Category Archives: Writing

Is Sexism Ever Justified, Even When Trying to Combat Reverse Discrimination?

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 überarbeitete junge frauI had a woman writing prof in college who claimed women couldn’t write convincingly about male characters, but men could create female characters quite well. (Think Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina.) Since that time I’ve searched book after book with memorable characters to see if that holds true.

I’ve some resentment toward men who presume to write strong, full, sensitive ladies. Shouldn’t women be writing about women? Opportunities for women writers are limited enough as is. We’ve a harder time getting published, our incomes are less, we receive less critical acclaim. Men make up only about 35 percent of fiction readership. Despite 80 percent of sales being romances, primarily written by and about women, and most readers being female, our interests are relegated to lower importance than men’s.

So why on earth should women read a male author pretending to be a woman?

Because he’s good, damn good. I recently finish Nick Hornby’s Funny Girl. Marvelous. Perhaps best known for About a Boy, successfully translated into film, Hornby often gets mislabeled as “lad lit” or facile. These denigrations ignore his skills. His style flows with nary a hitch, allowing him to convey complex themes and concepts as tastefully as swallowing a spoonful of honey.

Then, of course, there are his female characters. In his newest book, the personas are predominantly men. But you can’t get a more appealing, thoughtful, humorous heroine than Sophie, who shows Hornby’s remarkably close attention to the traits and perspective of women. Meaning she seems to think my thoughts.

So I guess it’s time for me to get over my bias against male authors writing about females. Like any type of discrimination, to prejudge a group limits our own knowledge and enjoyment.

“When women stop reading, the novel will be dead.” British author Ian McEwan

How can love survive? Many think love happens willy-nilly, but some authorities believe they should control the emotion.

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lovelocksLove at first sight. Many of us, at least the very young and very naïve, believe it happens. But whether love occurs with the speed of lightning or following long and complex efforts at a relationship, most agree romantic love exists. Being humans our expressions of love, our fascination with romance take many forms, most of them relatively harmless. We shower gifts of jewelry on our beloved, share preferences in food and wine, proclaim our feelings on social media. We search for examples of love in films, music, art, and enjoy emotions vicariously.

Recently on opposite sides of the globe, however, authorities are intervening in physical demonstrations of attraction. First up, Vietnam, where the Publishing and Printing Department is cracking down on “clichéd, useless, obscene and offensive” works that are “poisoning” the youth. This same claim has been used off and on in the U.S. during various censorship battles. Furthermore, “government needs to regulate an activity related to culture and people’s way of thinking so that it can benefit people.”

If only. If only all of humanity could agree on a method to truly benefit people. Unfortunately, down through the ages, this activity always seems to include punishing, even destroying those who don’t concur with authorities, like Nazis and various religious fundamentalists.

Let’s move on to Paris, where the city is removing locks from the Pont des Arts and other bridges on which star-struck lovers have attached fixtures as symbols of their relationships. A book and film started the craze in about 2006, and thousands of visitors adopted the fad. However, now sections of fencing on bridges are crumbling under the weight, posing a safety risk as well as “degradation of property heritage,” not to mention problems associated with graffiti, pickpockets and street vendors.

At least in this example of anti-romanticism, official action carries some weight. The equivalent of some 20 elephants to be accurate.

Other cities face the problem ways different from removing locks. In Rome city officials created official spots—steel posts with chains on the bridge—to eliminate damage to the infrastructure.

I’m not optimistic either activity will control the interest in and demonstration of romance. Humans are nothing if not creative. We’ve been dodging censors for millennia and finding creative ways to express emotion even longer. However, the attempts at restraint are ever-changing and as entertaining as the many paths of love.

love, censorship, Paris, Vietnam, locks, bridges, books, romances

Keeping pace with social change: Women accept a brave new world, while writers of women’s fiction wonder how to make headway

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summer of loveOur great-grandmothers would be shaking their heads in dismay if they could visit our times. Internet, Twitter, Pinterest, smart phones, text messages, they wouldn’t know where to begin to stay in touch with their families and friends, let alone how to use these tools. Change has become so constant and so fast, even people on the shady side of forty can lose their balance in the net.

