On Wanting More

a letter about gender, ambition, Elle Woods, and Rebecca Makkai's I HAVE SOME QUESTIONS FOR YOU

Dear friends,

I’ve missed you! How are things? Are you enjoying the sunshine, wherever you are in the world? I must apologise as I didn’t intend for this space to go dormant for so long. I could blame the workload of teaching full-time while producing on the side, or the lure of London’s parks that has me lingering outside rather than writing from my laptop, but truthfully, I had nothing I really wanted to say—or at least not in this form.

Enter: Rebecca Makkai’s I Have Some Questions for You, a recently published thriller that takes place in the 90s, when a teenage girl has been murdered at her elite boarding school, and today, when that same murder has become the subject of a high school student’s podcast assignment. I flew through it in a matter of days, hooked on what I affectionately call my literary catnip: give me a thriller or a book set at a boarding school, and I will gladly read it. (Better yet, make it both.)

Some Questions has been described as just another #MeToo novel, a story that looks to make a point about men in power and women overlooked. But I find that too dismissive, oddly judgmental of a story that is earnest in its effort to probe our understanding of justice and forgiveness. It too simplifies what I found to be an expertly layered novel: Makkai captures well the intoxicating community that I both love and hate about schools and likewise crafts a set of characters that collectively reflects just how messy and flawed we humans are.

Though I finished it a couple of weeks ago, the story has also lodged a place in my brain that I can’t seem to shake. I’ve written before about my relationship to anger—that is, anger is not a reaction I’m prone to—and so I was surprised at how this book activated a level of frustration in me over the limitations of the justice system, the way that power can conceal accountability, and the knowledge that there are people who would believe I’m incapable of speaking for myself. If I can be so blunt: it made me sad at how hard it is to be a woman in this world.

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What other art have I enjoyed since I last wrote? Here’s one: a school I worked at earlier this year recently put on a production of Legally Blonde. I went because there is a thrill in surprising old students, and I also can’t imagine ever turning down an opportunity to delight in the sheer joy of a secondary school musical. What I didn’t expect—and I’ll sound dramatic, I know—was to find such emotional resonance in the story itself. There will be some of you reading this who already know that Legally Blonde is one of my favourite films, topping my list since I first watched it in the fourth grade. It wasn’t until the performance last week, however, that I felt I had the language to describe why.

And I love it so because Elle refuses to change herself. While she has moments of doubt spurred by others’ judgment, she nevertheless remains unapologetically upbeat, holding with pride to her positivity and her smiling nature, her pink-scented CV, her love of shopping and spa days and sorority traditions. Most importantly, none of these—as Elle has always known, and admirably so—stop her from being d*mn good at what she does.

As I grow older, I’m realizing I’m more like Elle than not, bristle as I do against any implied assertions that ambition somehow can’t coexist with kindness, patience, positivity, bubbliness, the things we deem “soft” or “feminine.” I believe passionately in what I do and know I can do it well, but I have no interest in conforming to societal standards that don’t also allow me to be myself. Elle, I believe, would claim similarly.

At the crux of both of these examples, of course, is gender. In Some Questions, the protagonist Bodie advocates for our ability across genders to live as whole and complex human beings, to be more than an object of desire or a device in someone else’s narrative. In Legally Blonde, Elle fights to be herself in a job that wants her to be anything but, to be whole and complex in her own right. The parallel may be a stretch, but perhaps that’s my point: the experience of womanhood is laden with countless stories. In these two, albeit in their own ways, we see women strive to exist without the scrutiny of being labelled “too little” and “too much” all at once. I read and I watch and I want the same.

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Let it be said that I know I’m not writing anything that hasn’t been said before. To suggest otherwise would be to take credit from a slew of brilliant authors, artists, and thinkers who have commented with far greater eloquence on gender and its intersections with race, sex, class, age, ability, and so on. I also think it important to note that my thinking here is influenced by my own identity markers: that I’m white, cisgender, highly educated, financially secure (Bodie and Elle the very same).¹ I can resist what is traditionally valued because I have less at risk and therefore less to lose, but also because I have the comfort of knowing people are often still willing to listen to me despite any (subtle) defiance.

