This is illogical for a number of reasons. Not all the instances of “Tamana” are related to each other; some are undoubtedly coincidental. Others may have been adopted later, such as the way the topnym “Alexandria” was originally associated with Alexander the Great, but lent itself to unrelated places like Alexandria, Virginia in later centuries. Even where Tamana toponyms might derive from a common source, we cannot project this back to 10,500 BCE, and certainly not—as Winters would like—on the strength of Zecharia Sitchin’s assignment of Noah’s Flood to that year.
Yes, it’s that same argument again—Noah’s Flood is really end of the Ice Age, and the antediluvian world was really Atlantis. The only differences is that Winters gives the formerly Aryan pseudohistory and Afrocentric cast by placing its members in the Sahara.
Anyway, Winters has been flogging this horse since the twentieth century (I found references in his work going back to at least 2000), and he hasn’t found anything new to add since then. I was even less impressed with Dave Miller’s article on Friday claiming that seemingly natural cracks and scratches on rocks in the Appalachian Mountains are actually petroglyphs from the world’s oldest civilization, lost to history until he recognized its writing.
So, instead, I’d like to talk about a weird piece by Abigail McCoy that ran in Glamour magazine last week. McCoy asked how it is that anyone can enjoy a horror movie. She compared her distaste for horror to her dread of “micropenises,” which probably does as good a job of anything of establishing the tone of her piece. “Why do so many smart women I know claim to like horror movies? Are they just... lying?”
Obviously, I can’t claim to know why women might enjoy horror movies, but I don’t believe men and women are so different that the pleasures of the horror genre are limited by gender. McCoy, 28, says that she has watched only one horror movie, The Ring, and was traumatized by the scene where a girl tries to claw her way out of a well to the point that she was unable to ever watch another, and indeed was so traumatized by one particular scene that she continues to obsess about it when triggered by fingernails fourteen years later.
But I maintain that there is absolutely no value in feeling scared. Why do people want to be scared? What is good about that? Feeling scared is always, always a negative experience, and I don't think it's even the kind with a silver lining. […] Do I insist—to my own detriment—on living unchallenged in a comfortable space that's never threatened by demon children who've spent time in wells? Does detesting horror movies make me narrow-minded? I mean, perhaps. But I feel fine about it.
McCoy thinks physical enjoyment of fear might be possible but wonders why she does not feel the same frisson as others when confronted with the frightening. Therefore, she asks why one prefers horror to other genres:
I can wrap my head around the whole "thrills minus actual danger" appeal, but can't you just get your rocks off by watching Homeland or something else written by writers whose artistic vision extends beyond scenes cast exclusively in blue-grey light with recently-widowed women being terrorized by things and beings that hopefully don't exist IRL?