Author: 3x

Fun Home creates an immediate and obvious dissonance between the narrator, Alison, and her father. Alison is consumed with creating a masculine image for herself, both in appearance and activities. Her father, on the other hand, spent his days consumed with culturally deemed feminine tasks, such as interior design and fashion (even going so far as to attempt to dress his daughter in more feminine clothing that he appreciated.) Their relationship was doomed to fail from the beginning; both were closeted homosexuals just trying to fit into the family dynamic they found themselves in, but both identifying in very different ways. The similarities in circumstance were glaring, but their dissonance thrived on their lack of communication and openness.

By the end of the book, their similarities reveal themselves. We learn of their similar transgender childhood experiences, as well as their attempts to both continue on with and hide their homosexual experiences from their family. While different in personality, their experiences were nearly parallel. The sudden realization for Alison, however, is that the main difference in their experiences was in acceptance amongst peers. At her school, she had the opportunity to join with a group of peers who shared her experiences and identified openly in similar ways. Her father, on the other hand, had no shared experiences and had to hide and suppress his alternative sexuality. By the time it surfaced, it was no longer a point of pride in the same way that Alison had found it to be, but of shame.

In a way, as implied by Bechdel, Alison’s father was dead long before his (possible) suicide. “Sexual shame is in itself a kind of death” (Bechdel 228), and her father met an untimely death both socially and personally as a result of it. While their experiences were undoubtedly similar, if not nearly identical, the difference in interpersonal experience was the difference between life and death, success and tragedy.

“The reason Miss Ramchandin paid me no attention was that, to her mind, the outfit was not something to either congratulate or scorn – it simply was. She was not one to manacle nature, and I sensed that she was permitting mine its freedom.” (77)

The relationship between Tyler and Miss Ramchandin is both devastating and beautiful. They put together out of necessity; they share the need for understanding in a world that thrives off of the power obtained through subjugating their identities (Tyler as queer, and Ramchandin as a criminal.) The comparison is not exact, as these two identities are obviously not parallel. However, both function in a society that thrives off the power that they wield through the labels they provide and the assumed characteristics and dangers that are attached. While this relationship is tragic in its necessity, beauty is found in their shared “otherness”, as well as their shared acceptance of each other’s identity.

This passage represents Miss Ramchandin’s relationship with Tyler perfectly. Tyler, wearing the nurse’s outfit that Miss Ramchandin knew he wanted to put on, fails to elicit any response to an act that would invoke any number in reactions to others at the hospital. Miss Ramchandin, however, treats the act as she would any other natural occurrence. Tyler states later in the section that he had “never felt so extremely ordinary” (78) while wearing the outfit. Miss Ramchandin experienced his identity in the same way, as ordinary or natural.

There is an incredible irony in the choice of the phrase “She was not one to manacle nature…” (77), given that Miss Ramchandin herself is shackled to her bed, and in a way, shackled to an identity she is forced into. In order to survive, just as Tyler does, she is forced to perform an identity that is accepted by those in the positions of power. Whereas Tyler feels “ordinary” when wearing the nurse’s outfit, he must perform a more acceptably masculine role in order to be accepted by those he works with. In order to continue to receive care, Miss Ramchandin must cooperate with the identity she’s placed under. Because of this, she too (rather emblematically) remains silent.

In this case, however, Miss Ramchandin allows Tyler the freedom to express his natural identity. While she must remain (quite literally) shackled to her own misunderstood identity, she is “… permitting mine [Tyler’s] its freedom” (77). For a brief moment, one of the two “others” has the opportunity to embrace their “otherness” as non-deviant, unquestioned, and normal. The tragic beauty of their bond is developed through continued naturalization of each’s “otherness.”

Realistically, it seems as if everything in Carson’s Autobiography of Red deviates from conventional works of fiction and narrative in some way. While everything from the form, story and language are unconventional, Carson’s inventive characters  allow her to reimagine a “Good vs Evil” narrative from the perspective of the “Evil”, those who are marginalized to the point that their experiences go unheard.

This interpretation of Carson’s use of inventive characters is based on an analysis of implicit meanings and metaphors throughout the novel. Carson doesn’t devote time to discuss Geryon’s homosexuality, sexual abuse, or feelings of heartbreak. To make this connection, one needs to look at Geryon from the perspective of contemporary society; he is not “evil”, but different. An outsider with red-wings that he hides from the world, rarely displaying them in an attempt to hide what makes him different from those who would demonize him for those differences.

Through Geryon, Carson takes a character historically known only as evil, different, and defeated, and reimagines them in the context of someone marginalized by society as different, wrong, or even evil. As such, Geryon hides the factors that marginalize him, the events that he feels others are unable to empathize with, and the differences that society would choose not to understand. Anne Carson uses Autobiography of Red to show that we demonize what we don’t understand, and gives a voice to the voiceless, showing that the stories that we don’t hear can change our conceptions of the people we misunderstand.

