Let’s talk about “Strong female characters.” And “agency.”
It’s been a few months since Kate Elliott’s post here at Tor.com about Writing Women Characters As Human Beings. It’s probably been a while since I’ve touched on the topic myself, even in passing. But recently a conversation on Twitter and a certain amount of time pondering the opening chapters of Jo Walton’s The Just City has got me pondering how we talk about strength in fictional narratives, especially as it relates to femaleness, but also in terms of a more diverse array of historically overlooked people.
What’s the relevance of Walton’s The Just City? In its opening chapter, the god Apollo discovers that he doesn’t understand quite as much as he thought he did. He has not entirely grasped why a nymph would rather become a tree than have sex with him. It’s about volition and equal significance, and this becomes one of the themes not just of The Just City but its sequel as well.
And I’m starting to think that volition and equal significance are better ways to think about, and to talk about, women’s narratives and storylines and presences in fiction. Not just women’s, mind, but very often when we talk about agency and strength we are talking about women.
I once had a memorable conversation in which a gentleman—you might recognise his name, so I will withhold it, as this is only an example of a prevailing point of view—shared his view that there was only one kind of heroism, really, and that was going out and doing active heroic deeds that involved risking one’s life in violence or in something like firefighting. It seemed to me to be a very manly, muscular view of heroism, one that elided almost entirely the kind of courage and—in my view—heroism possessed by people who risk either their freedom or their lives daily, often far more quietly, in political activism under repressive systems of governance, or in ongoing advocacy for (for example) women’s rights in close proximity to people who are violently hostile to their ideas.
Some people choose activism and advocacy already knowing the risks they might run. Other people slide into it by degrees, or find themselves propelled into it by circumstance.
Some people never go out and Do Deeds of any active kind. Their heroism—if we may see it as heroism in a narrative sense—is surviving under strain, mental or emotional or physical or all three. Sometimes intolerable strain. Survival is a quiet ongoing necessity, and living under circumstances that one can neither abandon or substantially change has historically been the lot of many women. Because their struggles were domestic—because their choices were, and often still are, significantly more constrained than the men around them—they are overlooked as heroes.
The difference between choice and circumstance is the difference between having and lacking obvious agency, because the way we talk about the interrelationship of agency and narrative is all about choice, and exercising it. Just as the difference between kinds of heroism can be seen as a divide between something which is masculine and active—if we think about violent heroism, one can see it almost as penetrative—and something which is feminine, passive, and elastic. Between strength and not-strength.
I’m not saying that these things are masculine and feminine, strong and not-strong. I’m saying they can be seen—that we are culturally conditioned to see them—in that light. In discussing female characters in terms of agency and strength we sometimes forget that there are constraints on choice, and that there is more than one way to be strong.
But if instead of agency and strength we turn to volition and equal significance we open up the field of view. Is the female character represented as having a will of her own? Does the narrative respect her volition? Does it represent her as possessing an equal significance with everyone around her, even if people around her don’t see her as equally significant? Does it, in short, represent her as fully human? Fully human, and not a caricature or a type?
(I know. It’s a low bar to leap. Astonishing how often someone falls to hurdle it—and not just with bit-part characters.)
I’m still thinking about how much easier borrowing volition and equal significance has made articulating some problems to myself (and not just in narrative, although that’s what I’m talking about here) that strength and agency don’t seem to define.
What do you all think about all this, anyway?
Liz Bourke is a cranky person who reads books. Her blog. Her Twitter.
It seemed to me to be a very manly, muscular view of heroism, one that elided almost entirely the kind of courage and—in my view—heroism possessed by people who risk either their freedom or their lives daily, often far more quietly, in political activism under repressive systems of governance, or in ongoing advocacy for (for example) women’s rights in close proximity to people who are violently hostile to their ideas.
This speaks very closely to some thoughts about the position diplomacy, and diplomats, hold in Science Fiction and Fantasy. There is an entire sub-genre dedicated to the ‘muscular view of heroism’ as you put it, but wither the diplomats? The crisis negotiators? The political activists or NGO workers? Apparently, not muscular enough.