No one in restaurants, stores, or theaters is minus a device over which they bend their heads and wave their fingers. Married couples spend more time online than they do in bed with one another. I can barely go shopping without some seller urging me to download a new app.

However, women’s fiction by and large hasn’t adapted to this transformation, at least not to the extent I see in real life every day. Novels still focus on characters, plot, description. Although mobile phones now appear in fiction, and a woman in danger turns immediately to a cell, few heroines or heroes spend the amount of time online that occurs in daily life. Human interaction requires face-to-face contact, if not body-to-body; and text messages or Tweets are used, if at all, as quirky plot developments..

The array of communications methods mirrors what seems to be occurring in women’s personal lives. If experts, along with films, television, and songs, are to be believed, women are leaping in and out of bed (or in cars or on tables or outdoors) with enthusiasm and are increasingly casual in their sexual encounters, if not outright promiscuous.

Why then do novels continue to advocate stable, monogamous relationships? While wedding rings may be far fewer in stories than in the 20th century, the preponderance of women’s fiction has the heroine and hero in a happy clinch by the end, not a clutch of partners.

So how can the poor writer decide how to publish a story and what equipment to feature? Should we write in 148 character series, as one novel I read did in an introduction to each section? Are young readers going to dump fiction unless it’s available on phones? The phenomenon in Japan is the cell phone novel with chapters of less than 200 words. Are our characters moving toward no physical contact, just phone sex?

One thing’s for sure. In fiction, the chaste (and chased) virgin of fifty years ago, frequently a nurse, secretary, or teacher, is far outnumbered by her more adventuresome sisters. They may not be “loose women,” but they’ve been around the block. Plots are reflecting reality, as studies and surveys show attitudes toward casual sex and multiple partners continue to become more liberal.

And yet. . .and yet. At the conclusion of the adventure, whether the novel is a sweet romance, erotic, historical, sci fi, literary, steamy or whatever, everyone’s still just looking for love. Real love. True love. Which continues to mean one partner, even if he’s a vampire.

“Find Me”: a “what if” we don’t want to answer in an examination of reality, emotions, and life through a novel

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illusion“Find Me,” a new novel by Laura van den Berg, is presented in a deceptively simple, straightforward style. Written in present tense by its protagonist, a young woman named Joy, often relying on facts and lists, she first exposes her attitude about her involuntary quarantine in a hospital, following an epidemic, which first robs people of their memories, then their lives. She’s one of the few immune. But as the story unwinds, another, even more traumatic fact about her life appears. Abandoned as an infant, she’s lived in a series of foster homes, and the occurrences there left indelible marks that she accepts with equanimity. So we think. By the book’s end, we begin to question her view of reality and hopscotch back to previous scenes trying to dig out truth.

In writing this device is called an “unreliable narrator.” It appears in books as diverse as “Alice in Wonderland,” “One Flew Over the Cuckcoo’s Nest,” “Lolita,” and “The Life of Pi.” In fiction, as in life, the unreliable narrator is a person telling the story who can’t be trusted. Either from ignorance or self-interest, this narrator speaks with a bias, makes mistakes, or even lies. 

Why is the unreliable narrator widespread? My guess is because that’s the way life is. Have you ever experienced an incident at which other people were present, then talked about it later, only to discover your view’s and theirs differ widely? Those much-applauded and quoted studies conducted by experts support the phenomenon. Witnesses can be sincere, and believe they’re telling the truth, and hold completely opposite views.

The truth is that we all are reliable to ourselves and unreliable to everyone else. I was called to serve on a jury recently, and nearly everyone questioned said he’d base his decisions on the facts. But studies show over and over that even eyewitnesses can see a situation completely differently. Look at the dozens of people freed over the past few decades when scientific evidence proves their innocence. We quite honestly can think we’re right. . .until this is shown to be wrong.

