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February 02, 2006
Anne of Green Gables and the Feminist of Yore
My senior year at Covenant, I was given what appears to be the inevitable assignment of any literary theory course: write a literary critique of a piece of fiction using one of the approaches we have studied this semester. Being the bow and lace kind of gal that I am, I chose the girliest theory (feminism) and the girliest book series I could think of: Anne of Green Gables. Not too surprisingly, since the book practically douses itself in estrogen, many feminist critics have written about the novels; research material was plentiful and my own ideas meshed well with some of the things I was reading. I remember having fun writing the thing.
And now for an outlandishly brief primer on feminist criticism. Feminist literary theory is notable for many things, but perhaps the biggest three emphases are:
- as readers, critiquing the past misogyny of literature and criticism and redirecting attention to female authors and characters
- as writers, "writing the body," with an emphasis on the distinctly female biological experience
- on a methodological level, feminist critics are often very personal, connecting what they read with their own experiences and judgements of morality
Much feminist criticism has been critical, that is, illuminating past wrongs, rather than constructive (providing a concrete, reproducable model for how balanced, sensitive writing and reading can be achieved). Further, by nature of its intensely limited scope, it seems to be hardly an adequate critical structure when it's running solo. On the other hand, even the conservative Christian -- whose skin prickles at the mere mention of the word "feminism" -- may, if she approaches the text humbly, find a needed corrective.
My thesis in my "Anne of Green Gables" paper was hardly earth shaking. I simply posited that, contrary to the beliefs of my embittered guy friends, the real impact of the books was to be found in how it shaped my expectations of relationships with other females, not my romantic expectations of men. But the exciting -- and surprising -- thing about the whole role-playing/writing endeavor was that I apparently did not role-play/write all the way. Instead, as I reread the paper last night, it seemed authentic, a fairly accurate representation of my own opinions and concerns. There's no extended discussion of phallic symbolism, no sapphic interpretations of female friendships, and no final call for freedom from male tyranny.
But...it's couched in terms of personal experience. It's written in response to the dominant male reading of the text. It fits within a broad definition of feminist criticism. And I like it. It's livelier than much of my other undergraduate writing. It has a sense of personal investment.
I want to avoid a rapturous conclusion here that praises the (truly helpful) concept of "common grace insights" to high heaven, and I am definitely not angling for a debate on whether or not a method of "Christian scholarship" exists. I just wonder this. Many Christians are comfortable, now, with the idea that reading books by non-Christians can be a good (if not downright healthy) pursuit. As C.S. Lewis writes, in An Experiment in Criticism, "'in reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself." Can I, should I, then, also write with another's pen and yet remain myself?
(Follow the jump to read the first couple paragraphs of this brilliant scholarly work ;)
None of us really remember exactly how it all began. Some passing jibe, a snapped back challenge, and a confident acceptance of a verbal joust. But there we were, sitting in the local coffee shop, engaging in a particularly lively debate regarding L.M. Montgomery’s Anne books. These novels – for our purposes referring primarily to the first three books, Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Avonlea, and Anne of the Island – were girlhood favorites of all the females present. The guys considered this preference to be a particularly poor choice on our parts. The books, they said, were “sappy” and “overly romantic.” The problem, they told us, was not only that we enjoyed such sugary, “girly” books, but that we would expect the men in our lives to think and act like Anne’s Gilbert, a patient, understanding, loyal, and devoted beau who could articulate such sentiments as “Let’s resolve to keep this day sacred to perfect beauty all our lives for the gift it has given us.” (Anne of the Island 244)
Understandably, our group never arrived at a shared conclusion that night. But I began thinking about the “Anne” books, novels that I had not read since early high school, wondering how they had affected me as a young reader and how I should perceive them now in my stricter academic world. I disagree with those male friends more than ever now. While L.M. Montgomery’s novels did, to a limited extent, influence my developing ideas about men and romance, the real impact of the books was to be found in how it shaped my perceptions and expectations of relationships with other females.
Montgomery’s stories – her Anne novels and the romantic sub-plots involving other characters within the novels – all eventually end with the traditional heterosexual union of marriage. Strangely enough, however, these romantic relationships are not the ultimate focus of the Anne books, nor are they accorded the most time in her pages. In Anne of the Island, where Anne and Gilbert finally declare mutual love for each other, Montgomery devotes all of one and a half chapters to their romancing. And although Anne is courted by another persistent suitor through part of the novel, even handsome Roy Gardner takes a back seat to the relationships that Montgomery seems to take the most delight in: intimate female relationships.
Woman, Woman, Woah-man | By elissa | 04:31 PM
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