More, but not of the same

Orlando
Of the few shows I planned to see during the Fringe, Virginia Woolf's witty biography Orlando was low on the list. Until I noticed it was promoted in Jenner's department store window and that it had been awarded five stars. I don't often go on reviewers recommendations, but this time I did and it paid off handsomely.

Orlando was played by Glasgow based Judith Williams in bright crisp tones, easy to engage with throughout the performance. The sparse set design brought to life with lighting, projections and original sound track were all admirable and enjoyable. The costume design was almost the best aspect with an inventive changeover from male to female attire achieved with convincing effect. Conveying the main adventures in Orlando's long life in an hour was managed without diluting the impact of the charm and romance of the book.

Any performance in Edinburgh is up against the vast competition across the city and even five stars did not guarantee capacity audiences for this one, but at least on the day I went it was fairly full and very well received.

1001 Nights
Swept up in enthusiasm I agreed to accompany Sig Other to six hours of Alf Layla wa-Layla at the Lyceum. The Festival programme says of this production:

Erotic, brutal, witty and poetic. One Thousand and One Nights are the never-ending stories told by the young Shahrazad under sentence of death to King Shahrayar ... is told in two compelling parts each of which can be seen and enjoyed on its own; or see both in the same day and fully immerse yourself in these remarkable tales for a truly intoxicating Festival experience.

It was indeed an experience and one that's left conflicting thoughts. The first half was more brutal while the second was more witty; the poetry ran throughout this Arabic, French and English performance.

This is a wonderfully international production with cast, musicians and creative team from many Arabic and some European countries. It was written by Hanan Al-Shaykh who adapted the tales and emphasised their feminist message about misogynist men being made aware of their cruelty to women.

Certainly the first half amply demonstrated this cruelty, but the second half brought realisation and understanding to the Caliph and the other men in the tales. They resolved to change. 

Much was made of the tale of the five sisters who lived together, and their choice to continue so after marriage went wrong for all of them. Frequently, they were referred to as 'living alone' as if five people in a household were alone if there was not a man amongst them. This is similar to the old feminist saw of two women in a bar being approached by smoothy male with the opener "What are you ladies doing on your own?"  Apparently women in whatever quantity are alone if there is no male there.

Part of my conflicting thoughts are that I'd only narrowly agreed to see both parts and I wonder what I'd have been left with had I only seen part one. Overall, it was the correct decision to spend the day in this way, but I'm not sure I'll be persuaded by the enticement of a theatrical 'experience' again.

I was rather relieved that the comfort of the seats in the Lyceum meant I was not cramped and stiff by the end.

RIP Radical Feminist Pirate

We’ve lost one of our most marvellous feminist foremothers this week. Mary Daly died at age 81 after a long career turning the meaning of words outside in and upside down. A few of her books live on in my feminist library. Not all read and digested, but to dip into when I need a refreshing dose of mind-altering consciousness raising.

I was privileged to see her speak on two occasions when she travelled to the UK. Her use of language made her perhaps less accessible than some other feminist academics, but her passion inspired. As did her heroism in standing firm against the college who instead of treasuring her genius sought to stymie her every effort to prioritise women’s education.

The theft of her energies by her college is well documented and this passage demonstrates what feminists mean when they talk about male entitlement. This is it in operation when one egotistical boy pouts, stamps his privileged foot and is facilitated by the male (right wing in this case) establishment to get his own way.

“For thirty-odd years she has hung on by a thread to the academy -- a thread that has now been cut by Boston College, which has suspended her for her long-time policy of teaching only female students in the classroom (and male students in independent study). Whatever one thinks of her policy, the college's tactic is a little too transparently vindictive, as is the role of the Center for Individual Rights (the right-wing backers of the student who brought suit against Daly for discrimination). One does expect, however naïvely, of people who call themselves conservatives that they will have some sense of their own long-term interests. If they had been trying to prove Daly right -- by demonstrating the power of a stripling boy to reduce an old woman to dishonor and poverty with the help of a male-controlled hierarchy -- they could not have chosen a better tactic.”

