BFT3K, Hawkmistress!, Chapter 2: I R Strong wimmenz. Rly! Author sez so!
Chapter 2:
In the last chapter, our dear Romilly managed to, in a feat that should have logically killed the bird, tamed a very special bird that’s so special the author couldn’t decide if it was a hawk or falcon, and naturally named her Preciosa. This of course, pissed off her evil misogynistic father, and they made a huge row about it that should be more suited to a modern fifteen-year-old bitch than a young woman that was the product of her time and setting.
In any case, the chapter opens with Romilly and her siblings having a lesson that’s being taught by her governess, reading and writing to be particular. Of course, she’s being piss-poor inattentive, looking out of the window and dreaming about hwo she’s going to train Preciosa to do her every bidding, how she can’t trust the hawk/falcon/bird thing not to fly away, and how they’re going to go places together. Of course, this doesn’t stop her from excelling at her lessons anyway. Of course, her sister, the designated sell-out to the evil patriarchy, complains about the lesson, and this sets off the governess on a speech on the importance of education to women that doesn’t fit the scene at all:
“My fingers ache,” Mallina grumbled, “Why must I learn to write anyway, spoiling my eyes and making my hands hurt? None of the daughters of the High Crags can write, or read either, and they are none the worse for it; they are already betrothed, and it is no loss to them!”
“You should think yourself lucky,” said the governess sternly, “Your father does not wish his daughters to grow up in ignorance, able only to sew and spin and embroider, without enough learning even to write ‘Apple and nut conserve’ on your jars at harvest time! When I was a girl, I had to fight for even so much learning as that! Your father is a man of sense, who knows that his daughters will need learning as much as do his sons! So you will sit there until you have filled another sheet without a single blot. Romilly, let me see your work. Yes, that is very neat. While I check your sums, will you hear your brother read from his book?” (Pg. 416)
I’m not disagreeing with the base point here, and even if I did I shouldn’t be bringing it into the picture, because then it wouldn’t be a discussion on the book. Yes, education is important, not just for women but for everyone. The problem here is that Mallina is turned into a caricature of the opposing viewpoint, hell, not just here but pretty much in every scene she’s turned up in. Why? She’s the designated sell-out brainwashed tart in service of the evil patriarchy, just as we had the idiot atheist in Dragonknight and the strawman robot Christian in Morningwood . Because it’s impossible for women to want to get married, or understand the importance of strategic alliances between families to ensuring economic prosperity and stability without being a ditzy fat lazy slut.
Flip-flopping of misogynistic father, although here I can damn well see a reason—oddly enough, very few fantasy protagonists are actually lilliterate, despite them sometimes coming from backgrounds that don’t make sense for them to be so (although not in this case). Either they start out knowing their three Rs, or learn amazingly quickly (remember the one-month language learning shit that the Pao pulled off?) Either way, the inconvenience that comes from not being able to read and write is strictly forbidden. This makes all the attempts to portray Evil Father as a misogynistic bastard all the more irritating, since it only makes Romilly look even more of a whiny bitch who doesn’t know how nice she’s having it in life.
And of course, finally, the heroine, paragon of the author’s feminist ideals, can do everything without fail, save those activities which are considered traditionally feminine and hence EVVVVVIL. She’s so awesome at reading and writing that the governess asks her to help in the teaching, makes all animals love her without question, manages to tame on the first try a very rare and special hawk that’s a struggle for even a supposedly professional falconer to try with a reasonable chance of success, can ride excellently, blah blah, blah blah, and I look at the steadily lengthening list of Romilly’s abilities and get out the popcorn.
In any case, Romilly helps with the governess teaching her younger brother to read and write, and of course, does excellently. Who’da thought it? After that, it’s time for sewing and emboridery, and since this is a traditional feminine activity it is Bad and Evil and hence forbidden to a modern and forward-thinking woman.
Lenka is a modern and forward-thinking young woman, being a law student and falconer. She can also sew well. I am a member of the male persuasion, and I can sew well enough to mend ripped pillowcases and put back fallen buttons. Last time I checked, I had a dongle instead of a port.
OH NO! LOGIC PARADOX!
