She had not wanted him to but had let him have his way because ever since she was a child she had generally yielded before anyone with strong willpower, especially if it was a man, not because she was naturally submissive, but because strong male willpower gave her a feeling of safety and trust, together with acceptance and a desire to give in.
Interpretation
The quote reflects a woman's struggle between yielding to strong male willpower and her desire for autonomy.
In this quote, Amos Oz explores the complex dynamics of relationships where one partner, particularly a woman, feels compelled to yield to the strong will of a man. This submission is not a reflection of her inherent nature, but rather a response to social conditioning and the sense of safety it brings her. It speaks to the broader themes of power, trust, and the psychological interactions between gender roles in relationships, highlighting how strong personalities can dominate the dynamics between partners.
In practice
During a discussion about gender roles, this quote can be used to illustrate the complexities of female submission.
When I was little, my ambition was to grow up to be a book. Not a writer. People can be killed like ants. Writers are not hard to kill either. But not books: however systematically you try to destroy them, there is always a chance that a copy will survive and continue to enjoy a shelf-life in some corner on an out-of-the-way library somehwere in Reykjavik, Valladolid or Vancouver.
Two children of same cruel parent look at one another and see in each other the image of the cruel parent or the image of their past oppressor. This is very much the case between Jew and Arab: It's a conflict between two victims.
If we don't stop somewhere, if we don't accept an unhappy compromise, unhappy for both sides, if we don't learn how to unhappily coexist and contain our burned sense of injustice - if we don't learn how to do that, we end up in a doomed state.
Fundamentalist s live life with an exclamation point. I prefer to live my life with a question mark.
Writing a poem is like having an affair, a one-night stand; a short story is a romance, a relationship; a novel is a marriage-one has to be cunning, devise compromises, and make sacrifices.
I have seen for the first time in 100 years of conflict, the two peoples - the Israeli people and the Palestinian people - are ahead of their leaderships.
This endured absence is nothing more or less than forgetfulness. I am, intermittently, unfaithful. This is the condition of my survival.
It was weird to be married; you kind of lose your identity. You're suddenly somebody's wife. And you're like, 'Oh, I'm half of a couple now. I've lost me.'
Often, instead of offering empathy, we have a strong urge to give advice or reassurance and to explain our own position or feeling.
When I think about my relationship with America, I feel like a battered wife: Yeah, he knocks me around a lot, but boy, he sure can dance.
Real intimacy is only possible to the degree that we can be honest about what we are doing and feeling.
Do you like me?” No answer. Silence bounced, fell off his tongue and sat between us and clogged my throat. It slaughtered my trust. It tore cigarettes out of my mouth. We exchanged blind words, and I did not cry, I did not beg, but blackness filled my ears, blackness lunged in my heart, and something that had been good, a sort of kindly oxygen, turned into a gas oven.
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