On females, femininity, and a few other associated ideas in the genre.
Standard caveat: think for yourself, blah blah, other people’s ideas no substitute for your own thought, etc., etc., important to understand that at some point generalisations must be made or else we’d never be able to have any sort of meaningful discussion, so on and so forth.
Now for the non-standard caveat. Firstly, I understand this particular topic may be a little more pointed than most, given the more sensitive nature of what I’m going to be discussing here, but I don’t care. You’re welcome to your opinions, and I’ll respect that, but I’d like the favour to be reciprocated. Secondly, the question might arise: since I do not happen to be of the female persuasion, what gives me the right to comment on femininity? To which I shall invoke Ebert’s Law, as well as the numerous times various women in my life have told me to “be a man”, to which I replied with the above, replacing femininity with masculinity.
In any case, let’s begin.
You may know that I currently have partials of Morally Ambiguous out with agents. Of course, there’s an essential editing and vetting process that goes before that, especially given the way I write, and part of this process is getting input from other people, either with the whole thing or through little snippets which can stand alone. One of the problems a certain person had with a certain scene was that it was (or at least, said person claimed) rabidly misogynistic: in it, Nodammo cooks an omelette and through the tomatoes used in the cooking, divines where the person who sold them is.
The problem? Apparently I am a rabid misogynist for having Nodammo cook in a kitchen. I won’t even go into the stock phrase which was used in the reader’s concerns, save that she was, at the time, wearing boots and still a virgin. I can see where the concern is coming from (and mostly laughing at it), but the problem was that said reader was focusing on the trappings of what s/he perceived to be the problem and mistaking it for the problem itself.
In any case, it got me thinking on associated matters, and below are the somewhat disjointed results. I’ll do my best to work out some sort of correlation between each point, but cannot guarantee flow.
1. Random misogyny is boring.
I think the above four words sum up this point very well. Like random racism, random misogyny is stupid, often very illogical, and very, very, boring. Like messages about racism, most messages about gender equality are the kind that don’t need to be heard in a speculative fiction novel—as I’ve covered before in my article on Issues, I’m not here to read your poorly-disguised pamphlet, and these messages have been repeated in the genre over and over again ad nauseum; it’s a made-up world, you can try something different. And like random racism, random misogyny is rarely explored in the depth that an important Issue requires—more often than not, it’s just used to identify who the antagonists are.
And that’s annoying. Given the prevalence of modern western morals, it’s an uphill task to make any randomly misogynistic character relatable, and most authors don’t even bother trying, happily chucking the (almost invariably male) character into a convenient antagonist slot. It’s a knee-jerk, like killing children, spearing babies and eating puppies are. The reader doesn’t need to think, all he or she needs to see is that the character doesn’t live up to our standards of gender equality and blam! Instant evil.
What makes it even more mind-boggling is when a) there’s no social/cultural precedent for said random misogyny and/or b) one is dealing with a species that doesn’t have much in the way of sexual dimorphism. At this point, it’s clear that the author is warping his or her conworld just for the sake of making an Issue.
Ye gods, I don’t have a problem with discussing your gender equality in your novel, but at least try to make it logical, vaguely new, reasonable, and deep enough.
2. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Once upon a time, there was this thing known as the fantasy genre, and it was rather well-dominated by muscled hunks saving helpless damsels in distress. Some people looked at it and said, “That isn’t right,” so they made some changes. So in the end, the ladies got some quite literal breast plates, swords of their own, and went out to kick ass…
…and get into trouble, requiring saving from muscled hunks. The trend’s continued into a lot of urban fantasy with female protagonists—which is one of the reasons why I don’t read very much UF these days, or at least, those not from my trusted authors list. All the men are magical private detectives with tortured pasts and are shunned by their magical fellows, and all the women are kick-ass ladies in supposedly dangerous relationships with strangely attractive men with extra big helpings of sexual tension, and get into situations from which they need to be saved by said dangerous manly-men. Of course, that’s a generalisation, but read enough of the big-name urban fantasy authors in the genre and a trend starts to emerge.
Talia Gryphon, Kelley Armstrong, Anita Blake, Patricia Briggs, etc., etc., I’m looking at you.
I don’t claim to be a psychologist, but there’s definitely a winning formula in such books; otherwise why do they continue to be written? Popular doesn’t necessarily mean good, though, and I was discussing this phenomenon with a friend some time back. She had this to say:
“I don’t know. Whenever I see this sort of relationship, if it’s a male character, I feel as if the female character’s being a reward for him. If it’s a female character, I feel as if I’m supposed to imagine myself in her place, which might work for some other people but doesn’t work for me. Either way, the results aren’t savoury.”
