On the precarious self-image of a female writer
Hello,
Since reading Real Estate by Deborah Levy, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be a female writer today. At this year’s Hay Festival, Sheila Heti interviewed Rachel Cusk for her latest novel Second Place and near the end of the conversation Heti asked: ‘It seems to me not good as an artist to keep refining one’s process and going down that same path evermore with each book… is that something you feel?’ I’ve transcribed Cusk’s response below (to the best of my abilities)
Not necessarily [chuckles] That’s what marks you out from the image we’ve been talking about the very confident male artist, because really what you are talking about is the feeling of being almost put in your grave… in your refinement of what you do there is development that has to happen and again it’s something I very much connect to femininity. Women are still born into this world who will not have lives that in any way resemble their mothers’. There is so much blankness about how to become who we are and why we become who we are and the feeling that you’ve built something is so bound to be followed by the feeling that you’ve built yourself in to something and can’t get out of it and have somehow managed to give away your freedom while thinking that you were achieving something. So yeah, I think that building and smashing is tiring. To remain in a sincere relationship, in an honest relationship with your own art I guess it is what has to happen.
I was struck especially by this sentence: Women are still born into this world who will not have lives that in any way resemble their mothers’. I’ve always thought of our lives improving upon our mothers’ as a wholly positive idea and never before questioned it. But I guess in our bid to ensure that we have more choices than the generation before us, we are missing out on intergenerational empathy. I’m aware of this as a concept. I’ve written about it many times. I understand why it’s important to keep fighting the patriarchy and how each new choice is a win. But. I’m also so so tired of losing out on formative connections because of a social construct.
In the same interview Heti quoted Rachel from a couple of years ago when she wrote a piece about artists Celia Paul and Cecily Brown for the New York Times titled Can a Woman Who is an Artist Ever Just Be an Artist? which I wanted to share here again as it’s such a thought-provoking piece. I also really enjoyed Celia Paul’s memoir which was published a couple of years ago titled Self-Portrait. I find a lot of comfort in this book (especially the bits about being a young female artist) and love to flip through the startling portraits whenever I’m feeling lackluster.
Speaking of portraits, I finally had the chance to see Lynette Yiadom-Boakye’s exhibition at Tate Britain. The portraits were as captivating as I imagined them to be. It was my first time in a museum/art gallery in months and luckily for me, it was right after I finished reading Three Rooms by Jo Hamya. Three Rooms is easily one of the best debuts I’ve read in a long time and it ended with a brilliant interrogation of how we engage with art. I walked around the exhibition twice, the first time to really be in the moment with the paintings and a second time to look around me, observe the people, notice the room itself and take any pictures. I’ve also booked my ticket to see Chantal Joffe’s exhibition Story which ‘features a number of paintings of the artist’s mother and considers issues of aging, motherhood and visibility, focusing particularly on the complex relationship between mother and child over time’.
Last weekend I was invited to an intimate garden party in North London. It was a glorious day and the hosts were women with a keen eye to detail and a playfulness about them that brought me a lot of joy. The party had a theme: floral. There were flowers in their hair, in the ice cubes, in the drinks, embedded in the cookies and even on the delicious focaccia bread. The latter was baked by Sarvat Hasin, a writer I hugely admire. I’m pointing this out because if she wasn’t an accomplished writer but a doctor or a lawyer, I wouldn’t have stopped to marvel at her ability to create such a beautiful and welcoming space as well as delicious food for her friends while also writing. Let me explain.
In my head, these have always been mutually exclusive. I believed that because I’m a writer, and because I choose to spend all my spare time in building my intellectual self, I shouldn’t have the time or inclination to create anything else. On the way home from the party it occurred to me that I am stopping myself from finding joy in things outside of my writing because as a woman, I feel ferociously protective of my self-image as a ‘serious writer’. That if I start to create live spaces, beautiful outfits and delicious cakes then I’m taking away from my writing by signaling to the world (and myself) that my writing is not important to me. In Real Estate, Deborah Levy wrote about cooking for her daughters’ friends safe in the knowledge that they knew she was a writer and she had a life beyond serving them. Every day I unlearn something new, with lots of help from brilliant female writers around me.
