A True Autobiography

            When I picture an autobiography, I see one thing: a thick, hard-covered book with roughly cut linen pages, a pensive, artistically angled portrait adorning the front cover.  The title is short but impactful, usually involving such words as ‘life’ or ‘journey’ or 'dreams.'

Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic is the exact opposite—her autobiography is a graph novel, the front cover illustrated and the words ‘home’ and ‘family’ taking center stage.   It is not illogical, as a reader, to ask why. Why did Bechdel choose to use not only words, but images as her medium for sharing her story and her family’s story?

There are many possible answers to this question, of course, and the reader can only attempt to discover Bechdel’s true meaning.  It is possible that she looks back on her childhood as somewhat farcical—thus, the comic book type layout.  Or, perhaps, she is simply an artist, and pictures are an easier way for her to express her memories.

            To me, however, Bechdel’s choice of genre provides yet another theme, one closely linked to the other paradoxical elements of the book.  It is clear to readers that Bechdel’s life has been littered with emotional challenges; her parents—especially her father—were often distant, emotionally absent.  Her father’s sexuality results in normally straightforward relationships becoming more complicated, and she herself must come to terms with her sexual identity and medical conditions.  Despite everything, Bechdel did find her true self, and she does not look back on her youth with complete disdain.  In fact, as she grew older, she developed a better relationship with her father, so much so that a family friend even remarks about their “unusual closeness” (225).

            There is, however, some lingering doubt and unanswered questions, and Bechdel’s use of the graphic novel genre allows this to come through.  Reading this book by the textual content only—without the pictures and their corresponding speech bubbles and annotations—paints a much more emotional picture.  It is much easier, this way, to pick up on the anger, the sadness, the bitterness, the excitement, the regret, the passion, and the love when reading the words alone.  This makes sense—it allows the readers mind to paint a picture.  The actual pictures, however, represent an entirely different view.  From the first page to the last, the facial expressions on the characters rarely change; Bechdel’s face, her mother’s, and especially her father’s display minimal variability of emotion.  The pictures are black and white, almost sepia in tone, which creates a monotone type mood, and they create a distant, almost fictional relationship between the story and its players.

            And so, despite the fact that Bechdel has clearly been her own person, and has found an identity in which she can live truly, the use of words and pictures together represents a lingering reticence to be entirely certain in her memories.  It provides a way of reconciling the good with the bad, the truths with the perceptions, the normal with the illogical, so that Bechdel’s story does not just become a written record, but a dynamic and true representation of her own perspective.

            Is that not the truest nature of an autobiography?

Breaking the Cycle

In Alison Bechdel’s life, which she chronicles in Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic, there exist many questions that do not have straightforward answers.  As a child, and through her later adolescence, Bechdel dealt with emotional and medical challenges that contribute to the recurring theme of circles and cycles, ones common in literature, throughout her autobiography.

While some of the cyclically thematic symbols are predominant and archetypal, such as the serpent that may have been a factor in her father’s death, others, like Bechdel’s battle with obsessive-compulsive disorder, are less so.  However, this illness is an integral part of her story and one of the many revolving tribulations that she faced. Obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) is characterized by a cyclic pattern of thinking that both causes and temporarily relieves the anxiety of an afflicted individual.  The repeated thoughts, and the extensive compulsions done to relieve the anxiety that they cause, can have a torturous effect, leading to feelings of having no control and being trapped or frozen within a circumstance. 

In Chapter 5, The Canary Colored Caravan, Bechdel describes the onset of her symptoms, at age 10.  At times, her compulsions included counting; certain events had to occur an even number of times.  Later, she dealt with feelings of being surrounded by contaminated air, and she had certain rituals that had to take place at the end of each day.  All of these aspects of her illness fed into her patterns, what Bechdel describes as a “self-soothing, autistic loop” (139). 

However, as was the case throughout her life, Alison Bechdel persevered and broke the cycle.  By keeping a diary, and eventually allowing her mother to do the actual writing, the author beats her illness.  The self-imposed structure that Bechdel created is reminiscent of the cognitive behavioral therapy known to be highly effective in treating OCD; it forces a person to habituate to their anxiety, because the body cannot sustain such a high degree of apprehension for an extended period of time. 

