A Voice of My Own

Last night Theatre in the Pines, one of our local theater companies, performed Elinor Jones’ A Voice of My Own at the North Shore Arts Association. Nan Webber, the artistic director of the company, and six other actresses did an impressive job with this piece that has grown in popularity over the years. Speaking in the voices of women writers throughout history - culled from their memoirs, letters and essays - they spoke about the journey of women writers, from Sappho on into the 20th century, to be recognized for their work.

One of the first voices we heard was that of Lady Murasaki, a 10th century Japanese novelist, who wrote that, even after her books were well known, when people met her they expressed astonishment that she was so small and gentle and soft-spoken. They anticipated a monster.

This seems to be a theme with women artists throughout history - that people envision them as horrible, abrasive, and thoroughly (gasp) unfeminine beasts who dare to “Make something of themselves.” There are still people who think like that today.

One of the things I have experienced both in my life and have heard other women writers talk about, is the viciousness with which they have been attacked by people who do not know them (and very, very often by other women!) Not for what they write, but for having the audacity to think they can do that! I’ve had more than a little experience with it myself in recent years. As I’ve said, I live on an island of 30,000 people and stuff secrets are hard to keep.

What amazes me more than anything is the savaging of other women - mostly conservative wife-n-mother types - who want me to know, in no uncertain terms, what an abomination I am for leading my own life (instead of theirs, presumably). Granted there are not a lot of these but they are both shrill and persistent. Recently I was publically taunted in a local venue by a woman who called me “barren”, a “spinster” (actually I really love that word), who said it was obvious I “had no other option” than to lead a “lonely life” and described my work as “amateurish”. Consequently I was deeply gratified last night when the Bronte sisters - Anne, Charlotte and Emily - spoke of similar situations! I am in very good company!

And then there were the two utterly scandalous Georges - Eliot and Sand. George Eliot shocked London by openly living with a man who was married to another woman and George Sand was notorious for her escapades with men. Society loved to hate them.

Perhaps most touching of all the voices heard last night was little Mary Shelley who at the age of 18 wrote the horror classic Frankenstein. She had just given birth to and then lost her first baby - she was to birth and lose three more children as well as her poet husband within the next few years. She wrote that she could not stop thinking about the little creature that she had carried in her body and then held so very briefly before he died. She wondered how such a brief and wonderful little spark of life could go out so quickly and this was much on her mind as she penned her horrifying novel.

Mary Shelley said, “Nothing contributes so much to tranquilize the mind as a steady purpose — a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye.”

Words to remember when the bitter soul killers begin their nastiness. Throughout history women have defied the opinions of lesser beings to make their art. That is a good thing for us to be ever reminded of.

Thanks for reading.