The Curse of the Lesbian Love Goddess is a concept that has been popularized in various works of literature, art, and entertainment. It refers to a mythical curse or hex placed upon women who engage in same-sex relationships or exhibit same-sex attraction. The curse is often portrayed as a fictional mechanism that serves to explain the challenges and hardships faced by lesbian individuals in societies that are not accepting or inclusive. The notion behind the Curse of the Lesbian Love Goddess stems from the historical and cultural discrimination against homosexuality and same-sex relationships. Lesbianism, in particular, has often been vilified or misunderstood, leading to societal ostracism, persecution, and stigmatization of lesbian women. The curse is depicted as a supernatural force or deity that punishes those who dare to deviate from societal norms and expectations regarding sexuality.
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In the case of Orion, the usual version of the myth frames the two of them as friends and rivals, engaged in a dangerous contest that might wipe out every animal on earth. In the romance version, however, there s no sign of that; instead, Apollo Artemis twin is jealous of the fact that the two of them are in love and tricks her into murdering Orion, robbing her of her agency and assigning her a reassuring desire for men in one single, tiresomely patriarchal act.
The curse is depicted as a supernatural force or deity that punishes those who dare to deviate from societal norms and expectations regarding sexuality. It is often associated with consequences such as failed relationships, social isolation, mental distress, or even physical harm. This concept reinforces the idea that lesbianism is seen as unnatural, sinful, or offensive, originating from misguided beliefs and prejudices.
Artemis Is the Queer Girl Goddess BFF of Your Dreams
Artemis (Diana to the Romans) is one of the queerest figures mythology has ever produced. The Greek goddess of the hunt, animals, unmarried girls and midwifery, the mythology has her securing a promise of perpetual “virginity” from her father and immediately skipping off into the mountain forests with a group of like-minded nymphs. Together she and her women hiked, swam, lived off the land and viciously murdered any man who walked in on them naked.
So, basically the 1970’s lesbian commune straight out of the Christian Right’s masturbatory nightmares.
There is some debate about what flavour of queer she actually is. There’s this great meme I keep seeing on tumblr about how Artemis’ sworn virginity makes her an aro ace arrow ace. Now like all bisexuals, my great weakness is puns (use this information wisely), which is why it makes me sad that of all the virgin goddesses (and indeed there are many) Artemis is almost certainly the only one for whom that identity label doesn’t fit.
In Ancient Greek, the word for virgin also means unmarried girl. There’s a school of thought out there that all of the virgin goddesses were, originally at least, just unmarried ones and that they could have as much sex as they liked with whomever they wanted. After all, it’s very clear that when Artemis and her sistren ask for perpetual virginity it’s the state of marriage rather than men themselves that’s undesirable. In fact, men are totally irrelevant. For Artemis marriage would have meant a loss of freedom, not just by subjecting her to her husband’s authority but by requiring a completely different lifestyle with different constraints and responsibilities from her. There’s a reason she’s the goddess of unmarried girls; while little mortal girls wouldn’t have had anything like her freedom, Artemis’ virginity allows her to escape the domestic responsibilities that marked out adult womanhood. (There’s a train of thought about lesbians and maturity here that takes us all the way to Freud, because apparently the one thing in history that never changes is men).
Sadly, though, this argument is rooted in the idea that these goddesses arose from a goddess-centric matriarchy that predated and was then overthrown by patriarchy. As much as I desperately wish this was the origin of Western society, the archaeological evidence for it as a universal phenomenon is basically nonexistent. Though the Minoans (the ancient Cretans) may have been matriarchal, the rest of Greece almost certainly wasn’t.
(I’ll give you all a moment to collect yourselves. I’m sad too.)
There’s some fairly compelling evidence that the “virgin” goddesses had no truck with men, even if they wanted to, in the existence and treatment of the goddess Demeter. Despite having an affair with Zeus and producing a child, Demeter successfully remained unmarried. If the virgin title was just given to goddesses who retained their sexual agency by avoiding marriage she’d carry it too, but she doesn’t. Probably for the various “virgin” goddesses refraining from sexual contact with men was the price they paid for freedom from the demands and constraints of marriage (think nuns, and how that was an option for noble girls who couldn’t or wouldn’t settle down with a man — girls can’t just wander around with freedom, they need an excuse). I have trouble imagining any of them were particularly sorry though, considering the tradeoff.
Just because they couldn’t have sex with men, though, doesn’t mean women were off limits to the various “virgin” goddesses. Being history’s most cisheterosexist society, the Greeks thought virginity loss required PIV penetration, which meant that women were entirely on the menu when it came to Artemis.
It’s hard to say if we’re supposed to read Artemis as attracted to women or understand that she’s sleeping with her nymphs. I suspect it varied from culture to culture. In Athens and then Rome, lesbian sex was considered to be shameful and disgusting because it involved women usurping the roles and rights of men, though this didn’t stop citizen men from hiring prostitutes to perform it for them. Probably the Athenian and Roman Artemis, at least according to the dominant culture, was a nice heterosexual girl trapped in a perpetual chaste girlhood because of her refusal to grow up and sublimate herself to a man’s desires. To lady-loving girls in both cultures I imagine the obvious subtext was known as simple truth, and in places like archaic Lesbos I imagine it was much the same.
There is at least one myth that makes it explicit that she shared a degree of physical intimacy with one of her nymphs, Callisto. Unfortunately we only have this because it’s an essential plot point in yet another Zeus rape story. Incidentally, while trying to find a suitable link for you all I realised that I’m going to need literally everyone to stop referring to Zeus’ rape victims as his “lovers;” just because the Ancient Greeks institutionalised victim blaming doesn’t mean we have to. (I also discovered that there is a support service for college rape survivors named after her which is sort of nice.)
