Feminism and Fiction

Betwixt my body image issues and the pervasive debates about feminism online, I realize how and why it's so difficult to portray women in fiction. Game of Thrones and Frozen are two of the works most highly praised for portraying women as complex characters in their own right as opposed to being a love interest (or worse, a one-dimensional villain) for a hero. Frozen and Game of Thrones also came out only a few years ago. This shows that, despite the successes of feminism in making the world a better place for women, the mass media still perpetuate stereotypes about women, even if they try to make a “strong and independent heroine.”

What Frozen and Game of Thrones got right about female characters is that, regardless of alignment, they have multifaceted personalities. They have more to offer than to be something pretty for a male hero to gain as a prize in the end. Being a complex female character doesn’t always require her to forgo traditional feminine traits either. This is somehow revolutionary in the realm of fiction, especially in mainstream pop culture. It’s just sad that this also shows what feminism tends to get wrong about femininity.

 In the past year, feminism has garnered significant backlash from a considerable faction of women in the Internet. The hashtag #womenagainstfeminism gained popularity in social media with quite a bit of help from BuzzFeed. This was in retaliation against misandristic attitudes from women who identify as feminists. Most active in Thought Catalog, BuzzFeed and Tumblr pages, these misandrists promote negative stereotypes about men, such as their penchant for abuse, rape, and violence in general. To them, men are incapable of affection and gentleness; and any woman who enters a relationship with one is either a traitor to feminism or doomed to an unhappy life of betrayal and domestic abuse.

Misandry means “hatred against men,” and there are many feminists who perpetuate this destructive attitude as an aid to promote women’s rights. But many women, especially those who are happy to be in conventional family life, vehemently disagree, with good reasons. They declare, “If advocating my right for respect for my life choices and equal treatment in business and politics means that I have to make jokes about violence against men; make hateful comments about their sex; and assume superiority over men, I don’t want to be a feminist.”

The same problems crop up in various degrees of subtlety in fiction. Emilie Autumn’s Fight Like aGirl album, based on her book The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls, has turned a tragic tale of abuse in the mental health institution into an allegory of radical feminism, to the disgust of female fans that are happy with their men. In a twist of irony, the Underworld series, Sucker Punch and, at a lesser extent, Taylor Swift’s music video for “Bad Blood” adopt the “girls with guns” trope as women empowerment despite the fact when it began as, essentially, action porn for men. If feminism demands respect for women, adopting girls with guns as women empowerment undermines this goal, as objectification of women is a major element in the genre.

There is also the faction of fictionists who take a different route. Apparently inspired by Xena: Warrior Princess, there are action heroines like Selene from Underworld and Katniss from The Hunger Games, who challenge the damsels-in-distress stereotype by wielding weapons and holding their own against powerful villains. Both heroines are not only fierce fighters; they are stoic and sarcastic. Besides their physical strength, their behaviors also defy the notion of the emotional woman.

I have a serious problem with that. While I understand that it’s clearly a reaction to the stereotype of a woman character manipulating others with her tears and acting upon her feelings, depicting an emotionless woman seems extreme. Not every woman wears her heart in her sleeve, but it doesn’t mean that a reserved action heroine ought to be perpetually stern or even borderline sociopathic. At least Selene gradually grows out of it when she experiences the joy of love and the fear and grief of losing Michael in the sequels.

Clearly written as a response to Bella Swan of the Twilight books, Katniss Everdeen is her exact opposite. Whereas Bella is gorgeous but doesn’t see herself that way, Katniss is severely malnourished and reasonably unattractive. Making her look acceptable for TV takes considerable effort from her stylists. Whereas Bella Swan is transparent with her feelings, Katniss is largely emotionless. Her first person narrative sounds like she is more of an (albeit spiteful) observer than a terrified teenager (unless she actually cries or becomes scared, which happens only a few times in the whole series). I commend Jennifer Lawrence for adding a layer of emotion to the character in the adaptation  (even though she doesn’t look the part at all). But I digress. Being excessively showy of emotion is merely a symptom of a usually bigger problem with a female character. But taking away emotion to enforce physical as well as mental strength for an action heroine seems rather shallow for me. It’s shallow because it doesn’t necessarily add to her character; it only reduces her femininity.