The links at the end of this post give more detail of this disgraceful behaviour by Mary Daly’s employers.

Mary Daly was a feminist theologian. This meant she took her philosophy into the heart of the patriarchy – religion and opened it up to scrutiny using her gift for deconstructing language and uncovering layers of meanings, as this quote shows.

"Ever since childhood, I have been honing my skills for living the life of a Radical Feminist Pirate and cultivating the Courage to Sin," she wrote in the opening of "Sin Big," her New Yorker piece. "The word 'sin' is derived from the Indo-European root 'es-,' meaning 'to be.' When I discovered this etymology, I intuitively understood that for a woman trapped in patriarchy, which is the religion of the entire planet, 'to be' in the fullest sense is 'to sin.' "

When asked in one interview about criticism from other feminists she replied:

“Maybe they focus too much on criticizing. You know, it seems to me that if you spend a lot of time criticizing rather than creating, that suggests a lack. I do have critiques of de Beauvoir, there are a lot of ways in which I think she's wrong. And I've written about it, but I don't spend a lot of pages on that; I respect her for what she's done. So I think a lot of that [focus on criticism] is just leaning on me, or on any village guru -- and that's not what I ever want to be -- leaning on me instead of branching out. My intention, say, in writing Gyn/Ecology was to -- truly for it to be a springboard, say for example the Second Passage [Daly's comparative analysis of Indian Suttee, Chinese footbinding, African genital mutilation, European witchburnings, and American gynecology, with an afterword on the influence of Nazi medicine on American gynecological practice]. And instead, You didn't do it perfectly, there's something wrong with what you did about the African genital mutilation, oh go to hell. It's just a springboard! You carry on, when you have specific knowledge.”

That answer encapsulates the frustration I feel when I see women sometimes wantonly, ripping into other women’s work. This is the activity of the oppressed not that of (allegedly) empowered equality.

I read Gyn/Ecology The Metaethics of Radical Feminism when I was pregnant and two and a half decades later, I still recall much of it, such is the impact of her writing. It contains a valuable overview of how we got here and reading it, no one male or female can be left untouched by the harm caused to humans by unthinking, belief in the patriarchy. For me, this is the central message of radical feminist thinkers like Mary Daly; patriarchy damages all of us, not just women.

I've not yet read her later books. This is a project I may keep for some future date when I need reinvigorated and reinspired. As Mary said:

“You guard against decay, in general, and stagnation, by moving, by continuing to move.”

Mary Daly understood that change is not going to happen overnight and looking ahead to this century she also said;

“Women who are Pirates in a phallocentric society are involved in a complex operation. First, it is necessary to Plunder -- that is, righteously rip off -- gems of knowledge that the patriarchs have stolen from us. Second, we must Smuggle back to other women our Plundered treasures. In order to invert strategies that will be big and bold enough for the next millennium, it is crucial that women share our experiences: the chances we have taken and the choices that have kept us alive. They are my Pirate's battle cry and wake-up call for women who I want to hear.”

Thank you Mary Daly for your work and your courage and your steadfast feminism.

Links I’ve used material from:

http://www.boston.com/news/local/breaking_news/2010/01/mary_daly_pione.html

http://ncronline.org/news/women/mary-daly-radical-feminist-theologian-dead-81

http://www.crosscurrents.org/madsenf00.htm

http://womenshistory.about.com/od/quotes/a/mary_daly.htm

Filmistine attempts critique

http://dvdtoile.com/Film.php?id=16460&full_cast=1

The Book Group read Bonjour Tristesse a few years ago, and last weekend we had an outing to the Edinburgh Filmhouse to see the 1957 film of the book.

Total spoiler alert!!!!!

At age 18 Françoise Sagan produced this marvellous story of 17 year old Cécile on the cusp of adulthood, having failed her philosophy exams and spending the summer in the South of France with her father who was focussed on having bog standard patriarchal-type fun as it was conceived of in the early 1950’s. In other words he’d brought along a ‘mistress’ young enough for the average chauvinist while affable enough to be daughter’s friend and confidant.