What I’m getting at is that if you want your female characters to be different, you have to make more than a few cosmetic changes—a simple role reversal, for example, isn’t going to be enough by a long shot. Which brings us to the next point:
3. The trappings aren’t the problem. They aren’t the solution, either.
Like I’ve mentioned above, Nodammo cooking isn’t a sign of her suddenly turning into a helpless damsel in distress. Nor is her choosing to wear a dress. It strikes me whenever I open a book and see the Mary-Sue character insist on wearing trousers, toting swords around and doing other activities commonly regarded (by modern-day western standards, of course) as masculine, that the author’s put the cart before the horse—these are the results of attitudes in the society the story is taking place in, and not the causes in and of themselves. So the princess insists on wearing riding trousers. Amazing. It isn’t going to do one whit to help the status of women in her society. Ditto for going hunting with the king. They do jack shit for the general status of women in her society, and instead is all about her, her, her.
It’d be nice to see more protagonists extend his or her concern of Issues beyond him or herself on a wider scale—but then, social movements just aren’t as exciting as big battles with the Dark Lord, and after the Dark Lord’s defeated everyone suddenly becomes non-racist/non-sexist/vegans/whatever. In short, just because someone decides to wear a dress doesn’t mean she’s being horribly repressed and that even if she claims to be doing it willingly, she hasn’t been brainwashed by the Evil Patriarchal System Which Is Responsible For All The Woes In The World.
Conversely, it’s possible to have all the trappings and still be shafted into the worst of roles. For those who have had the misfortune to have Richard A. Knaak’s Day of the Dragon or his other Warcraft novels inflicted upon them, you may happen to remember a certain Vereesa Windrunner. She goes through all the motions, beating up random drunk who leers at her and tries to cop a feel, la la la, being an experienced ranger (who fails to act like one at all), dab hand with a bow, la la la, hates the main protagonist (Rhonin) on sight, bickers, wears trousers, so on and so forth. Certainly has all the trappings. (Un)fortunately, she never goes beyond being Rhonin’s Designated Love Interest, has almost every single aspect about her centred about Rhonin, and in the later books is mostly forgotten about and relegated to popping out his babies (despite the fact that elves supposedly don’t breed very well. Wow, even Rhonin’s dick is amazingly powerful, hurrah hurrah).
The same could be said for Inheritance’s Arya—despite supposedly having all the trappings, she doesn’t have a role beyond being Eragon’s love interest. Arya isn’t expanded upon in any meaningful way or as a character in her own stead—she’s just an extension of Eragon.
Which is why I am so snide in Morally Ambiguous about the whole Ye Olde Warrior Princess schtick, which still seems more to me like eye candy for nerds. The problem back then with female characters in the genre, I believe, lay twofold: one, that they were too passive, and two, they were defined only in terms of other (male) characters. As Terry Goodkind proves, one can give a female character earth-shattering power and still stumble into the same stupid problems. You can make a Mary-Sue a princess, the most powerful magician in the world, the only female member of the ancient order sword to protect the world, an amazingly skilled kung-fu fighter—when it comes down to it, it doesn’t matter. Cure the disease, not the symptoms.
4. Your worth isn’t measured by what’s between your legs. And it works both ways, dear.
You see, I consider myself an meritocratic egalitarian. That means that I 1) do my best not to put people below one another and 2) do my best not to put people above one another. Most people get number one right, especially for “victim groups”, since it’s been drilled into their heads by society. However, most people don’t get number two right.
If you’ve read Lynn Flewelling, you’ll know what I mean. No thank you, history has shown that all war won’t come to an end if you do a simple role-reversal (Catherine the Great, Queen Elizabeth I, Margaret Thatcher, etc., etc., etc.), I don’t believe that a matriarchal society is inherently better than a patriarchal one, or that someone is better suited for the throne because said person happens to have a pair of lady-lumps and a port instead of a dongle.
I’m not buying that women as a group are somehow inherently superior to men, that they’re supposedly more in tune with nature, empathic, non-violent, spiritual, kind, have “natural” healing magic, so on and so forth. (Apparently, one of the reasons I’ve been given by a novel was that they give birth. Would someone at least try to explain this to me?) Then of course, the camera swings to the ugly, brutish, stupid men with their magics that scorch the earth and render it barren and lifeless, and the stereotypical fertility goddess weeps in despair…
Yeah, you get the point. Most readers are smart enough to call out the stupidity in automatically placing things perceived as masculine over things perceived as feminine, as in Robert Newcomb’s The Fifth Sorceress. However, in my experience the reverse is more often than not happily accepted, with equally sexist stereotyping of both genders given a pass.
It’s stupid, and it’s very likely that whatever message which the author is trying to pass across is going to fall flat on the discerning reader. One particularly virulent example is Karen Miller’s The Riven Kingdom: the Sue princess of a main character spends an enormous amount of time whining about her station, how she doesn’t need men to control her life, the fact that the evil noblemen and thinly-veiled Christian church are out to get her to marry for the kingdom’s stability, all the usual whining nonsense echoed by a thousand Sue princesses in a thousand other trashy fantasy novels. You’d think she’d know something about gender equality as we know it. Oh, and she’s going to be a good ruler, because she’s a queen.