At the party, an acquaintance asked me what I had learned (about myself) in lockdown. I told her about how being away from people for over a year has helped me figure out my own feelings towards my life. I’m no longer as easily shaken by people’s words. What I didn’t tell her is how much my relationship with my body has improved in these 15 months.
Spending time in my company made me look at myself through my eyes rather than the gaze of people whose perceptions I feared. I can honestly say this is the first time I’ve been able to truly look at myself in the mirror without all my perceived flaws jumping out at me. Previously, I looked in the mirror with a single purpose: do I look good enough for the day/event/evening/meeting planned? But in the last year I’ve looked in the mirror because I wanted to. Now I can’t believe I wasted so many years of my life not appreciating my body. It’s in this state of mind that I came across a substack Q&A titled I Think I’m Ugly, which made for an interesting read. On my way to and from North London I really enjoyed seeing women in their summer best. It’s one the things I’ve missed most in lockdown, watching real women move with purpose and confidence in their bodies. Two recommendations if you are looking for an antidote to diet culture: Supper Club by Lara Williams and TV series Shrill on BBC.
A colleague recently recommended Food Isn’t Medicine by Dr. Joshua Wolrich in which the author mentions that being ‘overweight’ was introduced by insurance companies so they could charge a premium. Is there any aspect of our lives that isn’t corrupted by capitalism? I’m keen to read Gore Capitalism by Sayak Valencia. At the moment I’m reading We Need to Talk About Money by Otegha Uwagba and listening to The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read by Philippa Perry. I’m learning a lot from both and the latter one especially is helping me finally heal so many of the wounds I didn’t even know I carried. It’s more than a book for parents, I think it’s a beautiful companion to reflecting on all your relationships. When I think of Philippa Perry, I think about her husband Grayson Perry which leads me to think about one of my favourite books: The Descent of Man.
For this letter, I decided to link the titles to publisher websites instead of Waterstones and I’m struck by how many of these are Penguin books. Last month Bookseller reported on Waterstones reducing prominence of Penguin Random House books in credit limit dispute. It got me thinking about how opaque the book business is and how quickly we pin low book sales solely on the quality of the book. It’s not a level playing field! That’s why it’s so important to seek out books from independent publishers and prizes such as International Booker + diverse bookstagram. It’s not only to supports brilliant writers but also to broaden our own horizons and develop our tastes. Recent books from small presses which I really enjoyed and would highly recommend are
Exit Management by Naomi Booth
Yes Yes More More by Anna Wood
Kitchen Curse by Eka Kurniawan
The Yak Dilemma by Supriya Kaur Dhaliwal
Gargoyles by Harriet Mercer
Trauma, an anthology published by Dodo Ink
Radical Attention by Julia Bell
Strangers by Rebecca Tamás
All Lara’s Wars by Wojciech Jagielski
Recommendations from around the internet (the first two are thanks to Otegha’s newsletter)
Young, Male and Anti-Feminist – The Gen Z Boys Who Hate Women - this is such a scary read
Malala in Vogue - I love the way they styled her, especially after some of their recent photo shoot fails with women of colour.
A Lucid, Literary Illustration of the Complex, Beautiful Work of Memory - I feel like I’ve waited for this book all my life. Looking forward to reading it!
Raqeeb Se - A Pakistani TV serial of 23 episodes. You can watch it on YouTube. I thought the acting, the poetic Urdu dialogues and the story made for a beautiful watch.
Blackbird on Amazon Prime - I watched this a while ago but I think about it often.
Bo Burnham: Inside, a Netflix special - I’m in awe of what Burnham has single-handedly created in lockdown.
The Roasting Tin Around the World - I’m really enjoying cooking from this one. Everything is so easy!
I was interviewed on Growing up with gal-dem! I talked about recognising childhood mistakes and moving on from them.
The Strange Revival of Mabel Dodge Luhan - this reviews Cusk’s Second Place.
Books I enjoyed in May but haven’t had a chance to mention here yet:
Why Didn’t You Just Do What You Were Told? by Jenny Diski
The Startup Wife by Tahmima Anam
Help Yourself by Curtis Sittenfeld
What to Do When I'm Gone: A Mother's Wisdom to Her Daughter by Suzy Hopkins and Hallie Bateman
Best,
Zeba