#10: As Nature Made Him…Or Her

Kathleen Winter’s novel Annabel tells the story of Wayne, a child with an intersex condition who struggles with his identity, and his shadow female self named Annabel. Wayne is assigned to the male gender at birth, although he never quite feels comfortable. He is forced to take hormone supplements and pills, and he is tutored in how to be “male” by his hyper-masculine father. We see the stress of Wayne’s situation taking its toll not only on Wayne himself, but also on his family, as Jacinta falls into depression and Treadway has his own inner struggles.

Coincidentally, when I was finishing Annabel for this class, another one of my classes began reading another novel which deals with the implications of assigned gender. As I read John Colapinto’s As Nature Made Him: The Boy Who Was Raised As A Girl, I found myself comparing the real-life story of Bruce Reimer to Kathleen Winter’s imagining of the character Wayne/Annabel. Colapinto tells the story of David Reimer, a man who had lived as both genders. Born in 1967 as a male named Bruce, he lost his entire penis at eight months old due to a botched circumcision. His parents, advised by a famous sex and gender researcher Dr. Money, were convinced to submit Bruce to a sex-change operation. Like Wayne, Bruce was submitted to years of hormone treatment and social conditioning, except in this case, to be feminized. Bruce was effectively reassigned to live as a female, living as the person of Brenda for fifteen years. In her teen years, Brenda experienced many psychological problems, emotional turmoil, and discomfort in her female role, similar to that which Wayne experiences in adolescence. These desperate years took a terrible toll on the Reimer family, with Mrs. Reimer becoming clinically depressed and Mr. Reimer becoming an alcoholic. Like in Wayne’s family, the stress of ambiguous gender took a toll on family life. Eventually, when Brenda’s parents eventually revealed her true gender, he/she made the choice to revert back to maleness, renaming himself David. Although David married and lived somewhat more happily as a male, he committed suicide in adulthood.

There are many things in David Reimer’s tale that are truly sad. I was upset with the practitioner who performed the messy circumcision in the first place; but even more, I was bothered by the societal attitude that without an intact penis, Bruce would have a defective, incomplete body, which would lead to his being ostracized. Ironically, the imposed “cure” of a sex change operation caused Bruce/Brenda to live an isolated, lonely life, probably more than if he had remained male. Our society is afraid of gender that does not conform to the strict dichotomy of male versus female. Bruce/Brenda was assigned into a particular gender by outside forces, when the truth is, he/she is the only one who intrinsically knew what gender felt right.

Perhaps what upset me most in this story was the advice and actions of Dr. John Money, the prominent researcher at Johns Hopkins University who advised the sex-change and monitored Brenda’s progress. Dr. Money seemed to have a personal agenda, or at least an academic one. He was motivated to prove his theory that gender is mostly socially constructed, as opposed to biologically rooted. If the course of treatment with Bruce/Brenda was successful, then Money would have significant proof to back his theory. Not only was Bruce’s case a very unique one, Bruce also had an identical twin brother, which created a perfectly controlled situation in which the two twins’ behavior might be compared. To me, it seems that Dr. Money was taking advantage of this situation, valuing his medical fame over this child’s life. It is not fair to experiment with someone’s life, without his or her consent, merely to advance scientific research. Furthermore, Dr. Money reported for 30 years that the Reimer case was a success. He completely ignored Brenda’s troubles fitting in at school, and her discomfort in her assigned female gender. Science cannot ignore the human side of the issues it tries to explore; to me, this is sad and wrong.

After reading As Nature Made Him and Annabel, especially so close together in time, I found myself challenged to examine the way our society forces gender into a strict male-female dichotomy. The stories of Wayne/Annabel as well as Bruce/Brenda pained me at times, made me uncomfortable at others. Both books raise the issue of what to do with the 1 in 2000 babies born with anomalous genitalia. Our society is very strict about placing people in one category, either male or female; ambiguous gender is something that makes us all a bit uncomfortable. These very provocative books bring to light some of the sensitive issues related to ambiguous sex, and the assignment of gender and sexuality. We see the ways in which it can be dangerous for society, and science, to attempt to fit someone’s gender and sexuality into a neatly packaged option.

