Taking Note #2: Female Stories and Histories
‘Adolescence is the most mysterious and radical of time periods, and it should not be undermined or underestimated, especially for those on the cusp of womanhood.’
Our Spring Issue, Resolution, guest edited by Priscilla Morris, whose debut, Black Butterflies has just been longlisted for this year’s Women’s Prize for Fiction, publishes this month. And, March is also the month of women, with both Women’s History Month and International Women’s Day being important dates in the nb. calendar. In Taking Note #2, we are tying the two occasions together to celebrate the female stories, narratives and histories that make up our latest print edition of nb. Magazine.
Censorship and Female Sexuality - On the Banning of Lady Chatterley's Lover
It may not have been penned by a woman, but we still feel this novel from our banned books list, part of the ‘Resolute Voices’ of our Resolution issue, is an important aspect of the gendered cultural history of publishing. Lady Chatterly’s Lover is the notorious and erotic love story of an illicit affair between Lady Chatterley (wife of Sir Clifford, paralysed during the war) and the aloof gamekeeper of their estate, Oliver Mellors.
Published in 1960 by Penguin, Lady Chatterley’s Lover caused a scandal due to its racy portrayal of sexuality, class and gender. The book was infamously put on trial, with Penguin enlisting writers and academics to defend the book’s literary character. In the book’s trial, the judge remarked, “Is that how the girls working in the factory are going to read this book?”. Sensuality and sexual fulfilment is painted as a dangerous and corrupting thing by this judge, particularly for working-class women.
With the recent film adaptation of the novel starring Emma Corrin and Jack O’Connell, the story’s reputation of one exploring female pleasure feels like it has been cemented; a firm backlash against the original book banning.
Amplifying the Voices of Vietnamese Women: A Conversation with Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai
Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai is author of The Mountains Sing and Dust Child - deftly crafted novels which focus on untold stories in Việt Nam’s history. Quế Mai spoke to nb. about the voices that have been erased in the aftermath of the Việt Nam War, including those people with PTSD, women, and those writers whose work has been altered to suit the white, western world of publishing. Quế Mai is a fierce advocate for decolonisation in literature, writing her moving stories with an aim to share her culture, rather than alter it. She spoke of how the voices of Vietnamese women have been absorbed in popular culture into the Hollywood lens of American G.I.s’ narratives.
‘Many American writers have written from the viewpoint of Vietnamese women, [...] I needed to write about them because in existing Hollywood movies about women who worked in bars that served American G.I.s, they often appear as very sexual and dependent on men to rescue them.’
In Dust Child, Quế Mai’s two female characters leave their rural homes for Sài Gòn where they become bar girls in order to help their indebted and impoverished parents. The work crosses into the realm of sex work, and the sisters compromise their intentions and ethics in order to support themselves and their families. Trang meets the American Dan through this work, but the relationship becomes strained with lies and the effects of war. Quế Mai spoke of this:
‘I purposefully wrote Trang as a character who knows she has to save herself. I wanted to show that all of these characters have agency; they are not passive; they have the willingness to change their situation.’
Dust Child is a story that illuminates the trauma and ostracisation that fell upon women during war, as well as male soldiers, and the pathway trodden to eventual self-reliance and self-acceptance for those female characters. There is something deeply uncomfortable about how poorly American men treat Vietnamese women versus white American women in this book, and it feels like a breath of fresh air to see Quế Mai giving these women back their voices.
On the Cusp of Womanhood: Teenage Girls in Before You Suffocate Your Own Fool Self
“The wrong kind of pretty, the kind that’s soft but not fragile, the kind that inspires the impulse to touch.”
Our April Book of the Month is Before You Suffocate Your Own Fool Self - a prize-winning, original collection centring on female adolescence, inequality, and internal struggle, from the electrifying genius of Danielle Evans. A wry, incisive, and deftly crafted collection of stories rooted in contemporary America, Before You Suffocate Your Own Fool Self captures timeless and truthful vignettes of black and mixed-race characters who precariously straddle various social or psychological divides.
It was fascinating to transcribe Madeleine’s conversation with Danielle about her portrait of female teenage lives on the border - those individuals straddling various spheres of belonging. Danielle’s words tumble out, rapidly and illuminatingly, each thought seemingly formed off the top of her head, yet astonishingly remarkable and profound.
‘I feel like the thing that bothered me about those tragic cautionary tales was that they were often about trying to protect teenage girls from their own stupidity, and it just seemed untrue of my own experience of having been an adolescent. I think a lot of the worst choices I made, I made quite intentionally and on purpose.’
It’s interesting to think about the agency and calculations of teenage girls, so often considered the most vulnerable and, as Danielle points out, foolish of people. I couldn’t help but draw comparisons to the way Jeffrey Eugenides paints teenage girls in the infamous The Virgin Suicides - a classic of sex and suicide in the American suburbs.
Adolescence is the most mysterious and radical of time periods, and it should not be undermined or underestimated, especially for those on the cusp of womanhood. The way we socially perceive teenage girls is steeped in patriarchy, and we applaud any works of fiction that reckon with and challenge that notion. While this social group is less experienced and at times vulnerable, both these works tap into the deep awareness and connection with the world that young women hold.
Editorial Picks
