Neofem: New Approach?

Recently, I found some social media commentary on a popular feminist trend called, Neofeminism.  I came across this term while scrolling through my Moment’s timeline on Twitter (via Amber Rose Twitter). I am still learning about what this effort entails, but I found it relatively applicable to the Wife of Bath's Prologue. There isn’t as much literature on Neofeminism as I hoped for, but I managed to find a broad definition of it: Neofeminism describes an emerging view of women as becoming empowered through the celebration of attributes perceived to be conventionally feminine…a female assumes or believes that females should lead and be more dominant in work, life, etc. than men…It glorifies a womanly essence over claims to equality with men (wiki, quora). A Neofeminist approach to the Wife of Bath's Prologue would support the representation of the Wife of Bath, Alys, as an empowering figure because her character asserts dominance over men.

            As we discussed in class the prologue reveals a female character that can be analyzed in different ways. The Wife of Bath is a complex portrayal of a medieval woman. One that is explicitly shameless about the way she uses sexual power to get what she wants. So, by portraying her in this way, Neofeminist would deny Chaucer is using the character to confirm negative stereotypes about women (manipulative and deceitful), but that she is a woman rightfully exuding her power in a male-dominated society.

            Through a Neofeminism lens, the prologue would be read as an encouraging piece for women.  The Wife of Bath would be deemed powerful because she is not only showing that she has control over one man but several.

 

The approach would highlight the fact that the Wife of Bath uses her sexual attributes for personal gain instead of focusing on proving her equal status with men. Her demeanor is one that emanates an authoritative attitude and reiterates the Neofeminist idea that women are more superior:

                 “At the end I had the better in every way,

       By trickery, or force, or by some such thing”  (408).

 

So, was Chaucer saying women are better than men? Mm.*shrugs*.

 

 

 

 

 

“There are fights no sword can win”: Catelyn and Sansa Stark as (Better) Representations of Medieval Noblewomen

If there’s anything A Song of Ice and Fire (and Game of Thrones) have, it’s a lot of characters. Enough to justify 25+ page appendices at the end of each book, and infographics across the internet for show-viewers. 

I wonder if GRRM has a wall of his house devoted to keeping track of this stuff.

Thus, both series include a range of female characters (though the narrative treatment of the women arguably doesn’t vary that much), fitting many roles familiar to us as so-called ‘strong female characters’ (I’m setting the critiques of that idea and those portrayals aside for the sake of this post).

Among the women in the series are many fan favorites and favorites-to-hate, like Daenerys Targaryen, Cersei Lannister, Brienne of Tarth, and Arya Stark. Daenerys and Cersei mirror one another in their use of marriage and childbearing to claim power in their own right—Daenerys as khaleesi of what will become her own (small) khalasar, and Cersei becoming Queen Regent over Joffrey, followed by Tommen. Brienne and Arya take the opposing route: rather than using their femininity to work around men, they forego it instead, dressing masculinely and learning skills only taught to men (fighting, swordplay, survival skills, etc.)

Game of Thrones, more like Game of "Who's that again?"

These are all larger-than-life women (and girls) who openly defy their societies in ways we recognize and love today, because the ways they claim agency are familiar tropes to modern audiences. They remind us of the Katniss Everdeens, Hermione Graingers, and Blue Sergeants of the modern book-to-movie machine. Because of the Westerosi and Dothraki societies they inhabit, they may not hold power in the way a man could, but they do hold agency over themselves in ways many of their fellow female characters cannot.

But, despite these characters’ popularity and their compelling narratives, the texts we’ve read so far—Chaucer’s The Man of Law’s Tale and the Encomium Emmae Reginae—don’t lead me to believe that these larger-than-life, openly defiant, openly powerful women were common in the actual medieval era. Instead, I think the characters audiences tend to overlook are the more realistic representations of female power in a medieval patriarchal structure. Particularly Catelyn and Sansa Stark.

Hard to believe there was a time when things didn't suck for the Starks.

In a 2012 interview, George R. R. Martin was asked why he kept coming back to ASOIAF. His response was—shockingly—long-winded, but within it, he discussed Sansa, saying,

“So many of the people dislike her because they are just like her—they cannot understand characters who do not fit into predetermined roles. Women in fantasy are allowed to be strong in only a few ways—evil seductress, tomboy lady knight, etc.—and it frustrates so many readers that Sansa develops her strength not by rejecting her courtesy or her traditional femininity, but my making those things into armor… Once Sansa’s [personal narrative] has been torn down, has been eradicated completely, her only narrative, if you can call it that, is a will to survive. By the end of A Feast for Crows, she’s seeing her world more clearly than almost anyone else, even if she’s basically powerless to do anything about it.”

