Thoughts on "Blame It on Feminism"

Susan Faludi's essay "Blame It on Feminism" helped me to better understand what exactly feminism means. (For the record, I am grappling with what to do with this word...does it belong in all caps, with a capital letter "f", in plain text...in the end, as you can see, I went with italics, but I am still not certain that this is entirely satisfactory.)  According to Faludi, "the point of feminism...is to win women a wider range of experience" (53).  She goes on to state that feminism asks two things:
1. "that women not be forced to 'choose' between public justice and private happiness."
2. "that women be free to define themselves instead of having their identity defined for them, time and again, by their culture and their men."  (53)

The second point in particular resonates with me, especially in light of the literature we have read so far in this course.

In part because I am sitting here now, reading, writing and thinking about things of my own accord, I can't help but consider the treatment of the women by the men in "The Yellow Wallpaper" and, more recently, in terms of the course syllabus, in The Handmaid's Tale.  Faludi's notion of women being "free to define themselves instead of having their identity defined for them...by their men" is glaringly absent in the aforementioned texts.  Though male dominance (to the point of misogyny?) is much more pervasive in the culture described in The Handmaid's Tale, there is undoubtedly evidence of a similar system of inequality in "The Yellow Wallpaper."  In particular, both cultures identify an inherent evil in the act of women writing.  Our narrator in "The Yellow Wallpaper," upon sensing her husband's presence, guiltily confesses that "[she] must put this [diary] away, -- he hates to have me write a word" (27).  Similarly, when Offred discovers the Nolite te bastardes carborundorum etching on the floor of her closet she remarks that "it was a message, and it was in writing, forbidden by that very fact, and it hadn't yet been discovered" (62).  In both cultures, men deprive women of the opportunity to express themselves in writing.  These women are thinking, feeling, living and breathing beings without voices.  And in a concrete sense, Faludi's expectation that women should not have "their identity defined for them...by their men" is violated by the very fact that Offred has been renamed to satisfy a man's needs.  With the act of renaming, our narrator's very identity is stripped away.  Now, I say the renaming is an effort to satisfy a man's desires, but I suppose it could well be Serena Joy who had something to do with this act.  Does that then make the renaming even worse if one woman, who happens to be in a more powerful position, aids and abets in the destruction of another woman's identity?  Is a violation of women's rights all the more wicked if the perpetrator is herself a woman?  It is too late for Jenny to right her wrong of standing idly by while the narrator of "The Yellow Wallpaper" deteriorated, but I am hopeful that Serena Joy eventually acknowledges that she has a responsibility to Offred to ensure that she, and all women of the world, have the freedom to participate in a "wider range of experience."

Thoughts on "A Jury of Her Peers"

I think it was Roald Dahl's Matilda that opened my eyes to the fact that there is point and purpose to the names authors assign to their characters.  As a young and impressionable fifth grade reader, I could not help but have a soft spot in my heart for the sweet and vulnerable Miss Honey, especially when juxtaposed with the domineering and terrifying Miss Trunchbull.  If, even after reading Dahl's over-the-top and vivid descriptions, a reader did not know how to respond to a particular character, Dahl would inevitably effect the desired emotional response with the simple repetition of his characters' names.

The same manipulation of reader opinion through the use of character names can be seen in "A Jury of Her Peers."  Although Susan Glaspell conveys meaning through names that are slightly more subtle than Dahl's, the effect on the reader is one in the same.  In considering the decisions of the female characters in the story, in particular those of Mrs. Wright, it was as though the voice of Glaspell was whispering in my ear: "Mrs. Wright is right."  Why would Glaspell have Minnie Foster marry Mr. Wright if not to show that the songbird of a young woman, now a hardened widow, is justified in her actions?  That said, if Glaspell does attach meaning to her characters' names, how does Mr. Wright, who is far from right in his emotionally abusive treatment of his wife, fit into this picture?  I suppose that Glaspell herself answers this question by repeatedly referring to Mr. Hale not as Mr. Hale, but as "Mrs. Hale's husband."  Despite the fact that tradition dictates that women adopt their husbands' names as their own, and, in an extreme interpretation, show that they somehow belong to their spouses, Glaspell turns this custom on its head by suggesting that Mr. Hale is in someway subservient to his wife.  If the same role reversal holds true in the Wright household, then the reader should no doubt sympathize with Mrs. Wright as opposed to Mrs. Wright's husband.

I am also fascinated by Glaspell's decision to give Mrs. Wright a first name of "Minnie."  The name seems to pander to the expectation that women are demure and sweet, as it is evocative of a woman with a slight build and a certain fragility.  Though Minnie Wright (nee Foster) does not occupy much space in the text insofar as she is never present in the live action, she is indirectly the focal point of Glaspell's piece.  Mrs. Hale, Mrs. Peters and their husbands are all trying to make sense of what happens in Minnie's house.  And, if the evidence is correct, it seems as though Minnie wielded the ultimate control over her husband by deciding where, when and how his life would end. Though Minnie may not be as small and powerless as her first name suggests, the reader's inevitable sympathy for this woman puts her in the Wright.

Thoughts on "The End of Men"

In her essay "The End of Men," Hanna Rosin suggests that in order to make up for male deficits in academia, "a movement is growing for more all-boys schools and classes, and for respecting the individual learning styles of boys.  Some people think that boys should be able to walk around in class, or take more time on tests, or have tests and books that cater to their interests" (Rosin 11).  As a classroom teacher, I recognize the importance of making accommodations to methods of instruction and assessment so that all students have an opportunity to succeed.  And in fact, in my ideal world, students would work one-on-one with a teacher to enable the student to dictate and determine the style and content of the curriculum.  On the one hand, it is especially important for all students, regardless of gender, to have this opportunity to succeed. On the other hand, what type of message do we send to young women and girls if only their male counterparts have access to these increasingly tailor-made and dynamic styles of learning?  And what would a teacher of girls do if she had a student in her class who demonstrated stereotypically male behavior patterns?  Would the same accommodations be made available to this young woman?  Or what about the young men who possess "the self-control, focus, and verbal aptitude that seem to come more easily to young girls" (11)?  Like we discussed in class, while Rosin makes some relevant and compelling points in her essay, much of her argument rests on generalizations.  While there is no doubt a pressing need to adjust the structure of our existing system of education to better meet the needs of today's students, I do not think these adjustments should be based on gender alone.