However, few people realize that about heroines like Katniss. Katniss has become the epitome of the “strong and independent female character” while female characters that still practice traditional gender roles are supposedly anti-feminist. Radical feminists criticize Molly Weasley for being a housewife to a man who works for the Ministry of Magic. They criticize Bella Swan for being “passive”; dependent to her men; and adopting traditional gender roles like keeping house and cooking for her father (more on this in an upcoming blog).

The problem with feminism is that it focuses more on combatting patriarchal oppression than celebrating femininity. It reinforces the idea that “women can be as good as men in everything,” so we must abandon traditional female roles and strive to gain success alongside men in business and politics, science and medicine, architecture and engineering, art and music and literature, and also in aviation and the armed forces.  there is nothing wrong with being a doting mother or a housewife as long as the stay-at-home mom is happy with it. Like all stay-at-home moms, Molly Weasley is constantly busy keeping house and raising children, including rambunctious twins Fred and George. In other words, it’s very hard work that must be appreciated and honored, especially by feminists.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with action heroines. Wonder Woman is a powerful super-heroine whose definitive trait is her compassion. But that doesn’t negate the fact that she will rightfully punish evildoers.

Beatrice “Tris” Prior from the Divergent series is a great action heroine not just because she can kick ass but also because she’s worked extremely hard to be able to do so. She’s special but she’s not the only one. The interesting thing about Tris is that, like Katniss, she is not particularly beautiful but that’s not relevant to the character. (This is one of the good things about Katniss as well.)

A heroine doesn’t need to be eye candy to be taken seriously, after all. Inversely, a heroine can still be beautiful but, like Wonder Woman, that’s not her most important trait.

Tris has fierceness about her, but also gentleness. Unlike with Selene or Katniss, the two traits do not negate each other. Tris never had to “discover the hidden softness under her hard core” like Selene or Katniss had to do because even though compassion doesn’t come naturally for Tris, she is considerate, friendly, and polite. The two traits are within her all along, as it is for all women.

Therefore, I would like everyone to learn that women are complex and ought to be written that way in fiction. We are indeed strong, but that can mean more than physical strength and combat skill. Wearing dresses and makeup, taking upon domestic tasks, or settling down does not make a woman less “strong and independent.” An ideal heroine is someone who can be any woman. She may or may not be beautiful; she may or may not care for her appearance. She may or may not be a combatant. She may or may not be a good person, even. But she is a whole person, nonetheless. The ideal heroine is one who feels for the other characters and what happens to them and her. She has dreams and desires. She has flaws and nuances. Not everyone might like her, and that’s okay. But she won’t take kindly to being insult or discrimination.

The Hunger Games Could Have Been Better If ...

Quarter Quell Tributes (L-R): Finnick Odair and Mags (District 4); Johanna Mason (District 7); Enobaria and Brutus (District 2); Wiress and Beetee (District 3); Gloss and Cashmere (District 1); Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark (District 12)

A lot of people love The Hunger Games, but a good few also hate it altogether. Personally, I think it's good but flawed. Disregarding the possible plagiarism from Battle Royale and Running Man for the sake of argument, I'd say it is a bold and intelligent commentary on reality TV with a good dash of influence from 1984. I agree with the novels' detractors that its biggest flaw is the main character Katniss Everdeen, whom I think isn't what her fans and promoters think she is. (More on that in a different entry.) Here are some of the other flaws that the books that I think a few tweaks could have made them better:

Prim as Tribute

A pivotal moment in the first book is when Katniss Everdeen volunteers as Tribute instead of her twelve-year-old sister Primrose. While this is a beautiful and haunting moment that cemented Katniss' hero status, her generally hateful attitude throughout the narrative made reading The Hunger Games an immensely unpleasant experience for me.

This idea is not mine; I saw it in TV Tropes' YMMV (Your Mileage May Vary/Subjective Opinions) Page for The Hunger Games. In the entry They Wasted a Perfectly Good Plot, a Troper suggests that a better story for The Hunger Games is if Prim enters the arena after all and Peeta subsequently protects her throughout the games in order to reunite Prim with Katniss in the end. This can effectively show how much he does like Katniss for real.

