Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Queer women in literature: Virginia Woolf (1882-1941)


[Small spoiler note: I tried not to include any huge spoilers about the plot of Mrs. Dalloway, but I did include a few excerpts about the relationship between Clarissa and Sally Seton.]

This semester I decided to take my first English class at Duke, and so I signed myself up for “English131S: Topics in a Single British Author – Virginia Woolf”.

I have to admit that I signed up for the class because there was a single line in the syllabus that said we’d be discussing her views on sexuality. As someone who wrote openly about her relationships with women and men, Virginia Woolf has been retrospectively labeled as a bisexual author of the early 20th century. Our instructor, Professor Sarah Nuttall, confirmed this fact, noting that Woof’s relationships with women are extremely well documented, particularly one with Vita Sackville-West, a fellow English author and poet.

Both Vita Sackville-West and Virginia Woolf were members of a literary circle called the Bloomsbury Group, which discouraged sexual exclusivity. The two married women had a long romantic affair, and Woolf’s novel Orlando (1928) was later called “the longest and most charming love-letter in literature” (according to Vita Sackville-West’s son). Published in 1928, Orlando was considered one of her best novels and is a story about a young man who awakens one day to find himself in a woman’s body.

Anyone looking to read about lesbian, bisexual or transgender women in early 20th century literature should definitely consider giving Virginia Woolf a try. While she’s not the most accessible author (she drops key moments in her plots between parentheses and in the middle of long-winded descriptive paragraphs), her stylistic qualities make her worth all of the effort.

Having just finished Mrs. Dalloway for this class, I can easily say that Woolf’s depiction of the relationship between Clarissa Dalloway and Sally Seton is by far the most eloquent romantic relationship between two women that I have ever read about in fiction. Within the first thirty pages of the novel, the protagonist, Clarissa Dalloway remarks on her wondrous relationship with a woman:

“Yet [Clarissa] could not resist sometimes yielding to the charm of a woman, not a girl, of a woman confessing, as to her they often did. And whether it was pity, or their beauty, or that she was older-like a faint scent, or a violin next door (so strange is the power of sounds at certain moments), she did undoubtedly then feel what men felt. Only for a moment; but it was enough. It was a sudden revelation. Then, for that moment, she had seen an illumination."

When I first read this paragraph in Woolf’s novel, I was floored. I felt like I could have written this-not in terms of the quality, but the context. It seemed very similar to my own coming out experience, or perhaps anybody's:

"The strange thing, on looking back, was the purity, the integrity, of her feeling for Sally. It was not like one’s feeling for a man. It was completely disinterested, and besides, it had a quality which could only exist between women, between women grown up…the charm was overpowering, to her at least, so that she could remember standing in her bedroom at the top of the house holding the hot-water can in her hands and saying aloud, ‘She is beneath this roof…She is beneath this roof!'"

Perhaps something equally remarkable about Mrs. Dalloway, is that it was a best-seller. I had no idea that a novel published in England in 1925 with prominent same-sex romance throughout the work (5 of the main characters are implied to be LGBT) would be so well-received by the public at the time. Today the book is still immensely popular, making TIME magazine's 2005 Top 100 novels list. I have to wonder what kind of political or social undercurrents the novel might have brought with its publication, considering the equality it demands for same-sex romantic attraction:

"But nothing is so strange when one is in love (and what was this except being in love?) as the complete indifference of other people."

Equally exciting about the novel is that it is highly affirmative of same-sex relationships between women. The stereotypical portrayal of LGBTQ women in older literature is that if lesbians do exist (which they rarely do), one or both of them ends up depressed, desolate or dead. Nevertheless, Woolf’s portrayal of Clarissa Dalloway’s relationship with Sally is largely positive, perhaps more so even than any of Clarissa's relationships with men:

"All this was background for Sally. She stood by the fireplace, talking, in that beautiful voice which made everything she said sound like a caress. Suddenly she said, ‘What a shame to sit indoors!’ and they all went out on to the terrace and walked up and down. Peter Walsh and Joseph Breitkopf went on about Wagner."

And of course…it’s just beautifully depicted as well:

"She and Sally fell a little behind. Then came the most exquisite moment of her whole life passing a store urn with flowers in it. Sally stopped; picked a flower; kissed her on the lips. The whole world might have turned upside down! The others disappeared; there she was alone with Sally. And she felt that she had been given a present, wrapped up, and told just to keep it, not to look at it – a diamond, something infinitely precious, wrapped up, which, as they walked (up and down, up and down), she uncovered, or the radiance burnt through, the revelation, the religious feeling!"

Personally I think that if you want to read empowering literature about LGBTQ women in fiction, reading Virginia Woolf if you haven't already is a great idea. I had actually tried to read Mrs. Dalloway two different times before this class, and I always stopped by page 10 or 20 because she's really difficult to get into. ("Plot" isn't her main focus-description is.) For me, being in this class and knowing ahead of time that Woolf writes equally about same and opposite sex attraction was a huge motivator to get through the novel.

"But this question of love, this falling in love with women. Take Sally Seton; her relation in the old days with Sally Seton. Had not that, after all, been love?”

