Tag: Definition

Your Body Wants to be Naked but You’re Wearing an Overcoat

The closest thing that Jeanette Winterson’s narrator of Written on the Body achieves to marriage prior to their relationship with Louise is their relationship with Jaqueline. But, that relationship is destroyed by the narrator’s lust and love for Louise, quickly, sharply, hurtfully. It was a settled relationship, content and calm, and not enough for our narrator:

“Jaqueline was an overcoat. She muffled my senses. With her I forgot about feeling and wallowed in contentment. Contentment is a feeling you say? Are you sure it’s not an absence of feeling?… Contentment is a positive side of resignation. It has its appeal but it’s no good wearing an overcoat and furry slippers and heavy gloves when what the body really wants is to be naked” (76).

They “wallowed in contentment” — interesting choice of words to put together (76). They contradict each other in meaning, or rather in the way people usually tend to use and think of these words. Wallowing has connotations of almost trudging or floating around in a state of sadness, boredom, self pity, maybe a combination of all. Contentment, on the other hand, is most often positive: it’s a happy feeling, a feeling that’s arguably something everybody searches for and wants: satisfaction in the state of homeostasis, of balance. But our narrator is not happy in contentment. In fact, for them contentment is an “absence of feeling” and part of the same feeling as “resignation” (76). Balance, quiet, consistency, even, is a resignation for them. Resignation from what? From desire, life, or real love? Just pure lust?

Why would you want to be wearing an overcoat when “what the body really wants is to be naked” (76)? But perhaps contentment becomes a feeling when it is with someone whose body wants to be naked with your naked body, and not smothered in overcoats. When it comes to Louise, all the narrator wants is a life with her; with her, contentment perhaps would be real contentment and not a resignation because Louise is not Jaqueline. But then again, how would we as readers know that the narrator doesn’t have this euphoric state in every relationship prior — they are unreliable, after all. By condemning contentment as a lack of feeling, the narrator contradicts themselves as they desperately seek out Louise as a partner, and when or if they receive that partnership and love, then wouldn’t that be contentment?

Gender Trouble Butterfly

Within Gender Trouble, written by Judith Butler, Newton gives a powerful message:

At its most complex, [drag] is a double inversion that says, “appearance is an illusion.” Drag says [Newtons curious personification] “my ‘outside’ appearance is feminine, but my essence ‘inside’ [the body] is masculine.” At the same time it symbolizes the opposite inversion; “my appearance ‘outside’ [my body, my gender] is masculine but my essence ‘inside’ [myself] is feminine” (Butler, 137).

From this, a very troubling and complex statement arises from the works of David Henry Wang in his play M. Butterfly, with Song stating that:

Like, I think the reason we fight wars is because we wear clothes (Wang, 55).

The “double inversion” proposed in Butler’s work stings true to the heart when Song gives the ultimate reason for gender/identity mayhem. Newton, through Butler, introduces the idea and separation between appearance and feeling along the lines of respective gender femininity and/or masculinity. The relation between Song’s position in M. Butterfly and the words of Newton within Butler’s work is that Song ‘plays’ the gender role of female, while standing as a biological male. In this situation, Newton would classify her as the first portion of his writing: “[her] ‘outside’ appearance is feminine, but [her] essence ‘inside’ [the body] is masculine.” Song believes that it is this binary between sex and gender that she encompasses as a whole, that creates issues in the world. It is this mere contradiction of appearance and biology that allow for disagreement, argument and ultimately disapproval of ‘differences.’

The very evident similarities between these two works and the gender binaries that exist and are explained within the words of the text suggest important, relevant as well as controversial binaries such as femininity versus masculinity, sex versus gender, male versus female and appearance versus feelings/emotions (‘inside’ versus ‘outside’). These binaries exposed in Gender Trouble allow one to clearly identify the important aspects of sexuality as well as gender identity within M. Butterfly and ultimately relate them to real world issues as a whole.

The suggestive material stating, “appearance is an illusion” in M. Butterfly needs the unambiguous explanation given in Gender Trouble. Gender Trouble is ultimately used as a lens to better understand the allusions, suggestions and binaries within M. Butterfly. These two texts are linked and intertwined ever so perfectly through meaning, connotation and annotation that they need one to understand the other. Allusion and illusion need definition to make things clear, yet definition needs allusion and illusion to make things interesting.