Which only goes to show the soapboxing and stupidity in said soapboxing. In any case, Romilly isn’t good at sewing, while being an evil sellout to the patriarchy, Mallina is. Of course, her efforts have to be rubbished by Romilly:
“Well,” said Romilly, driven to the wall, “What do I need of embroidered cushion-covers? A cushion is to sit on, not to show fancy stiching. And I hope, if I have a husband, he will be looking at me, and not the embroidered flowers on our wedding sheets!”
Mallina giggled and blushed, and Calinda said, “Oh, hush, Romilly, what a thing to say!” But she was smiling. “When you have your own house, you will be proud to have beautiful things to adorn it.” (Pg. 419)
Yes, it was pretty, Romilly thought, but why did it matter so much? A plain one would keep her just as warm at night, and so would a saddle-blanket! She would not have minded, if she could have made something sensible, like a riding-cloak, or a hood for a hawk, but this stupid flower-pattern designed to show off the fancy stitching she hated! (Pg 419-420)
I would like you to go over to the School of Architecture and tell all the folks over there that decoration and aesthetics are completely irrelevant to an abode, and hear them laugh your ass out of the door. Frankly, I wouldn’t have minded it so much if Romilly had acknowledge that while she doesn’t see the same value that Mallina does in stiching, the latter still has a right to value what she does, believe in its importance, and choose the course she wants in life. No, instead she has to go out of her way to rubbish Mallina’s work, therefore dragging herself down to the level of Mallina and her evil misogynistic father.
It would be nice if more characters had their “attributes” built around who they are as people instead of having to make a political statement or because “that’s what they do”, as happens most commonly with women and ethic characters (or racial substitutes thereof). I put Lenka the phoenix in the equivalent of a smithy/machine shop because 1) she’s impervious to extreme heat and cold, 2) likes being around plenty of fire, 3) has the drive to acquire the technical knowledge required and 4) it’s a job that doesn’t require to interact with people on a personal level. Nothing at all to do with her gender, but rather who she is as a person. I didn’t sit down and say “all right, I’m going to need a feminist statement to accompany this character, so I’ll put her in a smithy to do a “man’s job”.” Which is what appears to be the case here.
But then again, what did I expect? Saying this is like saying the sky is blue. It’s a MZB book, complete with the reputation. What did I expect? You know, come to think of it, the feminist statements are quite out of turn considering Romilly’s doing the EXACT SAME THING with the bird that the authority figures in her life are trying to do to her, and it’s perfectly fine when Romilly’s the giver but not the receiver.
Anyways, this rapidly degenerates into a squabbling match:
“Well, I ride a horse,” Romilly said, “I don’t sit on its back and simper at the stableboy!”
“Bitch,” said Mallina, giving her a surreptitious kick on the ankle, “You would, fast enough, if he’d look at you, but nobody ever will—you’re like a broom-handle dressed up in a gown!”
“And you’re a fat pig,” retorted Romilly, “You couldn’t wear my cast-off gowns anyway, because you’re so fat from all the honey-cakes you gobble whenever you can sneak into the kitchen!”
“Girls! Girls!” Luciella entreated, “Must you always squabble like this? I came to ask a holiday for you—do you want to sit all day in the schoolroom and hem dishtowels instead?”
“No, indeed, foster mother, forgive me,” said Romilly quickly, and Mallina said sullenly, “Am I supposed to let her insult me?” (Pg. 421)
Aaaand by now, I’m frankly not surprised that Romilly’s more polite than her evil brainwashed sister. Caricatures, people, caricatures. Never a good idea when you’re trying to get a message across. These aren’t young noblewomen growing up in tough times with an understanding of their rights and responsiblities in a harsh world where survival is in doubt. This is a scene right out of a junior high hallway or girl’s locker room.
In any case, Luciella announces that she’s had some riding dresses made for the girls, and she brings them up to the sewing room to have them try them on. During this whole process, Romilly manages to find the time to express her dislike of even more things traditionally considered feminine, such as frills on clothing:
Luciella’s taste ran heavily to ruffles and flounces, and, from some battles when she was a young girl, Romilly feared that if Luciella had ordered her riding-clothes they would be some disgustingly frilly style. But when she saw the dark-green velvet, cut deftly to accentuate her slenderness, but plainly, with no trim but a single white band at her throat, the whole dress of a green which caught the color of her green eyes and made her coppery hair shine, she flushed with pleasure. (Pg. 422)
And the traditional idea of a desirable female figure:
Mallina skulked, “Why must all my dresses be cut like a child’s tunic? I already have more of a woman’s figure than Romilly!”