Friday, August 13, 2010

Book Review: City of Night

"Later I would think of America as one vast City of Night stretching gaily from Times Square to Hollywood Boulevard - jukebox-winking, rock-n-roll moaning: America at night fusing its dark cities into the unmistakable shape of loneliness." - City of Night

One of my favorite things about summer is actually having the time to read for pleasure. (My least favorite thing is having all of your belongings stolen in an aiport, but that's another story). Like many college students, I was an eager consumer of literature during my childhood, though this passion was inevitably pushed out first by the demands of school, and then college as I grew older. I'm not one of those people who can read books in snippets either, prefering rather to knock them off in big chunks. So I've really come to appreciate the time available during the warmer months that I can devote to reading.

The most recent book that I've read is called City of Night, by the American writer John Rechy. Published in 1963, it is considered one of the seminal classics of LGBTQ literature, being one of the first novels to explore the underworld of 1960s LGBTQ culture, and the many-faceted characters that inhabited it. City of Night chronicles the journey of the unnamed main character, a young Hispanic man, as he travels across the US from his birthplace of El Paso to the various 'Cities of Night' referenced in the title - New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago and New Orleans. Working as a 'youngman' (the word Rechy uses for hustler throughout the book), he encounters the full gamut of characters in the cladestine LGBTQ world - the scores, tricks, lesbians, drag queens and closeted guilt-wracked husbands among many others.

Rechy's writing is vivid, describing every detail of the main character's various interactions in an immersive stream-of-consciousness manner. Each of the chapters are devoted to the relationship between the young man and one particular player in the underworld's drama. The fastidiousness with which Rechy illustrates these individuals leaves no doubt that they are based on real people - especially since Rechy lent much of his background to the main character. Deliberate grammatical errors and idiosyncratic word choice further the envelopment of the reader into the Night City world. All of this adds up to an story that is hugely engrossing thanks in large part to its credibility.

City of Night fascinated me, not least because it gave such an unflinching look into the realities of the LGBTQ underworld of 1960s America. With the hindsight of the AIDS era, the promiscuity of the main players seems shocking, and throughout the book the knowledge of what was to come in the 1980s hangs heavy. I found myself wondering, more than once, whether I would have coped as a young gay male, born just a few decades earlier. The sense of guilt and confusion felt by the characters in the book is instantly recognizable, as is the unfulfilled voyage of trying to understand one's identity, which so many LGBTQ people still go through today.

I would really encourage everyone to read City of Night if they have the chance, not just for its historical narrative on LGBTQ culture, but also for its musings on identity and our place in the world. Or if not this book, definitely make use of the time remaining before classes start to enjoy some other great novel (oh look, now I sound like a librarian). The Duke LGBT Center also has a huge library of books which are sadly under-utilized (and no I don't include in this The Joy of Gay Sex - Volume III). I'd also encourage everyone to make use of this fantastic library, which has some real gems that would be really difficult to find elsewhere.

Enjoy the last week or two of summer!

City of Night
Rechy, John
1963, Grove Press
ISBN 978-0-28563-837-2

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Homosexuality vs. Religion

Hello. For my first blog post I had no idea what to write. I was sitting in my room tapping the keyboard uselessly, and then a book on my shelf with a little rainbow sticker caught my eye, and this post was born.

Being gay comes with no small amount of controversy. Most societies today choose to frown upon same-sex couples, never really understanding the situation from our point of view. It’s tough, it really is, dealing with the social jibes, unjust laws, and personal prejudices, but for those of us who belong to a faith that condemns homosexuality, it could be even worse. It’s one thing for others to dislike who you’re attracted to, it’s quite another when you dislike yourself for it.

I remember when I was in middle school and I started to realize that I was attracted to other guys. I was terrified. Raised Lutheran, with both parents converting to Southern Baptists after the divorce, I had heard passages from the Bible that condemned homosexuals as innately evil, hell-bound devil worshippers (I’m paraphrasing from an old pastor). It’s a difficult concept for a 13 year old to deal with, the idea that God created you as you are/everything you are is as God made you, and at the same time facing the gate of Hell for something you have no control over: who you love.

I’m sure this has been an issue for many gay men and women. The thing that helped me, though was a book called The God Box, by Alex Sanchez. I had never before felt so connected to a main character. Alex Sanchez is a gay fiction writer whose novels are all gay teenage coming-of-age stories, and in this was one about a young, deeply religious boy named Paul who was trying to cure his own homosexuality. The story starts when Paul befriends a young Christian transfer student named Manuel who is openly and proudly gay. All of Paul’s preconceived notions about homosexuality, and the more famously used Bible verses to refute same-sex relationships, are put in a different perspective, until he is finally able to accept himself for who he is. This book made me realize that you don’t have to either be gay or be Christian. Religion and sexuality are only in conflict if people are taught that they are in conflict. All of my fears and sense of self-loathing vanished in a single sentence:

“The Bible was meant to be a bridge, not a wedge. It must be read with love as the standard. Anyone who expects a person to change something as personal as who they hold in their arms at night need to change their own judgmental attitude.”

If anyone reading this has ever struggled or is struggling with sexuality and religion, I hope it helped at least a little bit. Thanks for reading.