Queen of the Night

By 1969 I knew things were different. The summer before I began graduate school, I lived at my parents’ house, working as a construction laborer to earn cash for school. One evening, sitting on the porch with my father, I remarked that the women I had dated in college would probably want to do more than keep house and raise children. Most likely they’d want a job. In that case, my role as father would not follow the traditional pattern.

I thought I had begun a “man-to-man” discussion. My father was a parent, I would probably be a parent. We could discuss the changing times and how to adjust. But my father didn’t discuss—he exploded.

“What’s the matter with you? You think mothers should have jobs? Without mothers at home, what will kids do after school? They’ll steal cars, rob stores, and take drugs. America will decay!”

After ten-minute diatribe, he took a breather, and I excused myself to use the bathroom. I failed to return. Years later my mother told me that when she and my father were first married, she didn’t get pregnant right away and wanted something to do. But my father ruled out a job. To be a “real man,” he had to support his family, and his wife couldn’t work. If my mother had a job, even a temporary, part-time job, he would see himself a failure.

Even though I knew things had changed, I didn’t know exactly what that meant. Many of the college educated women I dated repressed their feelings, especially the feeling that they did not want to be housewives caring for children like their mothers. Those feelings simmered and eventually exploded, ending relationships before marriage could result.

In 1986 I saw the movie Aliens which featured a take-charge hero who fought and killed monsters. I love action movies and often identify with the hero. But this time was different—because the hero was a woman!

Gradually the significance of my response dawned on me. Since I had identified with a female hero, I must have become a feminist. Lots of women had told me that men could be feminists. At last I was one!

I told Jane, the woman I’d been dating, that she had to see Aliens. She’d love it, I was certain. The movie wowed me just as much on second viewing, but when we left the theater, Jane was angry.

“That was the worst movie I’ve ever seen. I almost got up and left. You have no idea what I like or don’t like. And I had to buy my own ticket.” “I thought feminists always wanted to pay their way,” I said. “You have no sensitivity,” she said.

Not only did our relationship not last, but it also seemed I wasn’t a feminist. Confused and perplexed, I distracted myself by painting

“Super”

Gradually I came to realize that the superhero is not the myth that attracts most women. Women prefer to fantasize about heroines of love stories. But the protagonist of a romance is usually no passive beauty. “Cinderella” and “Beauty and the Beast” are two tales whose structures inform many stories of romance. Although the feminist Cinderella in the 1998 movie Ever After is a powerful heroine who dominates her prince, the pairing of a beauty and a beast is most often used by romance writers as in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice and Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre. Pretty Woman (1990), one of the most popular romantic comedies, was a tale of the Beauty subduing the Beast.

“Beauty and the Beast”

The most popular folktale version of “Beauty and the Beast” was written by Mme. Leprince de Beaumont in 1756. The story goes like this (more or less):

Beauty went to live with Beast to pay off her father’s debt. Beast, the mighty master, was rendered powerless by Beauty. Every day of the week he proposed marriage. Every day of the week, she refused. Then Beauty took a short vacation and failed to return at the promised time. Beast crawled to his bed, enfeebled and sick. Returning to the castle, Beauty found her homely hero dying.

“Oh, don’t die,” she said.

“Why should I live?”

“Because I like having you around. I’ve gotten used to you.”

“You like me?”

“Sure, I like you.”

“Do you love me?”

“You know, I think I do. You’re not so bad. I’ll even marry you if you don’t die.”

Then Beauty kissed his ugly face, and miraculously Beast not only recovered but turned into a handsome prince.

Did they live happily ever after? That depends on what you mean by “happy.” The moral of this fairy tale is that love gives a woman the power to change a man. So of course, she changes him into a prince who does exactly what she wants.

Is Beauty a feminist? I have no idea.

“On her Throne”

In an attempt to create a feminist icon, I seated an abstract Beauty on her throne. But more in accord with my personal experiences was “Queen of the Night” at the beginning of this chapter. The silhouette of the queen enthroned is surrounded by manifestations of the beasts in her head—yammering voices that plague her with guilt and doubts resulting in the destruction of her relationships with men. After my divorce, I dated several women over thirty who were ambivalent about marriage and motherhood. Many women of my generation wanted careers and did not want children, but in their unconscious, the cultural ideals of wife and mother lingered. They wanted to break with tradition but felt guilty about rejecting the role of mother and homemaker. They wanted careers and independence and were confused about what it meant to be a “wife.”

“Dark Angel”

Since “Queen of the Night” is such a negative symbol of the feminist, I made “Dark Angle,” also a somber shadow figure, but one with angel wings, who lifts the world in triumph. The angel stands in a red landscape among golden gems.

I know I fall short as a feminist and don’t fully understand the philosophy. Secretly, I still long for the days when heroes stomped about, rescuing damsels who swooned when embraced by a real man. But I keep this fantasy to myself because I fear the consequences.

“Hoisted”