Guess what she does when she gets to her supposed true love and proposes? States explicitly that she never intends him to have any political power, that his role is to be the father of her children, and that he’s not even going to have the traditional title of king—he can damn well be Queen Consort or something on those lines.
Can you imagine the shitstorm if the genders were reversed? Still, apparently it’s all happy and condoned by the author, because the one true love goes and agrees to it anyway, sticks with it, and from what I’ve heard of the next book becomes a nasty evil man because he wants some sort of political influence. Hurrah hurrah, and I fling the book across the room. Doesn’t help either that despite supposedly having so many amazing traits, she never displays any of them.
Valorising people for their genitals is stupid—_both ways._
5. Rape: Overrated and underrated.
As I’ve stated above, rape is actually a very common literary device when it comes to female characters, be it main protagonists, supporting protagonists or extras. (Good ones, of course, with a capital G.) The Dark Lord or his evil henchmen rape the poor heroine, instant sympathy for heroine and plot device, perhaps with a big helping of tragedy and angst thrown in for good measure. Or maybe a side character gets raped giving the protagonist a perfect chance to go out and defend her honour, or a little silent empathy. Evil father/uncle/male authority figure raped character when she was a girl, that why she ran away from home. Need an excuse to be a “fiercely independent” (a.k.a. neurotic) lesbian warrior princess? Rape!
Judging by the accounts of (confirmed) victims which I’ve read and compared to the way the Issue is handled in a lot of fantasy, the effects of rape are simply understated and too easily dealt with. To be fair, though, that’s the case with a lot of traumatic events in the genre—there are plenty of sociopathic heroes who watch as their quaint little village gets razed to the ground, angst about it for a few pages and then happily go on their way as if nothing had happened. Then again, the reverse does happen: if someone goes on to become a neurotic lesbian warrior princess who distrusts all men just because she got raped once, I’d suspect she has deeper issues than that.
What I’m getting at is a repeat of something I said in point number one: that the Issue of rape simply isn’t dealt with in a manner that does it justice. By all means, have it if you must, but at least put some effort into making it worth something more than a plot device.
6. Oh, wait, it’s the most terrible thing in the world, and your life is one big suck.
This is it, the last point I’m going to be making. Yes, it’s all very nice and well that you want to use your female character to discuss Issues pertaining to her. Fine. Very often, when the matter of sexism is brought up in fantasy, the way the author states it (or at least the way I perceive the prose) is that it’s supposed to be the most horrible thing ever. Fine. The problem is that sometimes this tends to skew priorities out of order.
Going back to the example of The Riven Kingdom, the Sue-princess is pretty much obsessed with being queen of the kingdom she’s ostensibly trying to save, so much so that the bitching is pretty much non-stop, with apparently no other reason than to feed her ego. Nope, not going to settle for second place and manipulate the sad little man who’s pretty much in the palm of your hand to do as you want. No, must be number one. Fine. The problem is that in doing so, she gives a fuck-all to the stability of the kingdom she’s heir to. Fuck the noblemen and the thinly-veiled Christian church, fuck possibly igniting a civil war, fuck foreign relations with the neighbours, fuck the peasantry, fuck it all, I must be fucking top of the heap because I deserve it for the bits between my legs. At this point, the author, who has been trying to convince me that Sue-princess really cares about her kingdom and its people, falls flat on its face—it’s clear she’s throwing them to the sharks to feed her giant ego. (Personally, I wonder why so many royal Sues have been shocked when they’ve been told by their parents they’ve been punted off in an arranged marriage. They’d probably have been expecting it from the very beginning.)
Compare this to Lois McMaster Bujold’s The Curse of Chalion, where the princess in a similar situation goes over a list of potential suitors, does a bit of math as to which is the most advantageous choice for her country, and makes the choice.
The Riven Kingdom might have a point, but it’s buried under heaps of the main character’s apparent narcissism, whereas I believe the latter example is the far more mature, responsible and truly looking out for the people. It’s, again, a problem of mistaking the trappings for the actual thing.
Even more laughable is when a heroine encounters the evil drunk leering men ubiquitous to every fantasy tavern, and the author leaves us with the impression that the evil drunk leering men are so horrible and evil they’re the worst thing ever while the author expect us to feel that way for the sake of making an Issue, conveniently forgetting the Dark Lord looming on the horizon. In short, priorities are being misplaced for the sake of an Issue.
Conclusion:
I don’t know about you, but all this fuss is annoying. I suppose it’s partly because the author often wants to make Issues out of the whole thing. Whatever happened to writing characters as people who just happen to be male, female, rich, poor, black, white, green, and their oddities just that, instead of supposedly being a stand-in for a whole social group?


By SMARTALIENQT
on Jun 17, 07:24 PM