It's finals week, and my lucky professor has a rant on feminist literary theory waiting for him. I got so personally invested in it, I decided to immortalize it here for posterity.
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In “When We Dead Awaken: Writing as Re-Vision,” Adrienne Rich argues that revision is necessary in order for women to find their place in the canon of literature. The problem with this statement rests in three underlying assumptions: First, that women cannot relate to the experiences their male counterparts describe; second, that the existing depictions of women in literature are weak and unrealistic; and third, that dwelling on this perceived disunity will somehow promote efforts to create unity.
Writing about the literary potential of the twentieth century, Rich anticipates that “at this moment for women writers in particular, there is the challenge and promise of a whole new psychic geography to be explored” (513). Rich conflates the distinction between universal realities and particular experiences. Is it really the case that men’s description of the human condition is unhelpful because it is not comprehensive? For example, one of the most universal experiences for humans is the case of falling in love. Outward factors and circumstances may vary between individuals, but everybody, regardless of gender, race, age, etc. is capable of synthesizing these experiences and thereby identifying the overarching phenomenon. Instead, by creating a fundamental dichotomy between male and female versions of the of same experience, feminists such as Rich wander dangerously close to erasing any concept of the human condition. There is no longer a single, unifying constant which brings mankind together
The second flaw is Rich’s characterization of the female presence in western literature. In western literature, a woman “meets the image of Woman in books written by men. She finds a terror and a dream, she finds a beautiful pale face, she finds La Belle Dame Sans Merci, she finds Juliet or Tess or Salome” (516). Here, Rich purposefully lists a string of pathetic (not tragic) heroines. While including Shakespeare, Rich could just as easily have mentioned Beatrice, Portia, or one of the Wives of Windsor. Instead, however, she picked an example of teenage melodrama. If Rich is to gloss over such characters as Antigone, Beatrice, and Helen because they are not relatable versions of womanhood, she must also dismiss Odysseus, Beowulf, and Arthur because they are idealized portraits of men as well. Meanwhile, Rich neglects to mention later, better-rounded examples of women whose actions directly challenge the behavior of the men surrounding them, such as Jane Eyre or Elizabeth Bennet.
Finally, Rich argues that painstaking revision (or the act of identifying female oppression in male-dominated literature) is necessary in order to move forward. “Re-vision-,” she writes, “the act of looking back, of seeing with fresh eyes, of entering an old text from a new critical direction – is for women more than a chapter in cultural history: it is an act of survival” (512). By calling for a separate, female-oriented body of literature, Rich adopts the same mindset she accuses male writers of implementing: One-sided perspective. While it is necessary to address the faults of the past in order to effectively move forward, it is very easy to make the mistake of defining oneself by these problems. By understanding women as victims of patriarchy, Rich paints a reactionary image of femininity. The basis of a correct understanding of man- or woman-hood is by first understanding humanity. Variables such as gender and race add further depth.
Revision is not the answer to female oppression in literature. Instead, by searching for the common, universally-applicable threads of humanity, readers discover the shared dignity men and women can enjoy in creation.
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In “When We Dead Awaken: Writing as Re-Vision,” Adrienne Rich argues that revision is necessary in order for women to find their place in the canon of literature. The problem with this statement rests in three underlying assumptions: First, that women cannot relate to the experiences their male counterparts describe; second, that the existing depictions of women in literature are weak and unrealistic; and third, that dwelling on this perceived disunity will somehow promote efforts to create unity.
Writing about the literary potential of the twentieth century, Rich anticipates that “at this moment for women writers in particular, there is the challenge and promise of a whole new psychic geography to be explored” (513). Rich conflates the distinction between universal realities and particular experiences. Is it really the case that men’s description of the human condition is unhelpful because it is not comprehensive? For example, one of the most universal experiences for humans is the case of falling in love. Outward factors and circumstances may vary between individuals, but everybody, regardless of gender, race, age, etc. is capable of synthesizing these experiences and thereby identifying the overarching phenomenon. Instead, by creating a fundamental dichotomy between male and female versions of the of same experience, feminists such as Rich wander dangerously close to erasing any concept of the human condition. There is no longer a single, unifying constant which brings mankind together
The second flaw is Rich’s characterization of the female presence in western literature. In western literature, a woman “meets the image of Woman in books written by men. She finds a terror and a dream, she finds a beautiful pale face, she finds La Belle Dame Sans Merci, she finds Juliet or Tess or Salome” (516). Here, Rich purposefully lists a string of pathetic (not tragic) heroines. While including Shakespeare, Rich could just as easily have mentioned Beatrice, Portia, or one of the Wives of Windsor. Instead, however, she picked an example of teenage melodrama. If Rich is to gloss over such characters as Antigone, Beatrice, and Helen because they are not relatable versions of womanhood, she must also dismiss Odysseus, Beowulf, and Arthur because they are idealized portraits of men as well. Meanwhile, Rich neglects to mention later, better-rounded examples of women whose actions directly challenge the behavior of the men surrounding them, such as Jane Eyre or Elizabeth Bennet.
Finally, Rich argues that painstaking revision (or the act of identifying female oppression in male-dominated literature) is necessary in order to move forward. “Re-vision-,” she writes, “the act of looking back, of seeing with fresh eyes, of entering an old text from a new critical direction – is for women more than a chapter in cultural history: it is an act of survival” (512). By calling for a separate, female-oriented body of literature, Rich adopts the same mindset she accuses male writers of implementing: One-sided perspective. While it is necessary to address the faults of the past in order to effectively move forward, it is very easy to make the mistake of defining oneself by these problems. By understanding women as victims of patriarchy, Rich paints a reactionary image of femininity. The basis of a correct understanding of man- or woman-hood is by first understanding humanity. Variables such as gender and race add further depth.
Revision is not the answer to female oppression in literature. Instead, by searching for the common, universally-applicable threads of humanity, readers discover the shared dignity men and women can enjoy in creation.
