The article's author, Gena Haskett, is initially put off by the batterie of "sexually repressed librarians" she encounters in her search: a raft of African Queens and Now Voyagers ripe for sexual rehabilitation; tragically lonely Miss Brills; the comical eccentrics of Jane Austen novels. She finds a little redemption in the form of Jill Clayburgh's sexy divorcee choosing independence in An Unmarried Woman or the solitary protagonist of Rachel, Rachel. That's swell, but to my way of thinking, these women aren't really spinsters. And I don't think you even need to break away from that essentially negative archetype to find positive inspiration. I do fully believe that the single woman is a historically thorny issue for people, and filmmakers, writers and generalizers alike, when they can't quickly transform their lives via heroes ex machinae, slot them into 'sinister witch', 'terrorized old maid' or bitter, sexually-repressed misanthrope, essentially tragic and fearful. The thing is, though, the spinster is too complicated — and too awesome ‚ an archetype to dismiss like that.

To me, a spinster isn't just an unmarried lady. Rather, I've always thought of her as a woman who, for whatever reason, chose not to define herself through a man, in a time when that was de rigeur. Maybe that's a reductive definition, but I think a substantiated one. Sure, sometimes there were circumstances for spinsters' single states: Barbara Pym would have liked to have married in her youth, and Marianne Moore was essentially chained to an ailing mother. But the point is that women like these ended up forging lives and identities that were rich, full, and completely independent. In this sorority I place such literary lionesses as Eudora Welty, Jane Austen, Louisa May Alcott, the forementioned Stevie Smith, Pym and Moore. It's surely no coincidence that these women had the time, the serenity and the inclination to turn out some of the richest poetry and prose in the English-speaking cannon. There is certainly an asexuality and a smallness of scale to the work of, say, Barbara Pym, but it is this which gives it its charm and richness and, dare I say it, a distinctive Spinster Lit flavor not found in the work of women who took a different path. Her characters, too, are often single women building small, rich lives; while there's sometimes a possibility of romance in her work, it's almost uniformly incidental to a character's lifestyle or essential makeup.

Film gives us such stalwarts as Lillian Gish's heroic child-defender in Night of the Hunter, Marilla Cuthbert, or weird as it sounds, the fairy godmothers in A Sleeping Beauty — benevolent characters who, while maybe secondary, manage to provide a singular tartness and goodness which, whether people realize it or not, is as essential to our cultural view of the spinster as is the bitter recluse. In a sense, it's an archetype with the energy to be sensible — you could argue there's a backhanded misogyny to that, the notion that asexuality is a sort of pathway to wisdom — but one which is every bit as enduring as the negative stereotypes discussed. Was I a teenage goofball? Obviously. But the impulse towards the spinster paradigm was in no way an unwholesome one, and it's a badge anyone can still claim and wear with pride. And no, you can't have my email address.

In Search of Cinematic Spinsters and Unmarried Women [Blogher]

Page Six Magazine recently published a "Field Guide To Cougars" and it was hard to tell what the women on the list had in common: Madonna, Anna Wintour, Genevieve Jones? They "prey" on younger men, really? The stock character of a bawdy woman of a certain age has been around for centuries. One the one hand, "cougar" is rife with positive symbolism: Cats are always associated with women, and a mountain lion is a powerful, gleaming animal.

Radar's Lynn Harris wrote a story about cougars recently, and Harris quoted her friend, Cindy: "For years I have railed that we need something stronger than pink—essentially red with the life force sucked out of it—associated with women. And cougar is it, baby! It's powerful, aggressive, sexy—everything pink is not," Cindy explains. "It says, 'Oh, you're looking at me like I'm pathetic because I'm a middle-aged woman and single? Sorry, I didn't notice—I was ogling your younger coworker!"

On the other hand: Page Six Magazine is dubbing Anna Wintour a "cougar" for hanging out with 27-year-old Roger Federer, hiring 28-year-old Sean Avery and putting 23-year-old LeBron James on the cover of Vogue. As if an older woman is "preying" on young men by befriending them. And most of the language (and SNL skits) surrounding the term "cougar" is mocking and insulting: Are we meant to laugh off a woman's sexuality because she is a certain age? ("As an official feminist and sometime 'cougar,' I think the label is revolting," Tedra Osell of Bitch PhD tells Radar. "I mean, yes, congratulations, society, on realizing that adult women are sexual beings, but generally I find that the label is used condescendingly, as if women that age are a little past it and aggressive—predatory in a desperate way.")

We've used the word here and honestly, I'm torn. Is calling a woman a "cougar" offensive? Should the ladies suing G4 get a million dollars?

The Great Cougar Hunt Lawsuit — MUST READ!!!! [TMZ]
Ladies Of A Certain Age [Radar]
Trend: A Field Guide to Cougars [Page Six Magazine]

Earlier: Five Reasons Older Women Should Date Younger Men