#9. Alice Walker: Walking Away from her Daughter?

I’ve been reflecting on the two pieces, In Search of our Mothers’ Gardens by Alice Walker, and Baby Love by Rebecca Walker, as well as the articles online about how Alice Walker disowned her daughter Rebecca. Perhaps the most provocative for me, however, was Rebecca Walker’s 2008 article, “How My Mother’s Fanatical Views Tore Us Apart.” Her essay was really emotional, inciting both my indignation and sorrow. I found myself feeling so sorry for Rebecca, as I imagined a fast-food-eating, sexually active, and lonely teenager. Stereotypical as it sounds, I thought, this is what happens to children who do not receive adequate parenting (or mothering, as we have been calling it). I found myself agreeing with Rebecca, with her views that it is a parent’s obligation to impose some restrictions, that being physically present to one’s children is vital. At the same time, I found myself judging Alice: if she did not want to actually raise her daughter, she should not have chosen to have a child in the first place.

In violating her duty to be present to her daughter, to raise her and support her, Alice Walker has fallen short. In addition to her maternal inaction, however, Walker has done worse: she ingrained the same ideology, that motherhood is bad and diminishing, in her daughter. This could have potentially ruined Rebecca’s future happiness, if she had waited any longer to have her child. Furthermore, after these two wrongs, Alice Walker acted it even worse. She disowned her daughter, cutting off the relationship with both Rebecca and her son. In my mind, this forms a kind of triple sin: her maternal inaction, her destructive teachings, and her definitive renunciation.

Alice Walker is completely entitled to believe her radical feminist ideology. Further, she is completely entitled to live a life of feminist liberation, writing as much as she wants, traveling, even divorcing if she so chooses. However, I think it is sad and unfair to bring a child into this situation. By imposing her radical beliefs on her daughter, Alice also drastically effected Rebecca’s future happiness as an adult. Alice Walker believed that motherhood was a kind of slavery, and Rebecca never questioned this belief until it was almost too late for her to physically bear children. (As I say this is unfair, however, I can’t help but wonder, is this much different from parents who raise their children to be the same religion as they themselves are? I would never fault a parent for raising a child to be Jewish or Catholic, for example. So perhaps I cannot fault her mother for instilling her own beliefs in her child. I just disagree with her beliefs in the first place.)

I know we are not supposed to judge mothers, especially without having been one. But can we judge mothers, if not on their maternal performance, at least on their performance within the family? After all, even though I have never been a mother, I have been a daughter and a member of a family. If any member of my family – a sibling, a father – was absent from my life, unsupportive of me, and downright hurtful, I would feel the effects. To me, this is a violation of family duty, if not just maternal duty. Rebecca Walker hits a strong note when she says, “I am my own woman and I have discovered what really matters – a happy family.” I don’t think her belief is necessarily anti-feminist. The concept of a happy family matters, or should matter, to both men and women. Both mothers and fathers can find great fulfillment in their family life.

#8: The Child As The “Other”

While reading our various mother-themed texts this year, I keep coming back to the mother’s relationship with herself and relationship with her children. In some of our last few novels, I have noticed the trend of a mother’s viewing her child as an “other.”

In The South, Katherine’s other-ing of Isona is particularly striking. She is so detached from her daughter, her own flesh and blood. Katherine does not refer to her newborn daughter by name; rather she references her in the impersonal, as simply “the baby.” Katherine’s mindset after birthing Isona is upsetting, perhaps because it seems so unnatural to us. She is completely repulsed by her daughter, and “she wanted the child to die” (Tobin 110). By showing Katherine’s unwillingness to tell anyone of her repulsion, Tobin acknowledges the unnaturalness of this sentiment: “She had not wanted to be diverted thus into caring for a child, feeding the child, nursing it…She could not tell anyone how much she believed the whole thing had diminished her” (Tobin 111).

