Seriously?
So, I live in a lovely bubble. All of my friends - male and female - are ardent feminists. Offline and on, they argue for, demand, and make women visible, known, present through their crafts and through their being-in-the-world. I'm really fortunate that this is the case, and every term I teach, I'm frustrated that I have to explain what feminism is to my students, and that even the best of them will often say, "Oh, I wouldn't call myself a feminist."
This afternoon I was talking to a colleague about her work, which is on depictions of black women's anger in drama, and she mentioned some recent criticism of A Raisin in the Sun, which is a play (later musical & film) by Lorraine Hansbury. The article she was reading said that one of the main characters was spoiled, petulant, and not a good or deserving member of her family.
This doesn't seem like that big of a deal, really, except that isn't how literary criticism *works*. I'm a little sensitive about it, since English is my field, but one just doesn't say - "this is a good character, this is a bad character." In general, we don't view fictional characters as role models or someone that should be providing a life lesson to the audience. Because, you know, this isn't 1860. Or even 1960. We tend to talk about what a character does in a story, and how that's interesting. Not that it is good or bad.
But no, here it is:
"Critics have praised Beneatha as sassy, savvy, knowledgeable, and college educated. Yet, it is noteworthy that while Mama and Walter, it can be argued, progress and develop as characters in the play, Beneatha, in the directorial parenthetical notes, is just where she was at the beginning of the play, petulant and argumentative. The note tells us that she responds “Angrily, precisely as in the first scene of the play” when she yells at Walter, “What have you got to do with who I marry!”(150). Catered to by her family, Beneatha, even as an outspoken woman who represents what the future may hold for black society and education, is spoiled and indulgent" (19).
The article goes on to say that when Beneatha isn't thrilled about another character's pregnancy, that her reaction - concern over how they were going to feed and house another mouth in their poor family - "isn't normal"(14), and that her college education only helps her "to insult her family members, to indulge her whimsical fancies, and to incite rifts within her family rather than to build bridges to understanding" (6).
I'm playing some out of context theater, but the article also links the Beneatha to the author: "....Hansberry describes Beneatha
in this way: “[Walter Lee’s] kid sister Beneatha-she’s a mess. She’s me eight years ago. I had a ball poking fun at myself through her. A precocious young female, very outspoken, way out. Says things like ‘There is no God, momma. Shut up.’ I never dreamed of being a doctor like Beneatha, but I don’t disagree with anything she says” (X3). It is clear by this description that Hansberry’s authorial feelings toward
Beneatha are favorable and sympathetic..." (4).
What is troubling about this article, then, is that in its attempt to give a strong black female character in a very famous play a solid critical reading, it essentially criticizes the character and the author for being too selfish, too proud, too angry, and not enough of a peacemaker within her own family.
....And this article was published in 2007. 2007! SEVEN. Within the last five years. This is considered acceptable scholarship??? Lemme tell you what, this kind of action just doesn't happen when people are talking about fucking Faulkner. Or James Joyce. Or fucking Shakespeare. But apparently it still flies if you're talking about people of color, and especially if they're ladies.
And this is why we need feminism. Because this is as far as we've gotten, even with scholars who are *trying really hard*. I don't know Rachelle Gould, the author of this article, at all. But I'm willing to bet that she'd describe herself as a feminist and as someone very interested in race politics, if only because she's got an essay in _Reading Contemporary African American Drama_.
Which means it is a systemic problem. *bangs head on desk*
This entry was originally posted at http://concinnity.dreamwidth.org/56314.html. Comment wherever you like.
This afternoon I was talking to a colleague about her work, which is on depictions of black women's anger in drama, and she mentioned some recent criticism of A Raisin in the Sun, which is a play (later musical & film) by Lorraine Hansbury. The article she was reading said that one of the main characters was spoiled, petulant, and not a good or deserving member of her family.
This doesn't seem like that big of a deal, really, except that isn't how literary criticism *works*. I'm a little sensitive about it, since English is my field, but one just doesn't say - "this is a good character, this is a bad character." In general, we don't view fictional characters as role models or someone that should be providing a life lesson to the audience. Because, you know, this isn't 1860. Or even 1960. We tend to talk about what a character does in a story, and how that's interesting. Not that it is good or bad.
But no, here it is:
"Critics have praised Beneatha as sassy, savvy, knowledgeable, and college educated. Yet, it is noteworthy that while Mama and Walter, it can be argued, progress and develop as characters in the play, Beneatha, in the directorial parenthetical notes, is just where she was at the beginning of the play, petulant and argumentative. The note tells us that she responds “Angrily, precisely as in the first scene of the play” when she yells at Walter, “What have you got to do with who I marry!”(150). Catered to by her family, Beneatha, even as an outspoken woman who represents what the future may hold for black society and education, is spoiled and indulgent" (19).
The article goes on to say that when Beneatha isn't thrilled about another character's pregnancy, that her reaction - concern over how they were going to feed and house another mouth in their poor family - "isn't normal"(14), and that her college education only helps her "to insult her family members, to indulge her whimsical fancies, and to incite rifts within her family rather than to build bridges to understanding" (6).
I'm playing some out of context theater, but the article also links the Beneatha to the author: "....Hansberry describes Beneatha
in this way: “[Walter Lee’s] kid sister Beneatha-she’s a mess. She’s me eight years ago. I had a ball poking fun at myself through her. A precocious young female, very outspoken, way out. Says things like ‘There is no God, momma. Shut up.’ I never dreamed of being a doctor like Beneatha, but I don’t disagree with anything she says” (X3). It is clear by this description that Hansberry’s authorial feelings toward
Beneatha are favorable and sympathetic..." (4).
What is troubling about this article, then, is that in its attempt to give a strong black female character in a very famous play a solid critical reading, it essentially criticizes the character and the author for being too selfish, too proud, too angry, and not enough of a peacemaker within her own family.
....And this article was published in 2007. 2007! SEVEN. Within the last five years. This is considered acceptable scholarship??? Lemme tell you what, this kind of action just doesn't happen when people are talking about fucking Faulkner. Or James Joyce. Or fucking Shakespeare. But apparently it still flies if you're talking about people of color, and especially if they're ladies.
And this is why we need feminism. Because this is as far as we've gotten, even with scholars who are *trying really hard*. I don't know Rachelle Gould, the author of this article, at all. But I'm willing to bet that she'd describe herself as a feminist and as someone very interested in race politics, if only because she's got an essay in _Reading Contemporary African American Drama_.
Which means it is a systemic problem. *bangs head on desk*
This entry was originally posted at http://concinnity.dreamwidth.org/56314.html. Comment wherever you like.