Now, I wouldn’t say that she’s powerless, as both Emma and Custance were not completely powerless. I argue instead that their defiance can only work within the power structures in which they live. For example, Emma’s contract with Cnut, giving their songs inheritance of his English throne before his elder sons is similar to Catelyn’s working as negotiator for Robb (in his capacity as King of the North) to Renly Baratheon and the Freys. Custance and Sansa also follow similar paths, namely, being sent to marry men without regard to their own will. And they each go through with it as part of their duty, as made evident when Custance (sorrowfully) prepares herself to leave Rome (lines 264-271), and when Sansa is forced into marrying Tyrion. They then both manage to defy the systems in their own ways, without wild disobedience, but rather spirituality and courtesy—Custance remains a Christian, and Sansa refuses to kneel for Tyrion Lannister at their wedding.

Basically, in these kinds of distinctly patriarchal systems, women are bargaining chips, and from a woman’s position in their society, even a royal position, little could be done to change it. And while I, like many others, enjoy the narratives of women who openly defy that positioning, characters like Cersei and Brienne remind me of a quote from American Gangster: “the loudest one in the room is the weakest one in the room.” Because, by claiming their own power through defiance, they make one major mistake: they make noise. And in a world where women are kept quiet, making noise makes them fast targets. On the other hand, those who defy quietly, cleverly, and with courtesy—characters like Emma and Sansa—retain more freedom than their louder counterparts. 

Until they become vengeance-seeking Zombies, anyway.

The Pedestal Woman: The Man of Law's Custance and Nakaba Suzuki's Elizabeth

The two generalized bounds that women have been frequently categorized into within the context of medieval literature -- especially in the 20th century before the upsurge of women's medieval studies of the 1970s and 1980s -- are the "Pedestal" woman of purity and beauty but frequent passivity, and the "Stake" woman associated with wickedness and magic who are frequently active players. Chaucer and his Man of Law tell the tale of Lady Custance, which almost immediately reminded me of heroine Elizabeth Liones from Nakaba Suzuki's "The Seven Deadly Sins". Initially I felt it had to be some shallow level with which I associated them, maybe in their appearance, as they are both said to be pale. Upon further inspection, I found that both fell heavily into the Pedestal half of the dichotomy of women's depictions in story.

Custance

In Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales", the Man of Law recounts the tale of Custance, the epitome of Christian purity and female submission. She is a woman of high rank -- the daughter of the emperor -- but without any true power of her own. She is rarely described physically, but when she is, it emphasizes her paleness and light coloring; most of her descriptions focus on her humility, generosity, and other "Christianly traits". Her tale's focus in terms of her experience as a narrative demonstrates a great deal of personal suffering and traveling the path alone. And while the tale is focused on Custance, she is a passive character; when she is at sea, she is simply existing, and when on land events happen to or around her rather than occurring because of her own direct actions -- whether she is being accused of killing a woman, nearly being sexually assaulted in front of her child, or exiled from the homelands of either of her husbands, only God takes action. And men, but who really cares about them? 

Elizabeth

In Nakaba Suzuki's The Seven Deadly Sins, a neo-medieval story written by a Japanese mangaka, the female character of Elizabeth holds many of the same traits that Custance does. Like Custance, she is the daughter of a royal leader but has no direct influence in politics. She is also very pale, with white hair and skin, and blue eyes -- and while her appearance is much clearer due to the media in which she appears, within both the manga and the show her primary characteristics are emphasized to be her kindness, her honesty, and her selflessness. And within the story itself, Elizabeth is introduced as having traveled alone from the capital whilst being pursued by kidnappers and assailants on her family, much as Custance's harrowing sea travels and trials with being assaulted. Despite this very active role pre-story, Elizabeth takes very little action through the rest of the series: other characters (including a few women) take on the tasks of fighting battles, working jobs, and developing their personalities, while Elizabeth is portrayed as a pure-hearted and beautiful young woman, but is time and again unable to take on an active role within the cast.

While a little surprising -- primarily because The Seven Deadly Sins has some major female characters who aren't bound by the dichotomy like Elizabeth is -- in the end I found that it made a lot of sense for Elizabeth and Custance both to be a part of this Pedestal Woman portrayal because over time, the Pedestal Woman has become an archetype. Characters like the damsel in distress and the pure-hearted heroine have become such a prevalent feature of women's representation in storytelling that even now we tend to fall back on it. By no means do I find this satisfying -- I personally detested much of Elizabeth's characterization solely because of her lack of action -- but now that I understand why Elizabeth- and Custance-type exist, I find it makes them more bearable.