Silly old Pa had forgotten his tipsy invite to a dress designer friend of the family. She arrived and things changed. Free spirited Cécile quite understandably resents being squashed into traditional upper-class maidenhood. Things get messy.

The book is great, but for once I thought the film was even better. Released in 1957, it is an example of filmmaking such as is not seen nowadays and not just because Deborah Kerr and David Niven are dead, but because I cannot recall seeing any other film scene where daughter is driving the car with Pa and chum inside on their way to a glamorous night out. Or driving round Paris in an open topped sports car with her poodle on her lap. I have to reflect at this point whether I enjoyed the cars, the Riviera scenery or the frocks more than the story.

The costumes altogether were a delight. Swimsuits before Lycra with a zip up the back, still failing to fit but looking superb. Kerr retained her cool crisp manner even in the Mediterranean heat, albeit with the addition of a flowered swim cap.
I realise I am interpreting the story at a distance of 50 odd years after it was written and filmed, and through a feminist lens. It absolutely stands up as a terrific example of young womanhood being forced into the straightjacket, that even now, some expect them to live in. And the resultant scheming that can produce as young women assert what little authority and power they can muster in the face of adult restrictions.

I won’t go into a whole discussion of the book, as it deserves to be read and judged on its merits. I'd like to comment more on the film, but as someone who is more filmistine than film critic, I'll leave it to the expert.  The New York Times 1957 review of the film is a gem. Read it and shriek.

Bonjour Tristesse (1957) 16.1.1958

Screen: Sad 'Tristesse'; Movie Emphasizes Novel's Weakness

By BOSLEY CROWTHER

ACCORDING to most of the book reviewers. Françoise Sagan's "Bonjour Tristesse" was an immature little novel, mainly a catalogue of moods experienced under the strain of a father-complex by a fairly precocious French girl. As a noticeable literary effort, it was somewhat astonishing but thin. The same must be said for the movie that Otto Preminger has made from it—with the astonishment excited for the most part by the ineptness with which it has been done. Almost everything about this picture, which opened at the Capitol yesterday, manifests bad taste, poor judgment and plain deficiency of skill.

In the first place Mr. Preminger, who directed as well as produced, and his scriptwriter. Arthur Laurents, have made no attempt at all to give a mature interpretation to the emotional whims of a 17-year-old girl. Mlle. Sagan's little story of a jealous child's willful move to stop her father from marrying an older woman by intruding one of his former mistresses is put forth literally as Mlle. Sagan wrote it, without any compensation for immaturity. The lack of discernment on the part of the author is carried over in the film.

The girl herself is a headstrong little vixen who stomps through the narrative scenes with an attitude of self-indulgence that inspires small sympathy. And in the scenes offensive reflection in which she thinks back on what has occurred, she is melancholy and self-pitying without sincerity.

The father, to whom she is devoted, is a figment—a shell of a man—a presumably charming playboy with no character or rationality. Why he flits about among women is never remotely explained. And the woman he suddenly aims to marry is simply a feminine facade that develops a final streak of prudery that is incomprehensible. These are plainly the creatures of a child's mind that make no sense in a presumably adult film.

What is more every one of the actors seems incompetent or uncomfortable in his role. Jean Seberg as the center of attention is a well-shaped but callow girl who reads her lines and takes her positions as if she were a misplaced amateur. David Niven is vapid as the father, with some thoroughly wretched things to say and do, and Deborah Kerr is in dire straits as the woman—the chic Parisian—who is beaten by a child.

Geoffrey Horne is oafish and stilted as a boy who has a brief yen for the girl, and Mylene Demongeot is flighty as the mistress who is dropped and later returns. Small roles are played with vain flamboyance by Walter Chiari and Martita Hunt.