As I’m reading The Gap Cycle by Stephen R. Donaldson, this speaks to me, and it provides a really interesting lens through which to view Morn Hyland. Because the nature of roles is constantly changing in that series, it even applies to Angus Thermopyle, as a sort of emasculated figure at times. Davies Hyland is probably the most pertinent, with his (her?) fluid sense of self.
Maybe I’m not reading carefully enough, but I’m unclear on the difference between “volition” and “agency.” As I’ve understood it, “agency” is about whether a character’s decisions (presumably produced by their will) actually affect the plot–as in, if this character were deleted, the story would be inherently different. I understand that choices can be limited, but how does one express will if not through choices of one kind or another, even if those choices just involve what to think about or say when no one’s listening.
I assume there’s something I’m missing here, so if anyone could enlighten me that would be awesome.
On the other hand, it occurs to me that even IF “volition” is essentially a synonym for “agency,” it doesn’t necessarily lose any value–“agency” has been used almost to the point of meaninglessness, so talking about the same stuff in new terms could easily spur new thought and discussion.
Hmm. Heroism is an interesting concept to look closer at, it is mostly defined by itself.
Heroism. The conduct of a hero – especially as exhibited in fulfilling a heroic purpose or attaining a noble end
Heroic – exhibiting or marked by courage and daring
– supremely noble or self-sacrificing
Heroism is the conduct of a hero, who is one who does heroic deeds. Sigh.
And ironically for this column, the dictionary.com definition explicitly defines a Hero as a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities.
But using those descriptions, while men and women can both be heroic, I simply don’t see heroism as a passive thing. It is the deeds that are what makes a person heroic – that going above and beyond their fellows. Which is not necessarily violent.
So for example two women in an abusive relationship with kids. One stays with the father to keep the family together, the other removes herself and her kids to a safer place. I see the latter as being a heroic action, since it required the person to do something out of the ordinary … to possess agency – if they were removed, would the situation have changed? In the first case, no, in the second, yes.
The key element to heroism is the conscious acceptance of what is happening and what might happen. To run into a burning building without thinking about it, to rescue a child in inside? Noble deed, if somewhat foolhardy. To run into the same building, when the rescuer has a fear of fire? Now that’s a heroic action, because it requires them to choose.
I can see someone being heroic through doing passive deeds … Gandhi for example … but that passivity was a conscious action to challenge the status quo. But can you have a passive Heroism? A conscious acceptance of inevitability and chance?
I could see a passive hero in a story yes – one who the action is done upon. But they in themselves are not Heroic, they are just leaves on the wind.
@@.-@, re: the dictionary.com definiton. I imagine they probably have an entry for “heroine”, with the accompanying change in sex, no?
The book I always recommend when the discussion turns to strong female characters is Michelle West’s The Broken Crown. This book has all of the various kick ass woman types–the girl with the sword, the politician who can run people, and the one with magic. And then there’s Diora. Raised in a culture where women are taught to be submissive and pleasing to men, she manages to be both a product of that culture and an individual personality with her own strengths. She excels at all of the womanly arts she’s taught, not rebelling and taking on a more traditionally masculine role, and she endures difficult situations in the way that lower status people have been forced to since forever. She also manages to be the person at the climax of the book who throw a huge wrench in the bad guys’ plans, simply by displaying herself publicly in the societal position the men in her life have placed her in in such a way that they are unable to proceed without losing all legitimacy in the eyes of the society they want to run. It’s a brilliant move, and clearly shows that traditionally feminine doesn’t mean weak and that martial arts are not the only way to fight.
@3 Volitian may be more applicable to situations where a character doesn’t act. For instance, Sansa, if she wasn’t in a GRRM story, would probably have little need to exercise agency. She likes being what other people expect of her. If the people around her lived up to her expectations (or, you know, just lived), she wouldn’t need to influence her situation much. I think you could say she goes along with her expected social role of her own volition. Reducing her sadly hypothetical life of Queen and mother of Kings to: “she didn’t do anything” means not giving her equal significance (or treating her as an end in herself, if you’re feeling Kantian).
I also want to say that volition better encompasses the results of an absence or failure of agency. If a character does things that are not of her own volition, maybe it’s easier to focus on her? Whereas if she does not influence her situation or otherwise lacks agency, there seems to be a tendency to focus on her actions? The latter then trends towards criticism and assigning responsibility which isn’t always fair.