In The Hours, Laura Brown manages to make her son Richie into an other as well. Like Katherine, she sometimes refers to Richie simply as “the child” (Cunningham 47). In her mind, he is a strange creature, completely foreign to her: “He cries mysteriously, makes indecipherable demands, courts her, pleads with her, ignores her” (Cunningham 47). Laura’s mindset reminds me of Frankenstein, in the sense that she makes him seem so completely alien. Her imagination runs wild, and Richie becomes more and more fantastical. She even thinks of him as an animal, “a mouse singing amorous ballads under the window of a giantess” (Cunningham 44). When she feels guilty for fleeing to the hotel, Laura tends to make Richie into an other again. In his eyes she “sees something there she can’t quite recognize,” and “he sounds frantic, foreign” (Cunningham 192). The language here conveys the interaction of two virtual strangers, not what one would expect from an intimate mother-son relationship. By other-ing instead of mothering Richie, perhaps Laura can justify herself, and not feel like she has failed her child’s emotional needs.

#7: Power Structure in A Doll’s House

     I read Ibsen’s A Doll’s House in my high school AP English class, but I really enjoyed revisiting the play now, with four years of college English behind me. I was very much struck by the language in the play, especially Helmer’s diction. I was appalled how many times he refers to Nora as a bird, an animal, a child. I know he is a product of his time, but I was still upset by it.

     Despite how many times Helmer puts Nora down in this final scene, I was happy to see how Nora somehow manages to reverse the roles at the end. Where her husband had been treating her like a child, she turns around and makes him into a child. I really liked her line where she questions his ability to ever change, to become a better man. She says, “Perhaps – when your doll is taken away from you” (186). This line calls attention to Helmer’s own immaturity and childishness. The subversion of authority works to empower Nora.

     The one thing that upset me in this play, especially after all our discussions about mothering this semester, is how unconcerned Nora seems about abandoning her children. I understand that she wants personal fulfillment, that Helmer has stifled her, that she has never been educated or truly loved her husband. However, I think that parents have a duty to their children. I do not hold this duty to mothers alone; I believe fathers are just as wrong to abandon their children as mothers. Nora even refuses to say goodbye: “I won’t go to the children. I know they are in better hands than mine. As I now am, I can be nothing to them” (187). This also bothered me, because Nora is telling her husband that he is better qualified to raise them than she is, which seems to demean her, rather than empower her. Instead of belittling her own mothering abilities, Nora might be more empowered if she could recognize how important she is in the molding of her children. However, like Helmer, she is also a product of her time. Society has taught her that servants do the day-to-day mothering, while the actual mother lives a life of show and appearances. Ibsen could not have picked a better title for his play; their home is a “Glass House,” and Nora is no more than a figurine.

#6: More on “Natural” Childbirth

     Better late than never, but I wanted to reflect a little bit about our joint discussion with the Gender and Health class last week. Our two readings, the Margaret Atwood piece and the article on unnatural Cesarean births, were both very provocative texts. “Unnatural Births: Cesarean Sections in the Discourse of the ‘Natural Childbirth Movement’” reminded me very much of my Human Ethology course in the Anthropology arena. As I mentioned in an earlier post, we watched a couple documentaries which espoused the idea of “natural” childbirth, using midwifery. These films also viewed C-sections as unnatural and highly problematic, a rising phenomenon which needed to be stopped. In the article we read for class, the authors presented these views of Cesareans; however, they also took it to new psychological levels. I found some of the essay to be a bit offensive: “Cesarean mother, then like cesarean birth, collapses into an oxymoron; the cesarean mother is not, in some sense, a mother at all” (48). Likening a C-section to a “failed sexual experience” (52), seemed a bit ludicrous to me. Perhaps the best point the article made was that in America we tend to “’romanticize’ childbirth in other cultures” (49).

     I also was intrigued by the Margaret Atwood essay, “Giving Birth.” In a class last semester, I read Atwood’s The Edible Woman, and really enjoyed it. I wrote my term paper on the body images Atwood presents, with one of my focuses on the pregnant Clara. Atwood portrays Clara’s pregnant form as problematic, relying on a lot of disturbing imagery. I noticed some of this rather violent language in “Giving Birth,” as Atwood describes “the belly like a knotted fist, squeezing…every muscle in the body tight and moving” (Atwood 134). Even the language at the end recalls this style of writing: the baby is described as “solid, substantial, packed together like an apple” (Atwood 149). The essay was quite provocative, giving women permission to look at childbirth in another way.

