I’ve been
thinking about the place of women in society recently. I mean, I think about
that a lot generally, but I’ve been connecting pieces for a couple weeks.
Partly, I’ve been doing this on the bus (commuting gives you a lot of time to
think). These days I can hardly go half a day without cursing the
hetero-racist-capitalist patriarchy. What follows are some of my thoughts on
women in stories I like and how they’ve impacted me—with a brief detour at the
end to real-world women. A longer, theory-based discussion that includes the
place of non-binary folks and people of color isn’t something I have in me at
this point. Suffice to say, I will always be thankful I did a degree in gender
and cultural studies.
When I was about
eight I decided I disliked The Chronicles
of Narnia. They were, and to some extent, still are, too preachy. I know
Lewis meant to have a somewhat obvious metaphor. But it was just so heavy-handed.
Little Marissa figured that Catholic school was quite enough religion, thank
you very much.
In the
intervening twenty-ish years, I have read hundreds of books—many of which
center women. Since about age I mentioned above, I have disliked the vast
majority of “official” reading I’ve had to do (at least until college) because
it was mostly boy coming of age stories. See Lord of the Flies, Watership
Down, and The Outsiders. There
was nothing in these stories for me.
For obvious reasons, I did not care about any of the characters. Still don’t
really. Its been shown repeatedly that representation matters. Something you
don’t really realize until you discover that you actually like reading alone.
It’s just that before, you didn’t like what you were told to read.
This might
surprise some of you, but I didn’t like reading until the sixth grade. A combination
of a poor selection and a high reading level will do that. But then I
discovered (through my mom, thanks ma) Anne
of Green Gables. And that was it. I didn’t get into as many scrapes as
Anne, but I could identify with her. Skipping ahead quite a few years, I found
Cathrynne Valente’s Fairyland series,
of which I have written. And September reminded me of so many other storybook
girls who find themselves in the story. September is “ill-tempered” and
“irascible.” She is outspoken and adventurous. The kind of heroine we need.
September brings
me back to Narnia and the problem of
Susan. I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about. Susan, who abandoned
Narnia for parties and lipstick. Which strikes me, as an adult who still enjoys
fairy tales (thank you very much Mr. Lewis), as only part of the story. Worlds
outside our own have different narrative needs. And, sure, Susan’s ending in
Mr. Lewis’ story might have fit that narrative. But it doesn’t need to be the
end of her story. Take September—a Ravished child who can never stay and never
leave. Then take Maud/the Marquess/Mallow—a Stumbled child whose clock will
eventually run out. Susan is much more like Maud than September. But instead of
clawing her way back, she accepted the path presented her and tried to make a
life for herself. Which, if we put ourselves in her shoes, must have been
painful. So, she took the skills of gentleness and lived her life. She didn’t
fight to set her old world on fire with her pain, the way Maud did. It is
unfair to Susan to say she abandoned anything. We do not know her story. We
were never told her story. Because the way of gentleness and feminine strength
is almost impossible for a man to convey. Because we can only know her story
through living it. Being forced to decide which rules you want to play by. And
who can judge Susan for playing by the rules of the game in which she was
stuck. In which so many are still stuck. It is, as we learn in Fairyland, a kind of magic to resist
rules—No magic and Yes magic. Not all of us have the Courage to do so. We must
stand with our compatriots who haven’t mastered that magic. To walk with them.
Because, either all of us go or none of us go. When the Marquess offered
September a carefree, safe adventure in Fairyland, September chose to fight for
the freedom of all the creatures of Fairyland. We can cheer on September even
as we mourn for Maud and Susan.
Well-written
women are so necessary because we can see ourselves in them. Of course we often
hope to see more of ourselves in the heroines. September, who may be irascible
but is Good. And let’s not forget Susan, who so many more of us can identify
with than Lucy. And Anne, who dreams big dreams and messes up in big ways, but
is always hopeful about tomorrow. And then there’s Eliza Doolittle, from My Fair Lady. Eliza decides she wants
something better than she has, goes on to achieve it, and, in the end, chooses
a life rather than it be chosen for her—she absolutely could go on alone, but
chooses not to. Let’s not forget Elizabeth Bennet from whom I’ve learned to
laugh at the foibles of the world and to challenge what I’ve been told, but
also to admit when I’ve been wrong. But, of course, we also see ourselves in
the villains. Choosing to move forward like Susan. Clawing our way to what we
want like Maud. Removing selfish, ineffectual leadership like Yzma. And then
there are the women who act on behalf of themselves when no one else will. Taking
our justice like Judith. There are so many more that I can’t even name here,
but you know them as well as I—they are the women who we know, who stand by us,
and who we see in every woman we meet. Women who live full complex lives, just
as every living being does, but who so often are reduced to their appearance or
their relationship to men.
And then there
are the women in this world. I could talk about the women I know personally who
inspire me everyday. Without whom I would be a sadder version of myself. I
could talk about the women I study, without whom I would be radically different
as well. I feel each of these women burned onto my heart. I am incredibly
grateful my mom introduced me to Anne. Without my mother, presenting a
conception of self that was built upon an inner conception of self, I would not
be able to see this strength in the world. And then where would I be?
As I was trying
to come up with a good way to end, I looked up “indomitable” to make sure I was
going to use it correctly. And the example sentence was, “a woman of
indomitable spirit.”
May
we know them.
May
we be them.
May we raise them.
