I read an article a while back, where a woman author was making the claim that a man couldn’t write a character who was a woman. This was similar to other comments I’d seen about writing characters of a particular race, or culture.
I didn’t think too much about it until I’d seen another thread where women authors were making fun of a young man who, to prove that a man can write a realistic woman, gave a sample of his writing about a woman and how and why she wriggled into her oh-so-tight jeans. Seems he wound up proving the opposite.
This led a man on the thread to challenge the women to describe themselves as a man might. The results were sometimes funny, sometimes sad.
The funny answers included bits like: “Her breasts entered the room before her…”. The sad ones didn’t write anything, instead noting that no man would include a woman like herself in a book.
I first took serious note of this idea while listening to an audio book of “The Girl on the Train” by Paula Hawkins. The story is told in first person through three different women characters.
I was surprised by the depth and complexity of those women. The nuances of the descriptions, the insights into the women’s thoughts and feelings, well, had I been writing it they would have never occurred to me. (Full disclosure — I’m a man.)
I’m not sure I can even describe it well, still being trapped in my male mindset, but it was the smooth co-existence of various thoughts and feelings that stuck out for me. For example, I could see myself writing a professional, competent woman character (I’ve known plenty to use as role models). Or I could see myself writing a flirtatious captivating woman character (I’ve known them as well).
But I would never think to meld the two ideas as seamlessly as Paula Hawkins did. In one scene, the main character is going to talk to the investigating detective at the police station, very serious, very focused on what she wants to accomplish, and as she’s walking through the offices, notes the men that have taken notice of her looks, the one she cultivated with her choice of clothing.
The flirtatious and the serious both there, intertwined, yet without either affecting the other. Like two different threads going on in her mind at the same time. It would have never occurred to me to capture the complexity of her mind like that. And it was jarring, for me, to read it.
After listening to the audio book (on a long road trip) I was curious if the movie captured those nuances. It didn’t.
Maybe it’s simply too hard to portray psychological insights in film? Or maybe it’s that, despite a woman-authored screenplay, the male directors thought it better to focus on the action of the plot.
And what about the men in the book? Well they are shallow, almost caricatures of men. I was a bit offended, we’re not like that.
Most recently, I’ve been enjoying the TV series, “Scott & Bailey.” The primary characters are women detectives, and the show was written by women. And directed.
Just as in “The Girl on the Train,” the complexity and depth of the lead women make this show stand out.
The main characters are talented, focused, professional women detectives. But they are also women with relationships, and ups and downs with mates and lovers and children and parents. Yet the two are intertwined in a way that I just don’t think a man would write.
It’s popular today to have male detectives that have home issues to deal with as well. But the two are more cleanly separated. The detective is fighting the bad guy, then worrying about his kid, then solving, then worrying. Neither gets in the way of the other, it’s like two separate stories, until the bad guys kidnap his kid.
Not so with the women of Scott and Bailey, who have a fascinating blend of strength and weakness, of being vulnerable and fully in charge, of being professional and flirtatious, all seamlessly, realistically intertwined.
Scott and Bailey get the bad guys using their analytical intelligence, figuring out exactly what went on in the crimes and who was lying about what. They often solve the case through their ability to use psychological insights to get suspects to crack under interrogation.
Contrast this to man-oriented detectives who often have to have physical combat with the bad guys, and run around with guns blazing, and, even in interview rooms, have to deal with people jumping over tables and trying to fight.
I’ve often had what is probably an unpopular idea, and that is that men and women are equally matched gladiators in the battle of sexes, but where each is given different weapons.
Men are armed with fists that do physical harm, and women are armed with psychological insights that do emotional harm.
Scott and Bailey use their weapons as effectively as Dirty Harry uses his gun.
And the men in Scott and Bailey? They’re all shallowly drawn caricatures of men. Their cluelessness enters the room before them.
Seeing the reality of the Scott & Bailey characters gives a different insight into other detective/thriller type movies with strong women characters written by men.
Those women are to be admired because of their no-nonsense self-confidence, their easy banter with their colleagues, their courage and coolness under fire, and, often most important of all, their martial arts ability.
And when they do discuss their feelings, it might be like this dialog I recently heard — He asked, “do you know what it’s like to have someone you care for die?” “Yes, “ she said stoically, “I had a comrade die in battle.”
In other words, they’re just male characters being acted out by women. And not just any women, but beautiful young women.
I suspect this difficulty of creating characters of the opposite gender is part of a larger issue. No author can create a realistic character that doesn’t resonate with his or her gut. But maybe this isn’t really a problem.
What an author can do is accurately portray his or her impressions of, a woman, a man, a black, a Muslim, a Southerner, a… And for those readers with a similar world view, the author’s work will be entertaining.
I just wish someone would get computer geeks right for a change.
