The fantasy world of incels
Writes Sarah Kennelly
In 2014, Elliot Rodger murdered six innocent people in Isla Vista, California. Later, his motive would be revealed as a punishment for “all females for the crime of depriving [him] of sex”. This would mark the beginning of the so-called “Incel rebellion”, which would inspire deadly attacks in Toronto, Umpqua College, and most recently, Plymouth. Now, the rise of incel terrorism is a regular in the headlines. Yet it seems like we are even further from understanding the movement.
Involuntary celibates or “incels” found their origins in the pick-up artist industry. Although movies like Hitch seem to convince us these men are swoon-worthy, their careers are rooted in the belief that men are owed sex. This has inspired a generation of incels who blame their sexual frustrations on women.
The dark corners of Reddit subpages have revealed their plot which is grounded in eugenics, racism, and the gender binary. The proposed incel rebellion encourages and even celebrates violence against marginalized groups. The ultimate aim? To reinstate their supposed lost position in the social hierarchy. For this to happen, women would be sexually assigned to incels in a system of enforced monogamy. Although these plans sound outlandish, many prominent right-wing figures like Jordan Peterson have openly supported the strategy.
The horrifying details of their grand plan only begs the question, how did incels come about? Many rightfully point to our toxic internet culture but the roots of the movement were planted much earlier than this. It is in the pages of our favourite classics that we can see the first seeds of the incel movement being sown. The extremism has stemmed in part from a literary canon that romanticizes the sexual frustration of men.
From a young age, we are told to study the “great” novels and to learn from the voices of their brilliant authors. The issue is that they often spew hate that is only critiqued on a surface level in the classroom. One example of this is how the sexual frustration of men is disguised as “unrequited love”. From The Great Gatsby to Catcher in the Rye, we are taught that a man’s suffering could end if women just “put out”. Unfortunately, this critique is often left out of the syllabus. Instead, we teach our youth that characters like Jay and Holden warrant our sympathy.
Our reading lists help to reinforce the incel belief that the sexual needs of men are a public concern. Not only are their fantasies at the forefront of the plot but rage characterises their lust. This teaches us that aggression is a natural trait of male sexuality. Our literary worlds revolve around horny men, relegating the desires of women to the shadows.
In fact, any novel that counteracts this norm is labelled as feminist in genre. Their stories are deemed much too radical to teach young men. This is ironic, considering we are so quick to expose our young women to plots about sexual violence. Our teenagers have become accustomed to plots that degrade women because the contrary is labelled taboo.
Incel figures have begun to adopt these classics to fit their agenda. The group, along with the alt-right, consider themselves custodians of the literary classics. They look towards novels like Mansfield Park as blueprints for their mythologised society. Their deliberate misreadings use these books as justifications for their violence.
They maintain that the promotion of racial and sexual purity is at the core of Austen’s novels. For them, her work represents the prototype for an imagined white European paradise. Austen’s work certainly displays prejudice but it would be a distortion to suggest this. Incels have muddied her narrative to fit their political one.
Although the effects of literature on the incel movement are subtle, it warrants discussion. The stories that we grow up loving teach us to see through the eyes of angry men. It creates a culture where we empathise with people like Minassian and villainize the women who upset them.
This does not suggest that we should burn the Penguin classics which we hold so dear. Nor is it a witch-hunt for our literary legends. It is a reminder that we have a responsibility to teach novels in a way that criticises their hateful messages. More importantly, perhaps, it is time that we diversify the books we deem “essential reading”.