Peeta as Hero

This can work even without necessarily changing the story. The story goes as we know it goes, except it is told entirely in Peeta's first person point of view, which I think can make it more interesting. This way, we get to experience how Peeta fends for himself while Haymitch gives all his attention on Katniss. We also get to experience the jealousy Peeta feels when he finds out about this. Most importantly, we get to experience how Peeta fends for himself with his marvelous stage presence and clever nonviolent strategies especially the star-crossed lovers act that he pulls off with Katniss ... all without advice or assistance from Haymitch Abernathy.

This drew me to Peeta when I read the books. He played the games so well despite having zero skill in combat whereas Katniss was an emotionless sourpuss the whole time while being ridiculously lucky. So why not tell the story from Peeta's point of view? It would be extremely interesting to see how he perceives Katniss and the Hunger Games. On that note, we can explore his true feelings for Katniss? If he actually did have a crush on her, he initially doesn't want to take a step further and comes up with the star-crossed lovers act to earn sponsors and be close to his crush before his inevitable death. If he doesn't, it's all a ruse and further advances toward Katniss after the Games is a ploy to manipulate her to take care of him when he becomes incapable of protecting himself. Either way, readers will have a good reason to dislike Katniss: because the author lets them. Unfortunately, Suzanne Collins is apparently too attached to Katniss "Jerk Sue" Everdeen to give us a fuller account of Panem's second rebellion.

Prim as Mockingjay

The first book was good despite all its flaws, but I think it might have been better if Katniss did kill herself after all. Prim's subsequent grief will be her motivation to lead the revolution herself. I am now writing a fanfic to explore this concept.

Haymitch in the Quarter Quell

Another Troper in one of The Hunger Games' sub-pages in TVTropes.org points out that Catching Fire might have been more interesting if Haymitch entered the Third Quarter Quell instead of rehashing the Katniss/Peeta sexual tension of the first book. This way, we get to see Haymitch in action and the plot moves much faster as Haymitch knew about the victors' escape plan from the beginning.

Katniss's Attitude Adjustment

This can work if the first book stays as it is but give the sequels some major adjustments: specifically to give Katniss the character development suitable for a respectable heroine. If she's anything like Joan of Arc, Katniss will stop pretending she didn't mean to stop the rebellion live up to her title as the Mockingjay.

In the end of the first book, Katniss and Peeta threaten suicide in the Hunger Games arena specifically to show them that "we are not just a piece for their games." So I am mystified that, in the sequels, Katniss suddenly coils up in Catching Fire by attempting to pacify the districts as President Snow asks her to; and in Mockingjay by not wanting to have anything to do with the revolution altogether. Apparently, she behaves like this out of fear. While this is believable and realistic, it defeats the purpose of Katniss becoming a Joan of Arc figure. As this podcast suggests (skip to 8:14; spoilers start at 59:23), Katniss should accept that she did spark a rebellion and must subsequently lead the revolution to abolish the Hunger Games and reform the Capitol. It is what she wants, after all.

A Better Man

I think I share this opinion with a lot of Hunger Games fans who belong to Team Gale: Katniss should have ended up with her childhood sweetheart Gale Hawthorne. Isn't it obvious? Even in the first book, Katniss fantasizes being married to him but is only frustrated that she wouldn't want to have kids if only to send them to slaughter when they reach puberty. In the second book, she is devastated to give up the fantasy altogether in favor of pleasing the Capitol by marrying Peeta. Given that Katniss is consistently hateful and hollow, I didn't get to experience the transition in which Katniss slowly falls in love with Peeta. The whole time this is supposed to be happening, all I saw was Katniss being a needy (i.e. selfish) sort-of girlfriend who gives token acts of kindness out of guilt rather than compassion. In the third book, we witness a muddled love triangle taken out of the pages of Eclipse in which Katniss struggles to come to terms with her feelings toward Gale on top of the burden of being the Mockingjay and being severely guilt-ridden over Peeta being imprisoned in the Capitol.

I think this would have been better if Peeta wasn't forced into the affair and is killed off altogether. I know that sounds cruel, but I just didn't feel anything when Katniss claims that her love for Peeta is "real" all along. We might as well give Katniss what she's always wanted: a peaceful family with her childhood sweetheart.