Writing stories is a reality of someone’s livelihood – heroic endeavours tend to be more “exciting” and thence “likely to get more sales” (= income for author). Everyday heroism is what we see everyday, do we want to escape into an novel that is the same as our daily lives? (of course, say some people, we are literary readers, not not escapists …) I don’t think it is a matter of male or female either, it is more a fact of what would put “more bread on the table”. As the child of a professional writer, this was brought home to me by my father writing what sold until he was famous enough to indulge with what he wanted to write.
@1 An interesting point. It helped me articulate that in the Sharing Knife books by Bujold, one of the protagonist’s character arc is all about making the transition from the warrior-heroism of his youth (which is starting to fail at protecting the world) to a diplomat/crisis negotiator/political activist/NGO worker heroism of his long-deferred maturity.
Merriam Webster Online defines ‘heroine’ as:
: a woman who is admired for great or brave acts or fine qualities
Which pretty much looks to me that it’s the female version of the same noun. I think if you look at Joseph Campbell’s work, he provided a more role-based definition of each word, which depended on the function the ‘hero’ or ‘heroine’ performed in the narrative. If you are doing research based on those definitions, there’s no particular reason that a woman could not perform the functions of ‘hero,’ with a corresponding man performing the function of ‘heroine,’ or in fact, any combination of gender identities performing each.
I am reminded here of the common translations of Proverbs 31
Most English language versions translate the phrase as “a woman of honor/nobility/virtue, who can find?”
But that word, translated so variously here, is almost always translated elsewhere in the text as “valor.” That’s when it applies to men, of course. I was reminded of this…quirk of translation by this post, because it has always felt to me that even the ancient Hebrews were better about acknowledging the valor and courage inherant in living as and flourishing as a woman, about saying being a wife and mother requries a valid and valued type of bravery, than our current western culture. So I don’t think it requires giant flag-waving acts to be a hero, because it historically has taken so much strength, so much volition, to fulfill the expected roles. I wish my fantasy/sf acknowledged the heroism involved in surviving as a woman more often, much less of taking up a cause. Stories of women like Cordelia Vorkoskagan and Lunzie Mespil.
The classic “doing deeds” heroism seems to require a lot of privilege.
You need the physical size and strength. You need the resources to get the sword or gun or whatever you need. You have to have an extensive support system – someone to grow your food, cook your meals, sew your clothes, etc.
There is an economy to heroism that a lot of stories simply ignore. Bujold captures this well in the Sharing Knife series, where the costs of keeping patrol for malices are something that patrollers are keenly aware of, and finding a better way to bring farmer resources to the fight is a significant part of the story.
@1: “There is an entire sub-genre dedicated to the ‘muscular view of heroism’ as you put it, but wither the diplomats?”
Retief?
[If you don’t get it, Keith Laumer’s character is supposed to be a diplomat, but is, in fact very muscular]
I’d add to that list of heroic types, the people who face soul-crushing situations day-after-day and still give their all. Paramedics and ER-staff in particular.
@1, 14, Miles Vorkosigan spends most of his youth proving that muscular isn’t a prerequisite for heroism. He turns it up to eleven in his maturity.
Come to think of it, one of the reasons why I love the character of Bren Cameron in Cherryh’s Foreigner series is that he’s a diplomat who…actually does diplomacy. If people start shooting, it’s generally his job to get behind cover and let the trainer shooty professionals–who work for him, and who aren’t the protagonists–to handle that part of things. His job is to make peace with people who have tried to kill him, and sometimes people who have caused trouble (and sometimes death) to people he liked, because arranging for peace is more important than personal grudges.
Which is a type of strength right there that often gets lost in the “standard” heroism, such as it is. I think it’s often portrayed as a weakness, especially in stories that focus on the more shooty types of heroes. Someone tries to make peace with an enemy, and the reader is supposed to gasp and say “But you wouldn’t make peace with the Nazis!” and be pleased when the enemy was just lying about wanting to stop fighting all along, so that there’s a satisfying reason to shoot them again.
It’s also the kind of bravery and strength that puts personal preferences aside for the sake of the greater good. Not because the protagonist gives in to peer pressure, as it were–that’s not particularly heroic, even if it could produce the same decision–but the strength to pick what they believe in even over what they currently feel. It’s more satisfying sometimes (or at least more novel) that a big decision that basically comes down to the hero doing what they want to anyway, and it happening to be the right choice for the narrative.
