Women and the Rise of My Novels

Sailor Boy has finished the bar exam and is on vacation for the next month. Me? I am not on vacation. I have a deadline.

This should be interesting. I’m going to be like that kid stuck inside on Saturday afternoon watching his friends play in the yard.

I have been thinking a lot of late about the role of feminism in my books. I am a feminist. I am married to a feminist. I was raised by a pair of feminists and so was he. Thus, there is always a moment of “does not compute” when I am confronted with highly anti-feminist material. For a long time, misogyny and institutionalized inequality between men and women seemed like something that didn’t happen here, that didn’t happen now. Indeed, surrounded as I was by families and teachers who strongly believed in equality, it was a long time before I recognized instances of the opposite, before they began to affect me in any meaningful way. Much like Amy, I was almost at the end of my college career when the ivory tower crumbled, and I saw that in the real world, there was still a lot of work to be done.

University presidents who claimed that men were better thinkers. Potential employers who would dismiss me, Yale diploma notwithstanding, because I was a female. People — men and women — who demeaned anything associated with femaleness: their books, their music, their movies, their colors. (Seriously: why the hatred of pink?) Whole fields of study that, if women began to make headway in it, were dismissed as not as important as other fields of study dominated by men.

Why was one of my favorite classes at Yale, Women and the Rise of the Novel, attended by only three women? Was it because the word “women” appeared in the title? We thought so, and even had a discussion about it with the professor. The following year, she changed the title (I think to “Sex and the Rise of the Novel” or “Sexual Politics and the Rise of the Novel”), and turned away (male and female) students at the door. Why does that happen? Why?

I did not set out to write books in which women’s issues formed a primary piece of the plot. In fact, the original “what if” concept for Secret Society Girl wasn’t even about this “first woman tapped into a secret society” thing. It was about someone who wasn’t supposed to be tapped ending up in a society. But in trying to take that germ of a concept and turn it into a workable story, feminist issues came out, and they continue to come out, more and more.

This aspect of my work has been both praised and criticized. The criticism I understand — it mostly comes from people who, like me, have been raised in environments that value equality, and that don’t necessarily believe the things that are happening in my book. I get that. After all, Skull & Bones, a real secret society at Yale whose growing pains were a huge inspiration to my story, went co-ed almost two decades ago. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. The praise I receive proves that to me. Women may be allowed, but that doesn’t mean they are accepted. I get letters all the time from female students and professionals who say they recognized issues they are dealing with in their schools, jobs, and lives. That they know what Amy and her friends are going through.

As I moved through the post-college world, it became more evident. Women I knew were told they were not committed to their husband unless they took said husband’s name. I was accused of that myself. People assumed I was the one fighting to keep my name — it was actually Sailor Boy’s idea. Was I less of a feminist because I was willing to take his name? No. Am I so glad he talked me out of it? Hell yeah.

Women I knew were told that if they intended to get married and have children, it would severely curtail their opportunity for advancement in their chosen field. (Contrast this with the experience of men I knew, whose engagment, marriage, or family were actually viewed as a positive for employment, because it meant they’d be steady and committed to their job, expected as they were to “provide” for their family.) I met wonderful, brilliant, powerful women who coudln’t get a date because their position and strength intimidated the hell out of many men. I was told not to call myself a feminist, and definitely not to call my husband or father one. That the word is too “female” and denotes misandry. That I should say something about “equality” instead, if I even bothered with “all that stuff.”

Whatever. The opposite of feminism is misogyny, sexism, and female subjugation. Not getting behind that.

So as women’s issues confronted me every day, they crept into my writing. I was moved by stories about the choices women make, how they live and move and work, and love in a society that has made so many strides toward equality that they may not always notice things slipping by them.

And it’s not always the big things, the “and now  they let women into the society” things. Sometimes it’s the girl who will do anything, absolutely ANYTHING, to make the boy love her. To keep the boy’s interest. I’ve written books about that. Sometimes, it’s the girl who is willing to act a little bit stupid or weak in order to not intimidate the boy. Or the girl who wonders if the reason the boy likes her is because he thinks she’s stupid or weak. A boy who thinks that is not going to encourage her to become better than she is. A boy who thinks that is not a fair partner. He’s the boy who pats you on the head and says, “how cute! You’re scribbling!” He’s the boy who decides that having a “children’s book author” for a wife would be gold during his political campaign — but not a romance author. It’s got to be something cute, not subversive or dangerous. Not because he thinks you’d be an amazing children’s book author. But because he thinks it would be “safe” for him. I’ve written books about that. Heck, I’ve lived it.

And I know other people are living it every day. And I see stuff out there that says, “This is okay. Love conquers all. This is the way it’s supposed to be.”

No. I refuse to believe that. I refuse to write it. Happily ever after is not about “getting the guy.” It’s about being a complete person. If Amy, or Jenny, or anyone else ends up with their dream boyfriend, but in the process, loses themselves — what they want, who they are, what they know is true — then it’s not happy to me.

I love Love. I love relationships. I’m happily married. I love to write stories where the girl “gets the guy” at the end. But not at the expense of her happiness (or his). Sometimes, the happy ending is the one where they leave each other. Sometimes, the happy ending is the one where she dumps his ass on the pavement and walks off into her bright and glorious future.

I argue with a romance writing friend who refuses to watch Casablanca (one of my favorite films) because it “doesn’t have a happy ending.” Really? The freedom fighter and his wife escape the Nazis, the broken man becomes whole and joins forces with the reformed rake to similarly fight for freedom and goodness and etc.? Sounds pretty darn happy to me. (I always find it an interesting statement that Nora Ephron makes in When Harry Met Sally, how when graduating from college, Sally is all about Ilsa leaving, then, years later, after her first major heartbreak, she thinks Ilsa should have stayed. It’s supposed to be how our priorities change over the years. However, when I was graduating from college, I thought that Ilsa should have stayed and now, when I’m the age where Sally changed her mind, I’m totally on the “Leave! Fight for justice with your husband!” side.)

Many years ago, I was enamored with the computer game Syberia. Spoiler warning: at the end of the game, the main character, who has been dealing with increasingly annoying phone calls from her needy, controlling fiance, chucks him and runs off to look for Mammoths with the eccentric toymaker. As I described this to friends, all starry-eyed, as a wonderful story with a wonderful conclusion, every single one of them assumed that the main character was in a romantic relationship with the eccentric toymaker. But a satisfactory ending does not necessarily require a romantic one. If that’s possible, great. I love me some love.

SPOILER WARNING FOR RITES OF SPRING (BREAK) (white text, mouse over to read):

The ending of ROSB is not happy because Amy gets together with Poe. It’s happy because she gets to a point where she saves herself, and where the support she receives from her fellow knights is complete, and where the questions Amy has about herself: her worth, what she wants in a relationship, what she needs and is willing to fight for, are resolved. Were she to go and make all those declarations to Poe, and were he to say, “Tough patootie; I’m not interested,” (assuming that Poe would ever use a word like “patootie”), it would still be, as far as I’m concerned, a happy ending. Those things, those revelations, those abilities — they do not leave Amy just because she doesn’t end up coupled.

Of course, it’s not a completely happy ending. If it were, there would be no reason for book four. But still.

SPOILER ENDED

Vicki Hinze has an excellent essay about the idea of “author theme” — a motif or message that appears over and over in an author’s work, though they may not even realize it. I do not have a huge body of work. I have one series, and another book in the hopper. They each have very strong feminist themes. I don’t know what the future holds for my work, but I am pretty sure that strong women will always play a role in my stories. Why?

Yeah. What he said.