That said, I’ve been drawn to write about it all because gender is not something we can escape as we move about the world, perceiving and being perceived. I find myself weighing gender as I discuss aspirations and authority in my current profession. Day in and day out, I also witness the gendered dynamics between boys and girls, schools I worry still a space where sexism is taught, learned, reinforced. I think about what it means to assert myself every time I lead or, indeed, enter a room: as an educator, a producer, a stage manager, a friend, a family member, or simply (and always) another human in community with others.

Reflecting here, I’m reminded of Tema Okun’s characteristics of White Supremacy Culture, a landmark document that helped me to realise just how easy it is for us all to “maintain vast and violent structural inequality” on the basis of race, gender, etc. in service of so-called professionalism. The framework can and has been misused (and I’d encourage you to read more here on how), but I still return to it regularly as a reminder of the traits that harm us and what needs to change if we are truly to build a better, more equitable, and more joyful world.

We teach each other to strive for power. Being “soft” is at odds with being in charge and being accomplished. Women are expected to conform to the dominant (coded: masculine) standard. To these statements all, I’ve pondered: why? The motivations are entangled with impact, and all I can say with clarity is that I want out of a system that values authority over compassion, dominance over community, one’s superiority (or proof of superiority) above all.

And so I read Some Questions and I grieve for us all, the way we’re trapped in so many gendered traditions and judgments. But I take a cue from Elle, and I choose to believe in the possibility of something better, championing my distinctively warm and compassionate approach to life as a means of serving the “collective vision of nourishment, resourcing, and cherishing ourselves and each other” that Okun describes. At the end of the day, I suppose what I am really wrestling with is the question: can we be too patient? Too kind? Too caring? Really? On impulse, I say no, and yet I feel (fear) our society says yes. I’m now engaging in the lifelong work of figuring out what I want to do about it.

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Thank you so much for reading. It remains amazing to me that so many of you find my rambles of interest, so if I haven’t said it before, let me say it now: I’m grateful you’re here. I know I’m just skimming the surface of a very meaty topic, so I’d love to hear your own reflections! A curious soul, I’d also be delighted to learn what you’re reading at the moment, how you’re spending the summertime, etc., etc. I myself have plans today to stroll along my local wetlands and to pop into a bookstore—exciting times, as ever.

Biggest hugs,
Bella

P.S. It will surprise you not that I am incredibly excited about the release of Barbie this Friday, and I just know it will factor into this very discussion! I hope you are gearing up to watch it too.

P.P.S. Things I’m Consuming

I return with another round of media recommendations! The more I have to do (as was the case in this busy spring), the greater my gratitude for the interruption art provides—it becomes an invitation to pause and reflect. A magical thing!

+ Maame: The summer holidays have me returning to my library pile with glee, and what a joy it was to kick off my summer reading with Jessica George’s debut, Maame. Reminiscent of Candice Carty-Williams’ Queenie and Dolly Alderton’s Ghosts, it had me realise that I’ve yet to find a book about a single woman living in London that I haven’t enjoyed. Perhaps I’m biased :~)

+ Gag Order: Kesha’s most recent album is nothing short of a masterclass, raw in its use of pop to find and communicate one’s own truth. I’ve been known to play it on repeat as I take long walks about the city.

+ Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret: The film adaptation of Judy Blume’s classic has now been out for a few months, so forgive me for the delay in mentioning it. But if you haven’t yet seen it, let me urge you to do so. Tender-hearted and perfectly cast, it depicts the turbulence of adolescence with such care.

+ Tambo & Bones: I’ve seen some brilliant theatre as of late, but the production that stands out to me the most is Tambo & Bones, a play by Dave Harris that had its UK premiere at Stratford East this past month. It left me speechless! It provoked thought! It wasn’t afraid to take a risk! While it’s no longer playing, do yourself a favour and grab a copy of the script.

1. Legally Blonde as a representation of white feminism is a conversation in itself!