And so, despite the connections between Bechdel and her father, especially as she grew older, one of the ways in which their lives were so disparate is born out of this theme—while Bechdel broke free of so many restrictions and changed the progression of events in her life, and came into a true and open identity, her father never did.  He remained within the patterns of deceit and hidden truths; even in his death, he remains stuck, as Bechdel illustrates, within a certain radius of where he was born and where he lived.  She notes that living in a bigger city, a different place might have “saved” him, but that in fact, her “father’s life was a solipsistic circle of self” (140).  He never escaped, but Alison Bechdel did, to tell her story and live her truth outside of the never-ending constraints of her early years.

A Biography of Books

As much as Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic is an autobiography that details above all else the impact of her relationship with her father, it is also very much a biography of her relationship with books—whether of mythology, classic literature, or drama—and the way in which they symbolized her family dynamic and influenced her personal identity development.

Bechdel grew up in a small town, or hamlet, as she describes it, in which her father had purchased and was restoring an old mansion; this work, although not his full time job, “was his passion….in every sense of the word” (7).   But her father’s personality and tendencies—which ranged from abusive to passive to illegal—went far beyond an obsession with restoring an old house and had a deep influence on Bechdel’s adolescence. 

As she describes her home life, her childhood, her college years, and her discovery of her sexual identity, she uses references to authors, mythological creatures, and characters in plays to describe her father’s behavior, her parent’s relationship, and her own relationship to her father, her mother, and her home.  She talks of mythical legends—Icarus, Daedalus, Sisyphus—even in their literary incarnations, and of authors.  In the case of Sisyphus, of course, she refers to Albert Camus and The Myth of Sisyphus, but she talks also of F. Scott Fitzergerald and The Great Gatsby, Proust, and others.  She refers to plays—The Taming of the Shrew and others in which her mother performs.    

While all of these works have thematic elements that were significant to Bechdel’s life—punishment, death, memory, identity, coming-of-age, this, to me, was not the most striking symbolism. In the first several chapters, all of Bechdel’s references are to works of fiction; this conveys that she remembers her childhood with detachment from reality.  She notes, for example, her father’s external appearance as “an ideal husband and father” (17), despite the strict, nearly obsessive standards to which he held his family at home.  In a sense, Bechdel seemed to feel as though she were growing up in her father’s own story, a story in which both he and her mother were most comfortable in roles outside of their reality.