Now, people, I know there are people who argue that Katniss was never that much interested in either of them. These people like to contest that Katniss is such a strong and independent heroine that she doesn't need Gale or Peeta—unlike Bella! Well, I would like to contest that in the next blog.

Maria Clara the Mary Sue

María Clara has long been identified as the ideal Filipina, and at first glance, it’s not hard to see why. Gentle and meek, María Clara would never hurt a fly; the closest she came at it was when she was hitting Crisostomo Ibarra with a fan, but that was a playful encounter. Devoutly religious like her father Capitan Tiago, she looks to the Holy Virgin as her mother, having lost her biological mother Doña Pia from childbirth. María Clara might as well be an avatar of Mother Mary herself; any scene including her would not be complete without description of how beautiful and chaste she is. “Everything about her breathed virginity, purity, innocence,” as she is described shortly before the end of Chapter 40.

But I beg to differ.

José Rizal’s Noli Me Tangere is better known for its legacy of provoking the Philippine Revolution than for its literary merit. Considering that Noli was Rizal’s first novel, it’s not that much of a surprise. (It’s nowhere near bad but it certainly has its faults.) Rizal’s poetry is better than his prose, I would say. His earliest ventures into literature was into poetry rather than prose, so I’m not going to take it out on Rizal for writing such a miserable excuse for a love interest as he had not much practice for prose apart from his journalistic undertakings in La Solidaridad. (I might be wrong, of course.) Noli Me Tangere borrows heavily from Victor Hugo’s style, as both Hugo’s and Rizal’s works incorporate criticism of social issues within the plot. Rizal’s text is mercifully fast-paced, but certain long-winded descriptions tend to slow it down. Such lines include anything with María Clara in it.

The idea that María Clara is the symbol of the ideal Filipina might have been a misinterpretation. Forty-four chapters into the novel, I simply do not see a reason why. María Clara is a completely static character and contributes absolutely nothing to the plot; she is there just for everyone else to fawn over for her beauty, talent for music (specifically for singing and playing the piano), and her genteel manner. If anybody else is not entranced by her, they are envious of her.

But I am neither drawn to nor envious of María Clara; I’m just irritated with her. Aside from everything I’ve already mentioned, and in case you haven’t figured it out yet, María Clara is a Mary Sue—a Purity Sue, to be exact. She is the very essence of goodness, to the point that she might even put Mother Mary to shame. For this, she doesn’t seem to bear any hint of a [character] flaw, and everyone simply loves her.

When I first encountered Noli Me Tangere when I was 15-year-old schoolgirl, I practically swallowed up my teachers’ biased interpretations of the novel. It wasn’t my teachers’ fault; I’d say it has to do more of the curriculum and the poor educational system than the faculty itself that result in misguided education in the Philippines, but that’s not what we are discussing here.

I remember feeling for María Clara as what was expected of me. Now reading Harold Augenbraum’s English translation of Noli Me Tangere, I couldn’t read a scene with María Clara in it without wanting to swear at the book under my breath. It’s true that “Clarita” never utters a foul word against anyone, nor even thinks about spiting anybody; however, despite having everything a maiden would want—a loving family, loyal friends and a devoted lover— whenever María Clara does or says something she would either be complaining or crying for no apparent reason. But hey, I understand that she was depressed when Ibarra was excommunicated, but that was no reason to have a nervous breakdown over it ... becoming bedridden with just a fever, not talking to anyone. She practically turned into a baby; crying was the only thing she could do. María Clara was probably the original emo character.

María Clara is also a Relationship Sue; she exists only to be Crisostomo Ibarra’s love interest. Without her, the plot would have carried on without necessary alterations. There is no conflict going on with her; she’s suffering, alright, but everything terrible that happens is completely beyond her control. Rizal could have given her a task she could handle herself, but he was too busy making friars angry by “painting” them as perverted tyrants in a pseudo-dystopian society. If Rizal knew that María Clara has no significance to the plot whatsoever, he should have just killed her “onscreen” in Noli Me Tangere instead of killing her “offscreen” in El Filibusterismo.