#5 – Comment on Beloved

These are my thoughts in response to Mistee’s recent post about Sethe’s decision to kill her daughter. For her post, see —
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If Sethe’s unnamed baby had been recaptured into a life of slavery, this child would no doubt have had a life of suffering and hardship. However, as Mistee pointed out, her daughter would still have had moments of laughter and love. Furthermore, there was still a chance that she would be able to escape slavery, buy her freedom, etc. If there is even a chance that Beloved could have had these things, Sethe’s killing her is completely unjustifiable. Furthermore, what gives Sethe the right to decide that killing her child is better than her child growing up enslaved? Sethe is only human, and I don’t think humans have the right to decide questions like that.

When I was reading Beloved, I also struggled with Mistee’s question of whether we can justify Sethe’s decision to murder her daughter, in order to save her from a life of slavery. It seems that Sethe believes, or wants to make herself believe, that she killed her daughter out of love. She tries to conceptualize and justify her action as a kind of maternal sacrifice, evidence of radical love.

When I think of radical love, and extreme sacrifices, I think of Christ and the sacrifice He made for us on the cross. In a lot of literature, mothers are painted as Christ figures. In everything from modern day Harry Potter to the classics of Mark Twain, we see mothers make great sacrifices. They shield their children from the sufferings of the world and constantly give of themselves. In a perverse kind of way, I think Sethe views her sacrifice in this light, as a sign of her extreme love. But to me, Sethe’s maternal sacrifice is a perversion of Christ’s sacrifice. Although both sacrifices may have taken courage, and caused great pain, these actions are fundamentally different. While He gave of himself, she took the life of another.

Personally, I believe that we, as humans, do not create life, and therefore we do not have the right to take life away. Ever. Even if it would spare someone of suffering. It is a very slippery slope once we start justifying the killing of a person to spare his or her earthly suffering. People born with physical and mental difficulties suffer throughout their lives, yet I don’t think anyone would endorse their murder, especially by a parent.

#4: On Ricki Lake’s “The Business of Being Born”

Today in my anthropology course, Human Ethology, we watched Ricki Lake’s documentary on home birthing, “The Business of Being Born.” In this documentary, she exposes some of the little-known benefits of home birthing, as well as some unappealing facts about hospital births. The film does not attempt to preach; home births are clearly not for every woman. However, it does try to give mothers little-known information and hard facts, so they might choose where and how to give birth. The movie questions how we view birth in America, contrasting it with European countries, and making some interesting points that I had never thought of. For example, hospitals today often treat pregnancy as a kind of illness, that must be cured, and interventions occur even when unnecessary. Many of these interventions, such as increased drugs during labor, and greater instances of Cesarean sections, occur for economic reasons, to speed the delivery process and cut the costs of the hospital stay. According to the film, modern midwifery provides another option for women, which is much more empowering for the mother.
Although this film was very graphic and upsetting at times, I found myself relating some of the ideas of motherhood and childbearing to our Monstrous Mothers class. The midwives interviewed in the documentary consistently stressed the importance of empowering the mother, to have her baby on her own turf, with her own body in control, rather than doctors who sometimes had a different agenda. The hospitals’ approach often took away from the mothers’ sense of control over the delivery, and interfered with the natural mother-baby bonding. In class we discussed how the powerful chemical oxytocin creates a mother-baby bond. In the film, I learned that a natural delivery will cause the release of this chemical; however, with the Cesarean section, this hormone is not released. With C-sections becoming more and more routine, we cannot help but question whether this mother-baby attachment is happening.
At the heart of the issue is whether giving birth is viewed as a kind of trauma or illness, or a completely natural experience. Whereas hospitals tend to treat birth as an emergency, midwives embrace birth within the context of the body’s natural way of doing things. This concept reminded me of Doris Lessing’s The Fifth Child, and Harriet’s patterns of giving birth. Harriet had her first four children at home, “in the big bed attended mostly by the midwife” (Lessing 17). Although “the doctor had wanted her in hospital,” she felt “adamant” about having her babies at home, despite his disapproval (Lessing 17). In these cases, Harriet seems to be the empowered woman that the film attempts to portray, a mother giving birth in her own home on her body’s own terms. The event is natural and celebratory; “they all drank champagne” (Lessing 17). With her fifth child, however, the experience is completely different. Harriet does view Ben’s pregnancy as a kind of trauma, and this time she “insist[s] on a hospital” (Lessing 48). She also elects to take numerous drugs during her pregnancy, completely forgoing the natural route. Harriet’s decisions regarding the place of birth, and how natural it is, seem to directly correlate to how she views the pregnancy. With the first four children, it was an event of nature; with Ben, it was an illness to be cured. I found this all very interesting, in light of the film I watched.