It becomes particularly interesting, then, to note the paths Bechdel travelled to come into her own identity, particularly her sexual identity.  This process still takes place through the medium of writing—she reads numerous books about homosexuality (she also reads some about obsessive compulsive disorder).  However, whereas her childhood was surrounded by illusion, and perceived versions of reality, her later life is portrayed as much more real, and even, in some ways, a bit scientific.  Beyond the works related to feminism and lesbianism, many of Bechdel’s ‘identity epiphanies’ resulted from consultations to the dictionary, a book of pure definition.  The dictionary is Spartan in comparison to literature; Bechdel decided early on in life that she would live sparsely, in comparison to her father’s luxurious Athenian tendencies.  While this does allude to the times of mythology previously referenced, it reflects her deep-seated reactions to her upbringing.

~~~

In the last chapter of Fun Home, the father-daughter relationship does seem to improve; it is ironic, however, that the one moment in which Alison and Bruce Bechdel really seem to connect, on the same level—in the car, on the way to the movies—the author experiences a sort of role reversal, an event I look forward to exploring further in reading and discussion.

The Butterflies

Julia Alvarez has said that one of the things that interested her while she was writing the novel was the question, ‘What politicizes a person? What makes a revolutionary risk everything for a certain cause? Alvarez has also said that one of the things she learned that what politicizes each person is different, and surprisingly, it’s not always a big idealistic cause or idea. What do you think ultimately politicizes the Mirabal sisters, including, ultimately, Dedé?

 

As the readers learn early on in Julia Alvarez’s In the Time of the Butterflies—and as those who knew them in life likely knew as well—each of the Mirabal sisters is immensely different in their approach to encountering the world, despite the subtle similarities that exist between them. It is not surprising, then, that the changes that Patria, Minerva, Dedé and Mate undergo are equally as based in varying motivating factors.  In class on Friday, we talked about these changes, and what in particular inspired each girl to make the decisions that she did.  Ultimately, in response to the above question, I would argue that the same motivating factors for change are what politicized each of the sisters, respectively.

Let’s start with Minerva: Minerva, as she is portrayed in the book, is the rebel-at-heart, the front line fighter, the face of the fight.  Despite the fact that her efforts are clearly targeted at the Trujillo regime, Minerva’s actions are largely based on principle.  Even in the first scene of the book that takes places prior to 1994, her resolve and unorthodox perspective is demonstrated in the words exchanged between her and Mama:

“Ay dios mio, spare me.” Mama sighs, but playfulness has come back into her voice. “Just what we need, skirts in the law.”

“It is just what this country needs.”  Minerva’s voice has the steely sureness it gets whenever she talks politics…. “It’s about time we women had a voice in running our country” (10).

She is, without a doubt, the revolutionary of the sisters.

Mate¸ who is, on the surface, the most similar to Minerva in actions, is not as much of a true rebel by nature.  As was discussed in class, Mate is inspired by people—as the youngest of the four girls, she looks up to her big sisters, Minerva in particular—and always has that curiosity and eagerness to be involved with what is going on. It is, therefore, Minerva’s involvement in the resistance movement that brings Mate into it—that politicizes her, so to speak.  But Mate, who outwardly seems the most influenced by the ideas of falling in love, of flirting and seeking out men, is also intrigued and pulled in by Leandro, who becomes her husband.  When he arrives at her apartment for the first time, she is taken.  Like with Minerva, Mate wants to be involved in whatever it is that he is taking part in, as she shows, saying after his first departure, “I didn’t know what us he was talking about, but I knew right then and there, I wanted to be a part of whatever it was” (142).

Mate is, in a sense, the impressionable of the four.

Patria is politicized and motivated by events, direct occurrences that she witnesses first hand.  While, again, Minerva might have been willing to fight for any cause she believed in or that was opposing the institution, Patria truly buys into her role after witnessing the brutal murder of a young boy in the mountains.  She has gone on a retreat with other members of her family when a horrific scene unfolds, as bombing and gunfire breaks out and a young boy is killed right in front her.  After this, Patria is changed.  She narrates, “Coming down the mountain, I was a changed woman. I may have worn the same sweet face, but now I was carrying not just my child but that dead boy as well…I’m not going to sit back and watch my babies die, Lord, even if that’s what You in Your great wisdom decide” (162).  For Patria, her resistance efforts are personal, and motivated by how her personal losses are mirrored by the losses to Trujillo’s regime.

Patria is the avenger—she is fighting this particular battle..

And then there is Dedé. Her politicization is much more difficult to describe, because her involvement with the resistance was so much more indirect.  Ultimately, she is involved because of her family; while her husband prohibits her from going along with her sisters, she is always with them in spirit and facilitating their ability to be active.  Again, as we discussed, if Dedé had not been so available to take care of her sister’s children and other affairs, they might have been less available to dedicate so much of their energy to their political efforts.