As for the notion that María Clara is the prime example of the ideal Filipina is nothing less than insulting to me. I can understand how being meek and submissive is ideal; it’s always been that way in patriarchal society. But I won’t accept it if it means being totally ineffectual with no dreams or aspirations of my own. If anything, I think the notion as mentioned above might have been a mistake. We would never know for sure what Rizal was trying to put off but a highly intellectual guy like him would more likely place strong women like his mother and sisters to be ideal Filipinas; considering that Noli Me Tangere was meant to be a criticism of Philippine society in under the Spanish rule, could it be that María Clara was also what the Filipina should NOT be?

Maybe it’s just my modern idealism talking, but I personally and seriously think that it was a misinterpretation. Somebody must have admired Clarita’s submissiveness and disregarded everything else. If you ask me, like any man, a woman should also have the chance to make something of herself in this world and not be just a pretty face.

If there’s another character that should be the epitome of the ideal Filipina, I say it’s Tía Isabel. She might not be the best character on the novel either, but she’s caring and she wants the best for her family. She might not be María Clara’s mother, but she cares for the girl like she’s her own daughter. Similarly, she looks out for her cousin Capitan Tiago and is not afraid to tell him off when he says or does something stupid.

Danielle de Barbarac a Mary Sue?

This has disturbed me since I read this essay on Mary Sues, which fleetingly mentions Danielle de Barbarac as a Sue. Although I could see that Danielle's character matches the qualities of a Mary Sue, I keep finding myself trying to make excuses that she's not.

When I watched Ever After in full for the first time last year, I was absolutely awed at Danielle de Barbarac’s display of wit and intellect. As a girl, Danielle grew up listening to her father as he read to her books on philosophy and science. Such subjects captured her heart; in the years to come, after her father’s sudden death, she treasures these ideals she learned in these books, especially in Sir Thomas More’s Utopia. In effect, Danielle grows to care so much for the peasants and outcasts, especially when she becomes one herself when her stepmother turns her into a servant.

Ten years after her father’s death, she carries with her these passions; this is perhaps what keeps her strong in life and work. In an effort to keep Maurice, her family’s oldest servant, she disguises herself as a “courtier” and impresses Prince Henry and his men by reciting: “A servant is not a thief, and those who are can’t help themselves. If you suffer your people to be ill-educated and punish them for that educated disposed of them, what else is to be concluded, sir, but that you make thieves and then punish them?”

I was impressed myself and after other similar quotes, Danielle gradually stole my heart.

For the rest of the movie, she keeps charming the Prince and also Signore Leonardo da Vinci with her witty and feisty attitude. Danielle might be unusually free-spirited for a 16th-century French woman, but at least it makes sense: her father was a healthy man who gave her access to heavy books. Besides, it is from lack of maternal guidance that Danielle’s best ladylike ways do not come naturally and have to be observed from wealthier women. This is perhaps reason enough for her not to be uptight or squeamish unlike her stepsisters Marguerite and Jacqueline. Danielle is fun-loving and adventurous like the present-day woman. She even befriended a gang of gypsies, who are considered outsiders who don’t deserve anyone’s sympathy.

Another realistic touch to Danielle is that, with her powerful ideals, it would have been more sensible for her to run away from the manor and make a life for herself. But she doesn’t for the sake of self-preservation (at least she gets fed and sleeps with a roof over her head) and to keep an eye on her parents’ valuable properties and the servants she considers her only family.

Danielle is undoubtedly a good character, but a Mary Sue?

According to TV Tropes, a character with Sue-ish qualities can get away with it if written well. Danielle may be incredibly smart and witty and “beautiful all along” but by the way she’s written out, it works.

Perhaps what ruins her is the climax, when Monsieur Pierre Le Pieu was held at swordpoint—his life in exchange for her freedom. “My father was an excellent swordsman; he taught me well,” Danielle warns the lustful merchant. Meanwhile, her designated love interest, Prince Henry, is racing to rescue her, but by the time he arrived, Danielle is walking out of the mansion completely unharmed, as a display of her independence. It would have worked if it didn’t involve a sword, because that seemed to have come out of nowhere. Danielle was supposedly eight years old when her father died; what self-respecting father would teach a little girl to do combat? He might as well have handed her a gun.