“You certainly have,” Romilly said, “If you grow much more in the tits, you can hire out for a wet-nurse.” (Pg. 423)
All right, all right. I get the idea. You’re a tomboy. All right. Fine. I know that, I’ve heard it, and you don’t need to keep on repeating it over and over again until I’m throroughly sick of it. Even if Romilly had been a likable character from the outset, this would have grated on me. As it stands, all it does is make me roll my eyes and reach for my water bottle, since I don’t drink alcohol and it’s not nice to be chugging too many sports drinks at this time of night.
On a slightly unrelated side note, I’ve seen two primary schools of thought about this whole women’s figure business by women themselves; one is that it’s rude and/or exploitative of women, and the other that their figure is a symbol of sexuality and feminine power and there’s no shame in using these traditional perceptions of an ideal female figure. Me? I’m not of the female persuasion, but I think if there’s a situation in which a shirtless guy as a sexual symbol is fine, then by extension it should be fine for a lady in a cleavage-exposing top.
But there I go again, soapboxing and not even giving you adequate warning. Bad me! Bad!
Back to the book, then. There’s also news that some people from the High Crags will be here for hawking and hunting during midsummer, and Romilly’s STILL being tiresome about it. I mean, even though Lenka’s SUPPOSED to be a contrary bitch, I had to stop at some point, but this specimen goes on and on and on like the duracell bunny:
Romilly felt no such pleasure—Jessamy and Jeralda were about her own age, but they were like Mallina, plump and soft, an insult to any horse that carried them, much more concerned with the fit of their riding-habits and the ornaments of saddle and reins than in the well-being of the horses they rode, or their own riding skill. (Pg. 423)
To draw an analogy, I think it’d be quite unfair to think of someone as a weakling because they let their butler/chaffeur/mechanic bother with the intricacies of a car, and even more so to lambast them for not being able to drive a grand prix when their intention in buying a car was a ride around the countryside every weekend.
But that’s just my evil, misogynistic self speaking, eh?
Moving on, Romilly consoles herself at the prospect of having to WEAR DRESSES and BE A LADY by dreaming of how she’s going to go riding and maybe fly her newly acquired bird, and she goes back into her room but her riding pants are missing!
Oh noes!
Another thing I’ve noticed about a lot of said “feminist” books is that they hardly deal with the status of women as a whole in the society presented in the novel, and almost never portray it as a general movement across the population. Instead, it’s always focused on a single person, and often concentrates on the superficial instead of the underlying problems. Hence, Romilly’s whininess only serves to excerbate the idea that the problems presented aren’t challenges to women in the Darkover setting, but rather her own selfish desires, and as to the trappings of the problem rather than the problem itself…well, there’s a bloody undue amount of weight put on her riding pants.
Apparently, her evvvil father and stepmother have ordered Romilly’s riding pants to be thrown out, as punishment for her disobeying her father. Guess how she reacts?
“You threw them out?” Romilly exploded. “How dared you?” (Pg. 424)
“I can’t ride Windracer in this!” Romilly wadded up the offending skirts and flung them across the room. “He’s not used to a lady’s saddle, and I hate it, and there aren’t gusts or anything like that! Get me some riding breeches,” she stormed, but Gwennis shook her head sternly. (Pg. 424)
Romilly stared in horror at her nurse. So this was to be her father’s punishment. Worse, far worse than a beating, and she knew that from her father’s orders there would be no appeal.
I wish he had beaten me. At least he would have been dealing with me, directly, with Romilly, with a person. But to turn me over to Luciella, to let her make me into her image of a lady…
“It’s an insult to a decent horse,” Romilly stormed, “I won’t do it!”
She aimed a savage kick at the offending habit on the floor. (Pg. 425)
Before we start, though, I’d just like to slightly paraphrase that last quote:
I wish she had let me starve. At least she would have been dealing with me, directly, with a bird of prey. But to attack my mind, to force me into her image of a loving pet…
I’ll let you draw your own conclusions while I get out the pills.
