May We Be Them

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.