Finally, with only passing notice of some crudely embarrassing scenes, we would say that this picture's chief pretension is the magnitude of its frame. Mr. Preminger has set the pipsqueak story in color and CinemaScope that show off the French Riviera more handsomely than a travelogue but smother the half-baked little fable in a mass of scenic cream. If Mr. Preminger thought to hide its smallness or disguise its bad taste thereby, he has goofed on the concoction. "Bonjour Tristesse" is a bomb.
http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=9C03E5D71E3AE53BBC4E52DFB7668383649EDE

Maybe it eventually grew on him?

I intend to look for more of Bosley Crowther’s film reviews anytime I need cheered up. I could also learn to write such stirring prose! As a final word picture, imagine Mark Kermode labelling anything ‘pipsqueak’.

Thursday talks

It is the Radical Book Fair in Edinburgh this week. The RBF is free and run by the famous independent Edinburgh bookshop, Wordpower and this is the 13th year of fabulous speakers and varied topics that I wouldn’t come across anywhere else.

I trundled off to view a documentary about the Angry Brigade this afternoon. What follows is apologetically ignorant comments I’m afraid. I know virtually nothing about this part of radical history, mostly because I was too young to know about it in the 60’s and early 70’s. I’ve heard of some of the groups involved, but could not have named anyone in particular.

From the programme:

This BBC film by Gordon Carr, first released in 1973, documents the events surrounding Britain’s longest ever conspiracy trial, in which eight young anarchists were charged as members of the Angry Brigade. Carr did extensive research amongst police and anarchists and the interviews are intriguing. Also fascinating is the film’s historical footage. It records inside communes, massive demonstrations and other revolutionary events of the time.

The film began very well with a reasonably coherent outline of the history of anarchy in the UK, and Europe, tracing the movement back to Spanish anarchists who sacrificed much in their fight against Franco. However, I really needed to have more background for me to have properly followed the subsequent history of who did what and where. The links between the San Francisco hippies, the French student revolutionaries and the London anarchist movement was gone over too fast for me to really comprehend and I suppose if I was interested enough I’d read up on it all.

So I’m left analysing the film through the radical feminist lens. No women were interviewed in the film. Women who were involved in these movements and who went to jail were shockingly still referred to as ‘girls’. The only references to the women’s movement were spoken of sneeringly. In its defence, I believe the film was not an homage to the anarchist movement as it ended up praising the police for getting to grips with these types of movements.

Anyway, I remain aloof from ‘mainstream’ anarchy, particularly the extreme libertarian versions as they are dangerous to women rights and largely anathema to radical feminists. If you are feeling strong enough sometime just search for these types of websites and see how bloody-minded they are about radical feminism and their beliefs in censorship of women’s right to bodily autonomy.

On the other hand, I do respect people who have political convictions and who do try to make the world a better place and the section of the documentary where communes were discussed was good. The film makers obviously comprehended the aims of the communes in the way the children were treated and in the efforts to free women to become more actively involved and to break down the oppressive nuclear family structure. Of course, this didn’t work and the comment that the police on raiding the communes were horrified at the standard of hygiene in the communes raised a titter amongst the audience.
Here’s some boy writing about it all in the Observer.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/theobserver/2002/feb/03/features.magazine27

I then spent time and money at the vast bookstalls, before joining with some old pals at a talk on Irish women’s abortion rights. Hint – they have none!

From the programme:

What happens when women are denied the right to choose? Irish law on abortion is the most restrictive in Europe and every year, around 6,500 Irish women travel to the UK to have an abortion. In this oral history, the writer and feminist Ann Rossiter tells the story of the London-Irish women involved during the 1980s and 1990s in the Irish Women’s Abortion Support Group and the Irish Abortion Solidarity Campaign and presents a vivid and timely contribution to debates about the Irish feminist movement in Britain in the late twentieth century.

Ireland's Hidden Diaspora - The 'Abortion Trail' and the Making of a London-Irish Underground, 1980-2000, by Ann Rossiter

ISBN: 9780956178503

Moving, inspirational and enraging. Politicians of all stripes in London, Belfast and Dublin sell women’s humanity down the river decade after decade and we are almost powerless to change this.

Women always are forced to give of their energy, time, and resources to help each other and over the desperate right to control our own fertility this is endless.