I like the bit about supply lines, too. Remembering all the people who have to be doing work–and doing it reliably!–for the big flashy heroics in front to continue. The Sharing Knife series was very good about that.
Why do we need to dilute words by applying them promiscuously where they are unsuited? The person who leaps with sword upheld into the enemy throng is a great hero. The person who makes sure the supplies are available is a great logistician. The person who does the best for her children is a great mother. None need envy the word used to describe the attributes of the other two
Part of this reminds me of all the meme’s going around after Caitlyn Jenner received an award for bravery. Many of the meme’s showed male soldiers doing acts of bravery.
Yet one was a staged photo taken by a photographer who was beaten up for being gay. The photo helped him tell a story he created while recovering in the hospital.
EDIT: The person who was criticizing Caitlyn, did not know the story behind the photo. He just selected it because it confirmed his definition of “bravery.”
There are many types of bravery. Not all of them require a physical form of fighting.
Somehow the comment about “good mothers” reminds me of an exchange I once saw at a convention panel on gender and heroism. A (male) audience member challenged a (female) panelist with, “When was the last time you personally risked death for someone else’s benefit?” To which the panelist replied, “Every time I gave birth.”
And just look at Call The Midwife, which gets plenty of exciting drama and heroism out of people delivering babies, week after week. My heart was in my throat during a particular scene of breech birth in a way it’s seldom been during combat scenes in most TV series.
Other kinds of heroes; I’m reminded of the song “Kitchen Heroes” by Talis Kimberley.
There’s a video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3nMRTLaHZk and the words are here: http://www.marchwoodmedia.co.uk/talis/songbook/kitchenheroes.html
@7: Sansa is an excellent example of volition vs agency, but for different reasons. I very much disagree that she is “happy to be what others expect of her”. On the contrary, she spends most of the series being very unhappy about what others want from her. She is only happy to be what’s expected (be a lady, because she’s good in the role and she has ‘feminine’ interests, go to the capital, marry the crown prince Joffrey) at the start of the story, when she’s 11 and has a rosy view of her future and of her betrothed and future mother-in-law. When her father suddenly told her she had to go back home and give up on a dream she’s built so much in her head, she reacts by disobeying – exercising agency, in an unfortunate way (since she doesn’t understand at the time what is going on, and her father never explained any of it to her, since as a girl she’s not supposed to know politics according to him). And then, since the end of the first book up to now, she’s constantly been a prisoner and hostage (of the Lannisters), or a virtual prisoner (of Littlefinger). She’s rarely been able to exercise agency, though she has taken the chance when she was able to (such as meeting with the anonymous person promising help to escape, planning to escape for months/escaping, but also little things like manipulating Joffrey into saving Dontos, helping the wounded Lancel, showing compassion and care for Sandor…) but, as person whose freedom has objectively been restrained under the threat of death or violence, she hasn’t yet been able to perform huge acts that would affect the plot as much as, say, a powerful lord like Tywin Lannister or a powerful schemer and player like Varys can. But GRRM does not make Tywin or Varys his main characters. Instead, some of the most major characters are children with little social power, like Sansa, Bran and Arya, who seem poised to become much more powerful in the conclusion of the series. Sansa’s agency is restrained, but her volition certainly exists, and even when she is in no position to exercise it, we know it from her internal thoughts. We know that she is very unhappy about and actually hates being a Lannister hostage, the idea of marrying Joffrey, being married to Tyrion or any Lannister, about being stuck with Littlefinger (“I have no place to go, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr”), about the prospect of having yet another loveless and political marriage or betrothal imposed on her (“It’s my claim they want. No one will ever marry me for love”). She tries to escape her forced wedding and says “No” very strongly, but is threatened with violence by queen Cersei and told in no uncertain terms that she has no choice. Whenever she can, she also exercises little acts of resistance, like refusing to kneel at the wedding, or simply using her “courtesy armor” to emotionally keep everyone at arms’ length. Just the fact that she’s survived without being Stockholm Syndromed or having her own will or dreams beaten and threatened out of her, and hasn’t slipped into despair and nihilism or given up hope, is a strength into itself.