In a brilliant post from the New Statesman, “I Hate
Strong Female Characters,” Sophia McDougall analyzes the sexist implications of
all the “strong” female protagonists inhabiting contemporary fantasy
literature and film. Her argument--that confining women to “strength” (typically
measured by their ability to kick some serious ass) deprives them of their full humanity--strikes
me as convincing.
Being YA Guy, I’d
like to extend her analysis to some of the “strong” female protagonists in current
YA literature.
We have to start,
of course, with the one who started it all: Suzanne Collins’s Katniss Everdeen
from The Hunger Games. She’s strong,
no doubt, both physically and emotionally: she holds her family together
through her mother’s depression, sacrifices herself for her younger sister, fights
for her life and the lives of others (particularly Peeta and Rue) during the
Games. Eventually, if unwittingly, she starts a revolution.
And it’s that “unwittingly”
part that bothers me.
Strong as she is, Katniss both relies on and is
manipulated by the male characters who surround her: Haymitch, Peeta, Cinna, Seneca Crane, President Snow. While she’s running around kicking butt, acting mostly on
impulse (as in her deservedly famous William Tell moment), it’s the men who are
plotting behind the scenes, whether they’re coaching her through her televised
interview, figuring out a strategy to survive the Games, or attempting to double-cross her.
She’s strong. But
they’re smart.
If Collins’s
novel inspired a trend in YA dystopian literature, those who've followed her
have tended to reproduce the dichotomy between physically active women
and mentally active men. Consider, for example, C. J. Redwine’s Deception. The book boasts twin
narrators: Rachel and Logan. She wields a sword. He builds machines.
Or look at
Veronica Roth’s wildly popular Divergent
series. In the first book, the narrator Beatrice (Tris) jumps off roofs, fights
in the ring, and faces down a government-inspired revolution. But it’s her
boyfriend, Tobias (Four), who calculates, figures, plans. They’re both
Dauntless--but Tris is the only one who’s basically Clueless.
I’m exaggerating
somewhat to make a point, of course. Still, I think this is worth noting: that
while the authors of these books may believe they’re bucking convention by
attributing physical strength to young women, ultimately they may be
reinforcing the association of women with physicality, men with intellect. Even the notion (adopted from Collins's book) that female impulse can defeat male scheming seems to me to fall into problematic sexual stereotypes.
Why couldn’t it
be the female protagonist Pia from Jessica Khoury’s Origin who’s the brilliant (if misguided) scientist? Why does the
hybrid narrator Addie/Eva from Kat Zhang’s What’s
Left of Me require the services of a male technophile to begin the process
of liberation? Why can’t female narrator Zoe from Heather Anastasiu’s Glitch go to the surface, uncover the
true history of her world, or foresee the future on her own, without needing her boyfriend, Adrien, to do much of the thinking for her?
Why, for that
matter, did I feel the need to craft the female narrator of my own work-in-progress as a
kick-butt action hero, while her male companion is the scientific, reflective
type?
I hasten to add
that I like all of these books (including my own!). Unlike McDougall, I don’t
unanimously hate strong female characters. But as the father of a teenage daughter,
I do hate the message the barrage of SFCs may be sending her.
And as YA Guy, I’d
love to hear your thoughts about this issue, and your suggestions for books
that fight against the trend.