#3: Adults Acting Like Children: The Entitlement Mentality

In our latest book for class, The Fifth Child, I was particularly struck by David and Harriet’s sense of entitlement. There is nothing wrong with loving the idea of a big family, a large house, and many children, but David and Harriet acted like they were owed it. Being a large, happy family is “what they had chosen and what they deserved” (Lessing 21). They felt entitled to a lifestyle, which they could not afford to maintain by themselves. Day in and day out, the Lovatt family only manages to stay afloat due to the generous financial support from James, and the physical labor from Dorothy. But instead of feeling immense gratitude to their parents, for enabling their “dream” lifestyle, David and Harriet act as if they have a right to it, and are rarely appreciative of the sacrifices their own parents make.  In this sense, they act like children themselves, forcing their parents to stay in their parenting roles.

One of the things that bothered me the most in the novel is how Dorothy is treated by her daughters. She had raised three children herself, and with them now grown and married, her time for mothering is over. At her time in life, she should be allowed to take on the more relaxed role of the grandmother, instead of the more intensive role of the mother. Instead, Harriet takes it as a given that her own mother will help raise the grandchildren: “if family life is what they had chosen, then it followed that Dorothy should come indefinitely to help Harriet” (Lessing 14). Harriet’s sense of entitlement, and disregard for her own mother’s health and happiness, is evident. Dorothy does “the work of a servant in this house” and knows they are “very selfish” for having another child and expecting more help (Lessing 33).  Even when Dorothy leaves the Lovatt household, she becomes essentially a live-in caretaker for Amy.

While Dorothy bears part of the physical burden of the Lovatt’s children, James bears much of the financial burden. He helps pay for their massive house, he finances their holiday parties, and he eventually pays for boarding schools for the children. But even James seems to know that “Harriet had chosen this life and now should not expect everyone to foot the bill” (Lessing 38). I think James is completely right. No matter how rich David’s father is, David and Harriet should not expect him to finance their dream lifestyle. If they are mature enough to start their own families, they should be mature enough to live within their own income.

The discussion of the financial burden of big families calls to mind Lisa Belkin’s Motherlode blog post on the cost of raising children. [http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/02/08/the-marginal-cost-of-children/] Belkin discusses economies of scale, questioning whether it is cheaper to have more children, as diminishing margins of return make each child less expensive. She cites some readers who have learned how to finance big families. They don’t need as much “stuff.” They don’t take airplane vacations, eat out at restaurants, or attend fancy private schools. While Belkin was speculating about how parents simply change their expectations when they have more children, I was struck by these families’ ability to live within their income. Perhaps David and Harriet could have learned something from some of the readers on this blog. Instead of relying on the manpower of Dorothy, and the money bags of James, they should have shifted their expectations for family life.

On “Trial” for Bad Mothering

Patricial Powell’s me dying trial could not have been a more fitting novel for our course on motherhood. It explores both male and female mother figures, birth and adoptive mothers. As we discussed in class, either a male or female can “mother,” and we have a good example of a male mother in Rudi, who cooks and cleans. The novel also examines the parent-child relationship, bringing up issues of what a parent owes a child, and what a child owes a parent. These themes lent some food for thought. In particular, while reading the novel, I continually found myself evaluating Gwennie as a mother. I had a difficult time not judging Gwennie as a “bad” mother. The greatest offense I wanted to charge her with is that of selfishness. I admit that sometimes society expects mothers to be martyrs, placing everything and everyone before themselves. Expectations like these are unrealistic and somewhat oppressive, for mothers are people with their own wants and needs as well. But from my reading of the novel, Gwennie was truly selfish, which I find an inexcusable quality in a mother.