Dedé, then, is the lover—it is her deep, abiding love for her sisters that carries her in, through, and ultimately beyond the reign of Trujillo and the havoc wrought under his rule.  And, despite the fact that it takes a full thirty years before Dedé embraces the importance of her role as the storyteller, her persistence and dedication to the memory of her sisters say is a testament to her love for them.

Dede's Story: 1925-1994

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As It Seems?

In Julia Alvarez's In the Time of the Butterflies, all surface level character analysis of the four sisters—Patria, Minerva, Dedé, and María Teresa—paints them as vastly different individuals. Patria's maternal faith, Minerva's outspokenness, Dedé's pragmatism, and Mate's youth are seemingly disparate attributes—attributes that speak to a deeper sense of each girl's identity.

However, even having read only the first six chapters the book, a closer look reveals that in their differences, the four Mirabal sisters are actually quite similar. This is perhaps the most apparent—and surprising—when comparing Patria and Minerva. Patria, the oldest of the four daughters, is painted early on as a very religious, very maternal individual. The first line of her first chapter, even, is a reference to religion; Alvarez writes, “From the beginning...” (44), a clear reference to the opening line of Genesis, the first chapter of the Bible. As has been discussed, however, Patria's faith goes even beyond religion; her self-perceived calling involves “loving everything that lives” (44). As a young woman, Patria was clearly living up to her mother's hopes and expectations, both as a caretaker of her younger sisters and, perhaps, an aspiring nun.

Minerva, meanwhile, lacks any subtlety of character; the first word of her first chapter is “I” and the last is “me.”  Even on her first night at boarding school she is fighting for what she believes is only right, saying, in reference to seeking certain sleeping arrangements at the convent, "I spoke right up, 'I don't think it's fair if you just make an exception for us'" (14). Minerva is clearly stubborn, unafraid to voice her opinions, and even more unafraid of crossing certain lines. She is strong, strong willed, and clearly willing to fight for her beliefs. Even Mate's first chapter, in which she is writing to her “little book,” focuses on Minerva. The tone has the reverence commonly found among younger siblings, but it is clear that Minerva's presence in the lives of those around her commands attention.

Given these descriptions, the only logical conclusion is that Patria and Minerva couldn't be any more different. However, as was previously stated, this is not necessarily the case. In the beginning of Patria's first chapter, she talks incessantly about her own calling in life and her desire to be of a religious order. Despite the fact that her defining characteristics—generosity, piety, and purity—are perceived as being very Christian and very admirable, there exists in Patria a very self-centered obsession with these things. She says,

“I'd write out my religious name in all kinds of scripts—Sor Mercedes—the way other girls were trying out their given names with the surnames of cute boys. I'd see those boys and think, Ah yes, they will come to Sor Mercedes in times of trouble and lay their curly heads in my lap so I can comfort them” (45).

She follows this assertion by discussing the efforts that she put into adhering to being as pious as possible. Like the story told at the beginning of the chapter about Patria's care in diapering her little sister, the telling of her care with food during Lent is over the top, sounding almost grossly exaggerated. This self-focus is actually reminiscent of Minerva—in her own way, with a focus on politics, women's activism, and legality—she too is so very intensely centered on what she feels is most important.

And so, as readers, we see that, while initially Patria and Dedé seem to be the most similar, perhaps there are many more layers to the relationships and characteristics of these remarkable sisters. As one of these readers, I look forward, with great anticipation, to learning more and more about who each of these four women truly is, who they will be, and how this changes over time.

What Would Eve Say?

I had every intention of writing today’s blog post about In the Time of the Butterflies.  However, this afternoon, I happened to get into my car and turn on the radio as NPR’s Colin McEnroe Show was beginning, just as it does every weekday at 1:00 PM.  I must confess—normally, I don’t listen.  Today, however, I did, and it inspired me to change the direction of this particular post.  There were just too many connections between the topics of conversation and the messages and purposes behind Eve Ensler’s work to ignore.

Tomorrow (Friday) night, there will be a screening of a new documentary by filmmaker Liz Canner at the Real ArtWays theater in Hartford.  The title of this movie is Orgasm, Inc.  Following in the footsteps of such exposé pieces as Food, Inc. this film seeks to reveal the corporate abuse of female sexuality through the quest, by pharmaceutical companies, to develop the equivalent of a ‘female Viagra.’  The major question that Canner is addressing in her film is whether or not Female Sexual Dysfunction is truly at epidemic proportions, or whether or not the medical/pharmaceutical industries are merely taking advantage of women, their insecurities, and their perceptions about sex and sexual health.

A documentary film by Liz Canner. 2011.

To discuss the film, Colin McEnroe had two guests on his show—Liz Canner, the documentarian herself, and Leonore Tiefer, PhD. of the New View Campaign, a grassroots movement based in New York that is “challenging the medicalization of sex.”  Canner and Tiefer both discussed, with eloquence and clearly well-researched and experienced background, the role of the pharmaceutical industry in sex; essentially, they were in agreement that, in the case of women especially, big business is taking advantage.  Sex, they argued, is being turned into something only biological, devoid of other implications; all problems because of or associated with sex are purely biological as well.  Clearly, this is not the case.  As Canner and Teifer both pointed out on multiple occasions, there are a myriad—an infinite number, really—of other factors that influence sexual health and pleasure.