“Quickly he took on the face and dress of Diana, and said ‘Oh, girl who follows me, where in my domains have you been hunting?’
The virgin girl got up from the turf replying ‘Greetings, goddess greater than Jupiter: I say it even though he himself hears it.’ He did hear, and laughed, happy to be judged greater than himself, and gave her kisses unrestrainedly, and not those that virgins give.”Ovid’s Metamophosis Bk II:417-440 Jupiter rapes Callisto
What we have here is Zeus (Jupiter) deciding that he really wants to have sex with his daughter’s girlfriend, shapeshifting so that he looks like his daughter, and only changing back after he has Callisto close enough that she can’t escape from him. There’s a titillating grotesqueness in the way Ovid addresses this, as well as a reassurance that their relationship doesn’t go past kisses. Not content with pioneering the doomed lesbian storyline, he’s also giving us softcore lesbian fanservice with the traditional assurance for the reader’s manhood that they’re not really into each other like that. The thing is though, this myth only works if Callisto and Artemis normally kiss each other in distinctly non-platonic ways, and if there’s an expectation for romantic touch and closeness between them. Artemis is clearly at least attracted to women, and as it doesn’t violate her oath of virginity there’s no reason to assume she wasn’t acting on that attraction — or at least understood to be by many of her followers over time.
It is possible to make the argument that Artemis is bisexual and that she had feelings for both Orion and Hippolytus, but I find it to be a weak one as it’s based on one variant myth and one frankly bizarre modern interpretation of another. In the case of Orion, the usual version of the myth frames the two of them as friends and rivals, engaged in a dangerous contest that might wipe out every animal on earth. There Orion’s death is a consequence of their refusal to stop, the only way that the other gods could put an end to it. In the romance version, however, there’s no sign of that; instead, Apollo (Artemis’ twin) is jealous of the fact that the two of them are in love and tricks her into murdering Orion, robbing her of her agency and assigning her a reassuring desire for men in one single, tiresomely patriarchal act. In the case of Hippolytus — sworn virgin, expert hunter, dedicant of Artemis and actively sex repulsed — male academics are always seeing in his sex repulsion a repressed desire for Artemis and, in her avenging of his death, a return of that desire. Gods were always avenging their favourite’s injuries, but somehow in a goddess dedicated to the sexual rejection of men this becomes a sign of secret sexual interest.
Artemis, regardless of whether or not she feels or acts on sexual desire, is so very clearly a lover of women. Not just in a “she loves and appreciates women in the bonds of sisterhood” way, but in the desires romantically and seeks out life partners to start an earth friendly granola business way. More than that, she models an alternative way of existing to the dominant capitalist-patriarchal model, with women prioritising each other, the environment and their community of choice over the nuclear family and amassment of wealth. Like the Morrigan, she’s more relevant than ever.
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09 Feb 2016 TubePornClassic
Despite its fictional nature, the Curse of the Lesbian Love Goddess serves as a metaphor for the challenges faced by real-life lesbian individuals. The curse symbolizes the struggle against societal prejudice and discrimination, as well as the internalized shame and fear experienced by many in the LGBTQ+ community. Works of art and literature that explore this concept aim to challenge and dismantle harmful beliefs surrounding lesbianism. By depicting the curse in various forms, ranging from fantastical tales to gritty realism, creators seek to spark conversations about LGBTQ+ rights, acceptance, and inclusivity. These works shed light on the harmful effects of societal discrimination, urging for empathy, understanding, and equal treatment for all individuals, regardless of their sexual orientation. Ultimately, the Curse of the Lesbian Love Goddess serves as a reminder of the ongoing challenges faced by lesbian individuals and the importance of creating a more inclusive and accepting society. By acknowledging the existence of such a curse, we can strive to break free from its constraints and work towards a world where love and relationships are celebrated in all their diverse forms..
Reviews for "The Curse's Grip: Overcoming Obstacles in Lesbian Love"
1. Miranda - 2/5 - The title of this book was highly misleading. I was expecting a gripping mystery involving a lesbian love goddess, but instead, I got a poorly written romance novel that lacked any depth or substance. The characters were one-dimensional and the plot felt forced and predictable. The author relied too heavily on tired clichés and failed to explore the potential of such an intriguing concept. Overall, I was sorely disappointed and would not recommend this book to anyone looking for a compelling read.
2. Derek - 2/5 - I couldn't finish this book. The writing was amateurish, filled with grammatical errors and awkward phrasing. The concept had so much potential, but the execution fell flat. The characters lacked development and their motivations were unclear. I struggled to connect with any of them, and as a result, found it difficult to care about their romantic endeavors. The pacing was uneven, with long stretches of dull dialogue and sudden bursts of unnecessary action. Unfortunately, this was a miss for me, and I would advise others to steer clear.
3. Lisa - 1/5 - "Curse of the lesbian love goddess" was a complete waste of time. The plot was convoluted and nonsensical, with no clear direction or purpose. The dialogue was cringe-worthy and the romance scenes were poorly written and lacked any emotional depth. The author seemed more interested in shocking readers with explicit content rather than creating a compelling story. I was sorely disappointed by the lack of character development and the overall lackluster execution. Save yourself the trouble and skip this one.
4. Samuel - 2.5/5 - While the premise of "Curse of the lesbian love goddess" was intriguing, the execution fell short. The writing style was choppy and disjointed, making it difficult to follow the story. The characters lacked depth and their interactions felt unnatural. The plot took too many unnecessary detours, which made the pacing feel disjointed. However, I will say that the concept itself had potential and there were a few interesting moments sprinkled throughout. Unfortunately, these positives were overshadowed by the overall lack of cohesiveness and polish.