me company through it, but â¦
But?
But then I would stay up most of the night so I could get some quiet time to write.
You did what?
Well, it was so peaceful at night, then I could really work.
But, I don't want to seem rude, but aren't you married?
Yes. Why?
Well, what about your husband, uh, didn't he want to see you at night?
(Laughter). Well, he used to stay up with me, he would work on his music (he's a concert pianist) but eventually he would fall asleep on the couch next to my desk around 2 or 3 a.m. in the morning. It was a rather small couch, and he is six feet, six inches â quite tall â and his legs would drape over the edges. He looked very uncomfortable, but it was a picture I'll treasure all my life seeing him there like that. The couch, I remember, was a little antique red and gold damask upholstered one we found in an antique shop, the fabric was from Lebanon before it was bombed.
Don't get off the subject! Now, what happened? I mean, your husband sleeping on the couch there, did he ever wake up?
Yes, he eventually would carry me downstairs to the bedroom.
I don't want to pry â that's quite enough! I don't need
details
â¦
Really? I was only going to say that it was great because he would often lie me on the bed and undress me very tenderly, looking at me intensely with his beautiful eyes â¦
Do you know, the people reading this interview probably have no idea who you even are! To me, this is all fascinating since you are supposedly the man-hating author of
the internationally famous Hite Reports: the first on female sexuality, the second on men and male sexuality, and the third on women, love and emotional violence. So, for
you
to be in love with a man is very interesting.
(Smile.) Don't forget to say that over 15,000 people participated in my research, and that since Freud only interviewed three women â all upper-class Viennese women, at that â this makes the base for my theories of what's going on with women much better than his.
Undoubtedly more accurate and less biased!
I can't disagree!
I definitely found your first book,
The
Hite
Report
on
Female
Sexuality,
personally, an eye-opener. It said that the theories that said there was something wrong with women who did not have orgasm from straight intercourse were wrong and unscientific, and also that it was normal for women to need clitoral stimulation to orgasm.
Yes, it's pure logic. My research showed that the majority of women orgasm easily from masturbation or clitoral stimulation, so it had to be a myth that women have a âdifficult time' having orgasm! The only difficulty was with society, that kept on insisting women had to orgasm the same way men did, i.e. through intercourse.
Yes, âthrusting in the vagina,' I think you said.
(Laughter.) Can you believe that clinical literature to this day calls it Vaginal penetration'? What sexist terminology! Why not call it âpenile covering'?
(A-hem.) OK, so back to your book. I mean, I used to feel as if there was something wrong with me. I needed clitoral stimulation, but after reading what all those other women said in your book, I felt really good about myself. It was a revelation, it changed all my relationships!
Yeah, I remember those days, pretending you had an
orgasm to please the guy (or just not telling him you didn't have one). I wonder how much that still goes on.
Hmmm. In fact, not all that many men seem to have read your book. Anyway, I hear women say that a lot of them still think they'll just use clitoral stimulation to warm you up, then proceed to the âreal thing' â and if you don't come then, it's your problem â tough luck!
(Groan.) Still, women write to me now and tell me that things are getting better â at least in the area of orgasm.
That's what I was just getting to. What about relationships? When you reported, after studying 7,500 men (ages thirteen to ninety-seven!), that most men said they didn't marry the women they had most passionately loved â and not only that, but that they were proud of it â that really scared me. Do men have some kind of mixed-up relationship with love? They do seem really confused, at least the times they've fallen in love with me. I mean, they're on again, off again, sometimes they're crazy about me, the next minute, they don't even call on the telephone, then they can't get enough of me, and so on. What's it all about?
It's complicated! As Freud used to say about women, âWhat do women
want
?'
(He never could really figure it out, so sometimes I wonder about men.) But seriously, what all those men seemed to be telling me is that they have a belief that it's very inappropriate for a man to let his feelings dominate his life, and when a man is deeply in love, although at first he feels the wonder that makes all of us see the universe as if for the first time, as if we never really lived before, soon he feels he is not in control of himself and that he must distance himself from the relationship, which is threatening to âdevour' him.
Is this why they start acting so distant?
Men are influenced by the culture in which they live to
believe it's very bad to be out of control. Even worse, to be âin the control of a woman'. Everybody tells them, don't let a woman dominate your life! Be a Man!
They don't tell
us
that! They don't tell women, don't let a man dominate your life! Be a Woman!
You bet! So, imagine a man being in love. Part of him is really happy, but another part is saying, âThis can't go on, I'm running after this woman, what kind of a man
am
I?'
(And sometimes men in love feel âinstinctively' that they must hide with the woman, not let anybody see them together, since they will look âtoo in love' and therefore wimpy!) There's a real terror involved.
Of what?
Of becoming feminine. Of identifying with a woman. When you're in love, you become half of the other person emotionally, and they become half of you, you share thoughts. You share feelings, you react in passionate ways. These are all considered âfeminine' behaviours.