Scared In The Dark, Yet Safe Because We’re Blind

Shani Mootoo states in her novel Cereus Blooms at Night states that, in the name of sexuality and/or gender identity, there is a “limbo state between existence and nonexistence” (Mootoo, 77). I see this as a safety blanket, yet at the same time an unbelievable, undefinable danger zone. This is safe, as priorly stated, yet also scary and shameful, especially in the name of sexuality and/or gender identity.

One being neither “properly man nor woman but some in-between, unnamed thing” allows for different interpretations of the “truth,” but in the end, left to be defined by the “victim” (Mootoo, 71). I say victim because this uncertainty is not a choice. It is this “definition” of one’s personal sexuality and gender identity, and the comfort of not associating one way or the other that acts as a safety blanket. It is safe to not know. Although it is safe to be in the dark, it is oh so scary. He/She cannot see what is ahead of him/her, what is awaiting him/her after his/her “definition” is solidified, which can, in turn, result in a shameful personal and social regression.

In these two quotes I see a very important connection between the words “unnamed” and “nonexistence.” Remaining “unnamed” can be viewed as “nonexistence” by the said “victim” of sexuality and instills a sense of fear and shame into him/her. It is this fear and shame that drives one to attempt to “define” the undefined: his/her sexuality and/or gender identity. It is interesting that when you put the two quotes together, it suggests that “existence” is associated with defining as a man or a woman, and “nonexistence” is associated with the “limbo state,” being “unnamed” and somewhere in between.

How is one “properly” one or the other? This is the word that suggests shame. Sexuality, gender and gender identity are choices; choices with social repercussions that can instill a sense of fear or shame into one if they even slightly deviate from the “norm.” Who is to say that there is a “proper” definition of sexuality? NO ONE. To put these two ideas together, the “limbo state” of being “unnamed” creates a drive to define the sexuality and/or gender identity that is not defined, but is linked with the shame of defining a sexuality or gender identity that deviates from the norm. This limbo is such a safe place of blindness, but such a scary place of darkness.

 

Precision

A precise emotion seeks a precise expression.  If what I feel is not precise then should I call it love?” (Winterson, 10)

This passage immediately drew me in, despite its brevity, because of the simple eloquence of its phrasing.  In a mere two sentences, the narrator turns the widely accepted idea of ‘love’ on its head, questioning how we define our feelings and what ‘love’ actually means.  The narrator poses an almost scientific theory, in the vein of Newton’s third law of motion (every action must have an equal and opposite reaction,) essentially stating that every precise emotion must be expressed through equal precision.  This opposition is itself then juxtaposed with the concept that if an emotion is not precise, it may not be expressed precisely.  In fact, the word “precise” is repeated three times, drawing special focus to the concept of precision and inviting the reader to question if it is possible define an emotion precisely in the first place. We all think we know what ‘love’ is, but if we were to ask everyone who is in ‘love’ to define what ‘love’ is, it is unlikely that we would end up with two identical definitions.  By that logic, if those feelings of affection most of us seem to experience are imprecise and individual-specific, should we even be allowed to define them as ‘love’?

I believe that Sedgwick’s idea of queer, “the open mesh of possibilities, gaps, overlaps, dissonances, and resonances, lapses and excesses of meaning,” can help us cope with this issue (8).  Humans are pattern-seeking animals and therefore seek definitions, particularly for those things that scare or confuse us, such as imprecise emotions.  Labels and clichés make us feel safe, assuring us that we are not the only ones experiencing the perplexing emotions that we do when we say, fall in ‘love.’ However, perhaps we overuse these clichés, forcing ourselves to shave down our emotions into precise pegs that easily fit in the holes we’ve made for them.  We’ve streamlined ‘love,’ cutting out any room for the “…gaps, overlaps, dissonances…” that Sedgwick speaks of by “embracing one identity or one set of tastes as though they were universally shared, or should be” as Warner argues (Sedgwick, 8)(Warner, 1).  As a result, we invite shame into the equation and push it on those whose idea of ‘love’ is more of a square peg than a round one.  Perhaps if we were to utilize Sedgwick’s idea of queer as a precise expression of imprecise emotions, we would be more at ease (and therefore hopefully less condemnatory) with emotions that don’t identically match our own.