We were given a timely reminder that what was won in 1967 can all be swept away if we are not vigilant. For me, the only benefit of not being independent is that the forces of womb-hatred in this country would pounce pretty quickly to remove our human rights over our fertility-control. This is one serious flaw in the SNP and which will always cost them the feminist vote unless they ruthlessly weed out their reactionary and usually religious (of all flavours) influencers. Obviously the SNP are not alone in being infiltrated by the anti-choice medievalists, as these creatures infest all parties.

Ann Rossiter and her ilk should be awarded Nobel prizes for services to womankind and for peace and economics and all other relevant categories rather than overpriviledged American males (admittedly BO has done a little to correct the damage done by his predecessor.)

I think it is safe to say bodily autonomy is one thing that gets me riled every time.

Feminist Icon

Marilyn French 1929-2009

All of the wonderful feminist writers I discovered in my teens had an impact on my thinking and attitudes, but Marilyn French’s The Women’s Room was the most accessible. In later years, as a young mother, when I felt the parameters of my life had diminished to the extent summed up by the prominent refrain in the book of life being about “string beans and shit” I'd frequently mutter this phrase under my breath. Too many of us have had our own Norm (the main character’s husband).

After reading The Women’s Room in my late teens, I immediately pressed it upon a couple of male friends advising them that this would explain all the concepts I had been failing to get across to them about feminism. Naively, I assumed that because it contained the truth about so many women’s lives (although I admit we are talking white, middle class, educated, western women), that no one reading it could fail to understand French's stark messages about patriarchy. I had yet to comprehend the depth of (most) men’s and many women’s ability to deny women’s oppression.

20 million copies sold and 20 language translations has to count for something but as noted in the Telegraph’s obituary:
Some felt that her portrayals of men as prime chauvinist beef were unfair, but Marilyn French retorted: "The men are there as women see them and feel them, impediments in women's lives."
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/culture-obituaries/books-obituaries/5273331/Marilyn-French.html

Marilyn French has some of the best feminist quips:
"Men are victimised too. But they're not protesting. They're still blaming all their problems on women."

“Men’s need to dominate women may be based in their own sense of marginality or emptiness; we do not know its root, and men are making no effort to discover it,” she wrote in “The War Against Women” (1992).

I reread The Women’s Room a couple of years ago when the book group I attend chose it. It had lost little of its power and I decided to read it again in another ten years, but maybe not, in case still nothing much has changed in the struggle to end women’s oppression.

Moaning meanderings

The Parliament building has numerous quotes inscribed on its walls, however, none are by women.
http://www.scottish.parliament.uk/vli/holyrood/faq/answers/art007.htm

There are discussions now about adding a new quote and some some bloggers are campaigning to have a new quote by a Scottish woman writer. Sounds perfectly reasonable, after all there are dozens past and present whose work could provide as many quotes as desired.

This list contains many favourites, especially Liz Lochhead.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Scottish_women_writers

While I’m in moan-mode, I have to mutter viciously about the Gormley installation in Leith. I really love the Angel of the North, but are there no Scottish women sculptors whose work should be commissioned?
http://news.scotsman.com/edinburgh/The-iron-men-cometh-as.5063460.jp

I can’t think of any working right now, and welcome any info about current Scottish women sculptors. There certainly were famous Scottish women sculptors in Victorian times whose work is discussed in this document:
http://sculpturejournal.lupjournals.org/uploads/wwwsculpturejournalorg/gratis/2.pdf
I especially like the picture of Mary Grant's St Margaret and the Dragon.

I can't leave this subject without recommending Ellen Galford’s fictional sculptor in The Fires of Bride, (ISBN-10: 0932379419). The story concerns the exploits of the main character, Maria, a visiting sculptor who falls in love with a remote Hebridean-type island – the outermost island of the Utter Utters. The island is woman-friendly with a history of the Sisters of Bride worshipping the One True Goddess and women fighting off male marauders since Viking times. Completely hilarious and worth tracking down a copy.