I have a relatively “normal” appearance, by contemporary standards of heterosexual college-aged males. I prefer to wear pants and button-up shirts, I don’t have any tattoos or piercings, and my hair is currently combed-over and, arguably, professional. This weekend, however, marks the 4th year of my involvement with a foundation that supports pediatric cancer research, where I will shave my head in support, but change my hair to a pink mohawk for the week before the shave. Compared to my current appearance, this is a big change. Upon telling my parents of the plans leading up to this year’s shave, the first words out of my mom’s mouth were “I hope you don’t have any internship interviews this week.”

Unfortunately, she’s right. That’s something I initially was concerned with. Maybe I could have gotten away with this haircut when I was in elementary school, but at this stage in my life, I am a college student and a pre-professional. I am expected to present myself in what society has deemed a professional way, and a pink mohawk certainly doesn’t fit that bill.

Harvey’s conversation about postmodern space and time as written in Halberstam argues that “…our conceptions of space and time are social constructions forged out of vibrant and volatile social relations” (6), while also stating that we envision that”… our time is our own and, as the cliche goes, ‘there is a time and a place for everything.’… thus people feel guilty about leisure, frustrated by waiting, satisfied by punctuality, and so on. These emotional responses add to our sense of time as ‘natural'” (7). Imagining that time is “natural”, along with the emotional responses that come along with functioning outside of “natural” temporalities, encourages me to believe that other aspects of our life, for instance our attitudes and appearances, should adjust in a natural progression just as time does. Time being “natural”, as it is used by Harvey, explains the emotion associated behind something functioning outside of heteronormative time or ideals. In this case, a mohawk and died hair are not “natural” under constructed normative appearance ideals as they function within the normative temporality of a pre-professional college student. As a young child, a pink mohawk does not necessarily break societal norms to the same degree that a college student sporting the same hair-style would, as normative expectations vary depending on the time in which the action occurs. As Harvey reminds us, we only envision that our time is our own, not understanding that the choices we make are largely influenced by influences intertwined in normative temporalities.

I’m definitely excited for my pink hair this weekend; after all, it’s for charity. I’m still hoping that my boss doesn’t see it though.

 

“Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; the accumulations of a lifetime gather there… I like to keep my body rolled up away from prying eyes. Never unfold too much, tell the whole story. I didn’t know that Louise would have reading hands. She has translated me into her own book.” (89)

 

Louise has the reading hands that can translate the code that is written on the narrator’s body, which as the narrator informs us is a difficult task considering she informs us as readers that she closes herself off to people who could decipher her code. Louise not only translates the code of the narrator, but “translated me into her own book,” made the narrator’s story a part of her story. The passage is beautifully linked to the narrator’s own life and career as a translator; the narrator can translate Russian, but the Louise can translate and understand the narrator.

Louise seems to have a profound transformational effect on the narrator’s outlook on life, love and relationships throughout the text, but is explicitly clear in this passage. I think this passage remarks on some of the previous stories of the narrator’s past relationship, all of which involved a partner which failed to translate the “secret code” written on their body. The passage shows that Louise was the first of the narrator’s partners to translate them, understand them, and bring them “into her own book.” I think that the narrator’s obsession with Louise throughout the remainder of this book can be explained by this passage, that the code that allows them to love unconditionally (especially important, considering Louise is still married at the time,) and is eventually able to measure the love they felt for Louise by losing her.

“Shouldn’t you take that vow and break it the way you made it, in the open air?” (Winterson, 16).

This passage is written in the same beautiful and sarcastic prose as the remainder of the book, while mirroring the confusing descriptions given by the narrator. Honestly, the narrator said it themself that it seems obvious that they can’t be trusted, and this passage attests to this perfectly.

As the narrator says, breaking the vow of marriage “… the way you made it, in the open air” implies that the vows originally were pointless; they were made publicly, but broken carefully and privately. They should instead, they seem to say, be broken obviously, as they were obviously going to be broken anyway. In this passage, and specifically with this statement, they show their bitterness over the institution of marriage.

Where is that bitterness coming from? The narrators writing style uses many rhetorical questions in order to support their stories, such as the one used in reference to this passage. To me, this technique seems to be used to convince themself that their decision making is appropriate. The consistent questions associated with their actions, opinions and extramarital affairs seem to be used as a means to seek approval for actions they don’t necessarily condone themelf. This is why the narrator continues to confuse me; the narrator obviously tries to use passages like these to attack the marriages that they destroy through their participation in affairs, but the defensive rhetoric is interspersed with moments of beautiful and poetic language, and a yearning for a love worthy of the vows that she has a part in destroying. Directly before this passage, the narrator acknowledges that one affair deceived them and appeared as love, then follows this despondent example with a rather sarcastic attack against marriage and the love that creates it. To me, passages like these point to and underlying problem that has confused the narrator, both hating and wanting marriage and love.

Works Cited

Winterson, Jeanette. Written on the Body. New York: Vintage International, 1993. Print, 16.