So in the end, the unreliable narrator may very well be reliable as to what he believes. Who’s to say Joy in “Find Me” isn’t headed to a reunion with her mother?

Spiritual faith abounds with this perspective. The “72 virgins in Heaven” concept of reward in Islam (although misinterpreted in our pop culture) could very well be true for Muslims who belive it. The Catholic Purgatory encompassing purification over time to redeem yourself from sin, the child who believes in the Tooth Fairy long past the age of baby teeth, the millions of women who place credence in a lover’s “I’ll be with you always. . . I’ll take care of you,’ the list is endless.

These are our own perceptions of reality, and to us they are real. Does this mean we’re all wrong? We shouldn’t trust our instincts, perceptions and thoughts? Bow to the supremacy of science? No, for what’s considered “science” seems to change almost as quickly as our emotions.

I think it means we shouldn’t rush to judgment the way we do. We should always be willing to look at different perspectives, honor others’ opinions, put ourselves in the other guy’s shoes. The universe is vast, our world holds quadrillions of fascinating objects and happenings, and differing realities (to some, illusions) are part of that.

“Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” Albert Einstein

Heroes, Role Models, Exemplars, Crushes, Idols, Paradigms, Archetypes, and Other Illusions

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wonder womanMy heroes have always been writers. While other kids were moaning and groaning over sports stars or film actors, the latest gyrating band or skinny super model, I idolized those who created worlds in their minds. To open a book equated to prying open the door to a new existence.

This trait protected me in one way. Sure, I paid some attention to fashion, makeup, and culture pace-setters; but not nearly as much as most. I was the first woman I knew to abandon elaborate hair-does. To this day, I refuse to spend an inordinate amount of money on clothing or tickets to concerts. No one can impress me with a fancy car. These things just don’t matter to me.

I also was fortunate that my dream was achievable. With a minimum of skill and a whole lotta work, I had a chance of becoming a novelist. Too many are the number of young lives crushed in the deadly search for fame—or at least a living—in the performing arts. The lucky ones eventually switch to a more fulfilling career, like selling cars or running a restaurant. And those whose exemplars are in sports know their time is limited to their physical prime.

When I decided to give up a regular job, rather when I was fortunate enough to be able to do that, and did, indeed, begin to publish novels, I anticipated congratulations from everyone. Maybe ripples of attention through organizations to which I belong. Mention of my ventures whenever I was introduced.

Guess not everyone is as starstruck over writers as I am. Certainly good friends understand the long road I’ve traveled to reach publication. But the rest of the world seems as intent as ever on hero-worship of empty-headed reality stars and steroid-popping athletes. Even worse, copying their behavior and mouthing their standards.

I’ve learned “fame” doesn’t accompany achievement of my goal. Furthermore money hasn’t been an objective. That’s fortunate because I’ve made almost none. The actual return on the endeavor has been to substantiate a maxim I heard but never really understood. “It’s the journey, not the destination.” I’ve gained so much from writing, and I’ll consider this at another time.

At first I gave little thought to the person behind the works. I assumed if I adored someone’s writing, I’d like to know the individual. Brushes with some self-centered and idiotic authors soon relieved me of that delusion. There’s a big difference between a writer’s work and his life. Charles Dickens ran around on his wife and finally abandoned her. Norman Mailer stabbed his wife. Katherine Anne Porter had a miserable love life and miscarried several times. So achieving authorhood doesn’t mean you’re happy or fulfilled.

Does this mean heroes, mentors, idols are delusions? Not necessarily. Yours may be delusions or meaningless to me. Do we need them? I think we do. In addition to a few moments of escapism as we dream of a hero’s fantastic life, we can continue to adjust our views, hopes, goals, and dealings by what we know of people we admire. As long as we know anyone, including ourselves, Lance Armstrong, or Bill Cosby, can have feet of clay.