I do not judge Gwennie for having an affair with Luther, or even for asking her aunt Cora to look after Peppy to deflect suspicion from Walter. However, I did blame Gwennie heavily for her refusal to let MaCora adopt Peppy. If a mother cannot take care of her own child, she should at least find someone else who can do so, and legitimize this relationship if possible. By preventing this adoption, Gwennie insists on still being Peppy’s “mother,” while she does absolutely nothing to actually mother her daughter. Even though she is not there for Peppy’s emotional, physical, or mental maturation, Gwennie expects Peppy to love her. She selfishly refuses to relinquish her position as Peppy’s mother, to MaCora, who is more willing and available to raise her. Gwennie’s refusal deprives Peppy of stability in her life, and a sense of belonging. Peppy is always the odd child out, even years later in America, when she feels like an outsider to the other children’s “old jokes and secrets” (176).

Besides Gwennie’s selfishness, I also faulted her for her intolerance towards her son. For years, Gwennie forces Rudi into a maternal position, which is arguably a feminine role. It seems she is okay with unconventionality, for her oldest son is a kind of “Mr. Mom.” However, when he comes out as homosexual, Gwennie will not tolerate Rudi’s alternate lifestyle, and she kicks him out. No matter how much Rudi held her family together, when she was busy getting her certificate or earning money, Gwennie cannot extend him the same kindness. Much as I tried to see the good in Gwennie, I could not move past her selfishness, her hypocrisy and intolerance.

Mrs. Bennet…Gold Digger with Good Intentions?

Alison Steadman as Mrs. Bennet, in 1995 Pride and Prejudice miniseries

While reading Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, I was tempted to categorize Mr. Bennet as sensible, and Mrs. Bennet as completely ridiculous. It is easy to dismiss the mother of the Bennet family as a silly woman obsessed with marrying her daughters to rich men. We might even fault her for being a bad mother, when she puts Jane’s health at risk, insisting on her riding to Netherfield despite the imminent storm. Such a reckless attitude toward her daughter’s well-being recalls celebrity mother Britney Spears, who has been relentlessly criticized for driving with her son on her lap, hazarding his life. Not only does Mrs. Bennet risk Jane’s health, she complains constantly about her “poor nerves,” revealing her self-absorption. Her excessive praise of lace and dress only exacerbates her character’s ridiculousness.

Upon further reflection, however, I think that Mrs. Bennet is a more complex character than we might initially find. Instead of dismissing her, we might consider her behavior in the context of the family’s economic situation, in which Mr. Bennet has only provided their daughters with a mere one thousand pounds each. With this in mind, Mrs. Bennet’s marriage obsession is much more understandable. She has five daughters, her husband is aging, and their family estate is entailed away. Austen writes, “The business of [Mrs. Bennet’s] life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.” In a sense, Mrs. Bennet’s gossipy tendencies are actually second to her pragmatic “business” in the interest of her daughters. Admittedly, her means of achieving this goal are often vulgar and contrived, as she frequently embarrasses her family, but at least her motives are well-intentioned and pragmatic.

I lay much of the blame on Mr. Bennet, and his failure as a father and a provider. Not only does he neglect to nurture or advise his daughters, he also fails to provide for their well-being after his death. He knows that Longbourne is entailed away to Mr. Collins, yet he makes little provision for his wife and daughters after his death. He makes fun of Mrs. Bennet for her obsession with finding husbands, but perhaps she would not have to exert herself so greatly if the girls had larger dowries. In a way, Mr. Bennet’s economic irresponsibility, and failure to perform the “business” of investing in his estate, has forced Mrs. Bennet to the “business” of husband-hunting. Mrs. Bennet’s ridiculous tendencies seem to spring from her family’s economic situation, caused by her husband’s lack of foresight and responsible planning, and a deep devotion to her daughters’ welfare.