I don't know, it seems like they could just change!
But we can't imagine the terror they feel.
Of what?
Just think for a minute.
No. I'm getting tired of hearing about men's troubles and the differences between the sexes. I just want my love life to work out, and if the man is confused, I'll try another one.
Good plan. Do you want to know about the third Hite Report? It was on the cover of
Time
magazine. I was rather proud of that.
You should be! A woman's work as the cover story?! Unheard of!
On the day of the stock market crash, 19 October, 1987!
I wonder if there was any connection?
You mean if men felt their world was coming to an end, that women were getting out of hand?
Ha ha!
At least 4,500 women were talking about what they wanted in their relationships with men: emotional equality and a new emotional contract. They said they were tired of giving more emotional support than they were getting. Lots of them said the men they loved hardly listened when they brought up a subject, or would just pretend not to get the point or sit there silently or talk about something else entirely! Usually if women complain about this, it is said they are the ones with the problem. This is not true.
What we know as the âpsychology of women' (those trendy words used all around us every day) are really the labelling of us and our behaviour by outdated misogynistic ideology. There are too many hurtful stereotypes hurled at women every day â on the street, in their personal lives, at work. I want to stop that from happening. I want to end the labelling of women as âoverly emotional', âhysterical', âneedy and desperate', âbitchy', ânags', âaggressive', âshe doesn't look her age', or âshe's over the hill, poor dear' â all of that.
I am here to uphold the dignity of women â and repulse the attack on women which is a kind of racism.
Sounds rather familiar. But this inattention is not in the first stages of love, the ones you were talking about before, when you said men were uncomfortable with that kind of love and tried to turn off.
Yes, turn off and just channel all their feelings into sex â which is the one allowable time for men to be passionate and all-feeling in the current ideology of masculinity.
Whew! I'm getting mind fatigue. Shere, how can you
still enjoy being in love (or sex), thinking about all of this? Or do you?
The more I understand, the more possible it
is for me to love, I think. But let me just tell you one more thing: I don't think love is trivial, though the magazines and media all seem to talk about love and âromance' as if it were not quite serious, as if money and politics are serious, but somehow love and relationships are slightly silly. In my research, I try to take the things women say seriously, and with dignity.
I have done research for over twenty years. I believe in a kind of research in which women speak and define reality for themselves, I try to hear what women are saying to me without any preconceived ideas or theories. After giving women the chance to debate many ideas in my books, I then conclude with my ideas about what it is they, and I, are saying. But only then, after each one has had her say.
For example, those popular magazines imply that âwomen love too much', that we are âobsessed with love', that we are narcissists who want âromance'.
I disagree totally with this analysis. This is part of the trivialization of women. I think the reason women get buffeted about in personal relationships is not because they do something wrong in the relationship or âlove too much', but because there are larger social patterns urging the man to see the woman as less, a lesser person. Less than he as a man, less important than men in society. Therefore, the more he loves her (i.e., identifies with her), the more he wants to rid himself of her, and cleanse himself of the wretched identity of being
too
close to something he thinks he can't respect, i.e., (her) femininity. But she, unhappy heroic one that she often is, doesn't understand,
and tries to figure out what has gone wrong in the relationship â thinking and thinking about her own behaviour, his childhood experiences, maybe his lovers before her, in a vain attempt to figure out what the problem is, and solve it. So women sometimes spend years and years of their lives on questions like this.
What's the alternative? Not to have a lover?
Just to accept what you can from it, and try to find the men (or women) who are the most aware and sensitive, the least afraid of life and themselves.
Those are definitely the best.
Yeah (dreamy look). Well, and understand the hidden problem and agenda too â by reading my book,
Women
and
Love
!
But wouldn't you rather just stop all this now â all that research must be a pain (and so expensive) â and go scuba diving? Or to ballets and operas? Have little teas and lunches with friends?
I have to work to support myself, I'm not a millionaire! Most of the money I earn goes back into research. And anyway, I'm interested in these topics, I
like
doing my work.
Don't you ever stop doing research? When did all this start, anyway? Did you realize very early in life that you wanted to be a social scientist?
I think almost from the time I began to breathe I was interested in these issues. I can't remember a time when I didn't feel that there were at least two or three levels, two or three conversations going on in any given situation: the things people were actually saying, the things they seemed to be doing or achieving conveyed by subtle body language and facial expression. The pitches and staccato of the voices, the way the sound disturbed the air, and how it coloured the moment. I wanted to know what the reality
was underneath it all. That was the big conflict: society seemed hypocritical to me, and I was taught to be an idealist. Music seemed the most beautiful thing on Earth, aside from trees and flowers against the sky in spring â and my dog.
Were you influenced by Margaret Mead? Simone de Beauvoir? Mead was an anthropologist, but studied society and made outspoken comments on it in a way not unsimilar to yours, although you are studying contemporary Western society (like de Beauvoir), and she was studying âprimitive' society.