These two women also talked about the mixed messages that women receive, especially in terms of the reality of sexual function versus the perception of what is normal.  For example, Canner cited a statistic which indicated that 70% of women require direct clitoral stimulation to reach orgasm.  However, the pharmaceutical companies would want women to think that, if they do not reach orgasm during every instance of vaginal intercourse, they are unwell, abnormal, and in need of medical help.  Essentially, Canner and Teifer pointed out, the pharmaceutical companies want women to think that there is something wrong when there really isn’t—this is the only way to draw a market.

Listening to this thirty minute spot, I couldn’t help  but wondering—what would Eve say?  Here I am, listening to National Public Radio at 1:00 PM on a Thursday, and the words ‘orgasm,’ ‘vagina,’ ‘clitoris’ and ‘sexual’ are flying across the airwaves.  In relationship to Eve Ensler’s purpose for writing The Vagina Monologues, this should be wonderfully progressive, right?

Perhaps not so much.  The conversation itself? Sure.  This is good—we are talking about female sexual pleasure and the societal stigmas and perceptions attached to it.  But the manner in which female sexuality has entered the public sphere was likely not exactly what Ensler had in mind.  She wrote The Vagina Monologues and I Am an Emotional Creature with the intention to empower girls and women, share with them that it is okay to be confident in themselves, in their bodies, and that discovering one’s sexuality requires openness, exploration, and love.  Not pills or creams, developed and marketed in a lab, prescribed for a sexual dysfunction that is likely, in many cases, not medical at all. (Personal disclaimer: I am certainly not trying to argue that Female Sexual Dysfunction does not exist for some women.  However, given what is known biologically about orgasm and the settings and relationships that must exist for this to be achieved, the statistic that Canner presented—that 43% of women between the ages of 18 and 45 have sexual dysfunction—seems like it requires A LOT more inquiry.)

If asked, I would answer that this probably makes Ensler very upset and very frustrated.  On one hand, there is a sense of equality about what the drug companies are doing--if men have Viagra, why shouldn't women have an equivalent? And yet, from Canner and Tiefer's research, it is clear that this current drug development research is solely about profits--not about true female empowerment.  (I think Ensler would say that true female empowerment would look a lot more like education about what women need to orgasm.)

However, I also think that she would encourage everyone and anyone to see this movie, to use it as a starting point for conversation, confidence building, and change.  At least, although this modern presence of female sexuality in the corporate and public worlds is not characterized by true embracing of individuality, there is a voice--in the form of Orgasm, Inc.--speaking up for women in the United States, and hopefully, women around the world.

~*~

http://www.newviewcampaign.org/contact.asp

http://www.orgasminc.org/

Epilogue

Arguably the strongest, most powerful aspect of Eve Ensler’s writing is her ability to capture and project the voices of the hundreds of women to whom she has spoken over the past two decades.  Not only does she articulate this purpose in various introductions and discussions about The Vagina Monologues, VDay, and I Am an Emotional Creature, but as I reader and audience member, I could always feel the collective or individual voices of other women emerging through the greater meaning of a monologue.  Even in monologues clearly narrated by one individual, there is a collectivism about Ensler’s writing that furthers her purpose of giving a voice to the silenced—because so many women have experienced similar plights, the voices of one, ten, or even one hundred serve as liberation for thousands, even millions.

However, in the epilogue of I Am an Emotional Creature, this changes. Suddenly, the voice speaking was Eve’s, and Eve’s alone.  Not that her voice didn’t thread all of the other monologues—between her distinct style of writing and introductions/notes/etc., it was clear that her experiences were a part of each piece.  In “Manifesta to Young Women and Girls” Enlser is speaking directly to her readers, as herself.  The second section is not titled Things You Should Know or Here’s What You Should Take Away from My Work. It's called Here's What I'm Telling You. Above any other piece, this one is Ensler’s direct appeal, request, and call to action to girls, young women, and adult women around the world; Eve is saying, in paraphrase, 'Trust me, I’ve seen a lot, and now I’m telling you what I truly believe you need to know.'

There is confidence behind that voice that is saying “Always fight back/ Ask for it/ Say you want it/ Believe in kissing/ Fight for tenderness/ Care as much as you do/ Take your time” (143).  Personally, I would argue that this does as much as any monologue—feeling Eve’s conviction and confidence is empowering.  No matter the reader’s reaction to Ensler’s work or ability to relate to her monologues and characters, the power of her passion sends a truly important message.

 ~*~

In retrospect, I noticed that, in both of my blog posts on I Am an Emotional Creature, I couldn’t help but mention The Vagina Monologues. I am very curious as to what my experience of I Am… would have been had I not read The Vagina Monologues or had not known as much about Ensler’s work and the VDay movement first.