There’re a few things I’d like to discuss here. Firstly, is the prevalence of pants in this kind of novel. They go beyond the ordinary symbolic crap, and are actually treated as some sort of holy grail for all enlightened women to aspire to, as if they were some sort of +6/+6 pants of awesomeness that gave you magical powers just by putting them on. And frankly, in the worst-case scenarios, some female characters DO have awesome ephiphanies just by putting on pants. Which frankly boggles the mind.
In short, pants are overrated. Romilly would be the person she is, pants or no. Romilly is supposed to make the pants, not the pants make Romilly, and if she’s so pathetic that not wearing pants would cause a complete shift in her personality she wouldn’t be anywhere near a strong character, would she?
Which brings us to the next point. Romilly has no pants. What does she do? She throws a tantrum, is rude and unfair to her nurse, and messes up her habit, which is the result of the hard efforts of so many people, from the weaver to the dyer to the seamstress. I’d like to ask you; is this what you consider to be a strong woman? It might be arguable that Romilly at this point isn’t supposed to be a strong woman and instead grows into one throughout the course of the story, but given as how she’s portrayed now, being all stereotypically tomboyish and anti-traditionalist and all that, I gather she’s supposed to be the “strong, independent, forward-thinking” type. I’d have been far more convinced of her strength if she actually did something, like surreptiously procuring a pair of riding breeches for herself, conspiring with others around the castle to let her go riding with pants in secret, or preparing such a moving speech and apology that moves her evil misogynistic father.
But no, she throws a tantrum, whines and lambasts her nurse, who had no choice in the matter. Great to be a grown-up woman, Romilly.
And finally, I cannot, WILL NOT believe that having your pants thrown away is worse than being physically abused. It’s simply insulting to real victims of abuse, and the constant attempts by the author to make me believe that Romilly is OPPRESSED and ABUSED simply fall flat on their faces and make me laugh.
In any case, Romilly continues to whine and believe that everyone hates her:
“I expected this of Luciella,” she said, “she hates me, doesn’t she? It’s the sort of spiteful thing Mallina might do, just because she can’t ride a decent horse. But I didn’t think you’d join with them against me, Nurse!” (Pg. 425)
Way to be fair to your poor servant, bitch. You’re not the center of the universe, no matter what the author says. Anyways, Romilly goes out the hawk-house to go and fly her bird with a lure, and there’s some crap about birds that I won’t confirm because Lenka isn’t currently here to putch in and I know enough to keep my mouth shut about stuff I’m no sure about. While the bird flies, Romilly continues dreaming about how she’s going to control her bird:
She stroked her again and again tenderly with the feather, crooning nonsense words of love to her, feeling the sense of closeness and satisfaction from the fed hawk. She was learning. Soon she would fly free and catch her own prey, and return to the wrist… (Pg. 427)
Fascinating. All that from a wild thing in what, three days? Two, even? I still stand by my opinion that Steven Brust is the only author I’ve ever come across to portray a BEST FRIENDS FOREVAH human-animal relationship to my satisfaction, and his reign still goes unchallenged. We’re about to end the chapter, but not before we get the obligatory “why am I not a man” and “men have it all better” monologue:
Why, then, had she been given this laran, since it seemed that only a man had the freedom to use it? Romilly could have wept. Why had she not, then, been born a man? she knew the answer that would be given her, if she asked Luciella what she would do with her Gift; it is, the woman would say, so that your sons will have it.
And was she nothing but a vehicle for giving some unknown husband sons? (Pg. 428)
To quote Limyaael:
The same phrases appear over and over again when Special heroines have fights with their parents, want to go hunting or riding, run away from home, or just mope about their Special lives.
“…just because I’m a girl.”
“Act like a lady.”
“I like a woman with spirit.”
“That’s nice, dear, but you’re not a boy.”
“Girls don’t get dirty.”
“Girls don’t do that.”
“But you’re a girl!”
My god, SHUT UP.
It doesn’t impress me with your level of creativity when in the background I can hear a thousand whining voices repeating the same dialogue and thoughts. And it makes even less sense that every single fantasy heroine, in worlds that are supposedly wildly different and the products of wildly different minds, would have the exact same thoughts.
Find a different way of expressing yourself. Give the heroine troubles that don’t arise from what’s between her legs or on her chest. Try it. You’d be surprised how much more “woman-like” the girls and ladies become.
By Danielle
on Feb 2, 02:04 PM