Hereditary Sass: Bee’s Buzz in BERNADETTE

Posted on May 20, 2013 by

Lately, I’ve been focusing a lot about the mother/titular figure in Where’d You Go, Bernadette. Today, it’s time to focus on the ever-important daughter: Bee.

Like her mother, Bee has a healthy heaping of sass in her personality–for instance, creating the singular word, “superbitchy” (52). As the book progresses and direct correspondence from Bernadette diminishes, we get larger and larger tastes of the character who is Bee.

As Bee is so fond of pointing out, she shares a lot of tendencies with her mother, which is pretty cool, like a “fascination with happy-angry people” (83). Isn’t happy-angry people one of the best concepts you’ve ever heard of–well of course, besides bitch goddess.

Like her mother, she has some attitude. Her tone throughout the novel is witty, sharp, and entirely delightful. For literal starters, Bee begins by complaining about her father who is cast immediately as secondary to the mother:

The first annoying thing is when I ask Dad what he thinks happened to Mom, he always says, “What’s most important is for you to understand it’s not your fault.” You’ll notice that wasn’t even the question. When I press him, he says the second most annoying thing, “The truth is complicated. There’s no way a person can ever know everything about another person.” (3)

It’s pretty clear, from start to finish, that Bee has trouble getting along well with her father. No doubt there are causes on both sides. But either way, Dad mistakenly calles Bee a “bitch” when her rightful title should be “bitch goddess” like her mother because he does not know her, just as he does not know Bernadette (258).

You almost have to feel sorry for him with his taped-over lens and desperate attitude, until you remember this whole thing started because he tried to get Mom locked up in a mental hospital. (258)

Perhaps the most compelling thing about Bee is how well she knows (and loves) her mother: “No matter what people say about Mom now, she sure knew how to make life funny” (53). And, unlike Bernadette’s husband, her daughter has a strong sense of knowledge for what made Bernadette leave.

And I don’t care what Dad or the doctors or the police or anybody says, it was Audrey Griffin screaming at Mom that made her never the same again. (89)

Even when everyone else believes Bernadette is dead, Bee stays true and believes her other is alive, and as a result is able to find her. Perhaps the most awe-worthy mother/daughter happiness moment comes near the end.

I can pinpoint that as the single happiest moment of my life, because I realized then that Mom would always [267] have my back. (266-67)

Because of Bee, because of Bernadette, and because of Bee and Bernadette, I gave my mom this book, and those are the very reasons that–if I have a daughter one day–I will give her this book as well. Yeah, their relationship is far from perfect, but it is perfectly imperfect in my books.

Work Cited

Semple, Maria. Where’d You Go, Bernadette. New York, NY: Little, Brown and Co., 2012.

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Bitch Goddesses of Literature

Posted on May 17, 2013 by

As my posts of late have made abundantly clear: I am smitten with Bernadette, the missing titular mother of Maria Semple’s novel. But I think what made me love Bernadette and Where’d You Go, Bernadette the most is the discovery of my new favorite term ever that I want all women in life and literature to live up to:

Bitch goddess.

Bernadette calls herself a bitch goddess, meaning that she wields an independent attitude and mind and is not afraid to use either; also, she is a fucking goddess while she does it.

“My intention was never to grow old in this dreary upper-left corner of the Lower Forty-eight. I just wanted to leave L.A. in a snit, lick my considerably wounded ego, and when I determined that everyone felt sufficiently sorry for me, unfurl my cape and swoop in to launch my second act and show those bastards who the true bitch goddess of architecture really is.” (Semple 123)

Bitch goddess holds true for Bernadette, and she really owns the concept: “Come at me, even in love, and I’ll scratch the hell out of you” (136).

Which got me to thinking… what other ladies of literature are bitch goddesses?

To that effect, here is a chronological list of my favorite bitch goddesses of literature.

1. Lady MacBeth in William Shakespeare’s Macbeth (1611).

Why: Lady MacBeth may be power-hungry and can come off as a bitch, but in my view: she’s a bitch goddess. At the time of Shakespeare’s writing, she has nearly enough cleverness and sass to get what she wants–and that is beautiful.

Memorable line: “But screw your courage to the sticking place, / And we’ll not fail.” (Shakespeare)

2. Eowyn in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings (1954-1955).

Why: Because she is a badass who is determined to fight for her country and what she wants in life.

Memorable line: “But no living man am I!” (Tolkien)

3. Jean Brodie in Muriel Spark’s The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1961).

Why: Jean Brodie is not only a bitch goddess herself (hello, awesome spinster, potential lesbian, fiercely independent and strong-minded), but she is teaching a generation of girls to be bitch goddesses as well.

Memorable line: “Give me a girl at an impressionable age and she is mine for life.” (Spark)

4. Jeanette in Jeanette Winterson’s Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit (1985).

Why: As a young girl, Jeanette realizes she is different. Instead of becoming what her mother wants her to become (a proper, straight, Christian missionary), she owns her identity and pursues what she really wants like the true bitch goddess that she is.

Memorable line: “I want someone who is fierce and will love me until death and knows that love is as strong as death, and be on my side forever and ever. I want someone who will destroy and be destroyed by me.” (Winterson)

5. Molly Weasley and Hermione in J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter (1997-2007).

I also love Tonks, Ginny, and many other female characters of Rowling’s creation as well. But Molly Weasley and Hermione are unequivocally bitch goddesses.

Why: Molly Weasley isn’t afraid to express her emotions–any of them. But what puts her over the top is how fiercely she defends her family and what she believes in. For Hermione, she has always been a clever girl. Her bitch goddess qualities really come out when she gets passionate, whether its about S.P.E.W. or defending her friends, she is a true bitch goddess.

Memorable lines: 

Molly Weasley: “NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!” (Rowling)

Hermione: “Twitchy little ferret, aren’t you Malfoy?” (Rowling)

6. Daenyrus in George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire (1996-present)

Why: Because she’s the effing mother of dragons. ‘Nuff said.

Memorable line: “Woman? … Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man.” (Martin)

7. Tina Fey in her memoir Bossypants (2011).

Why: Despite being a nerdy kid, Fey grew up to be an outspoke, fierce, vibrant, and independent woman. Definitely bitch goddess material.

Memorable line: “Do your thing and don’t care if they like it.” (Fey)

Works Cited

Fey, Tina. Bossypants. New York, NY: Hachette, 2011.

Martin, George R.R. A Storm of Swords. New York, NY: Bantam, 2000.

Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter. New York, NY: Scholastic, 1997-2007.

Semple, Maria. Where’d You Go, Bernadette. New York, NY: Little, Brown and Co., 2012.

Shakespeare, William. Macbeth. 1611. In The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. New York, NY: Barnes and Noble, 1994.

Spark, Muriel. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. 1961. New York, NY: Harper, 1999.

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Lord of the Rings. 1954-1955. New York, NY: Mariner, 2005.

Winterson, Jeanette. Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit. 1985. New York, NY: Grove, 1997.

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Oh How I Love Thee, Bernadette

Posted on May 13, 2013 by

Last week, I talked about Bernadette as a kick-ass mother figure. But Bernadette is oh-so-much more than a mother; she is a wickedly-awesome woman.

The reasons are numerous, so here is a randomly-ordered list:

1. Logic.

Bernadette employs a very specific and unique brand of logic to her everyday life–from dealings with the gnats to planning her daughter’s reward-trip to Antartica. She also can navigate a keyboard pretty handily to extract further knowledge:

Do you know that the Drake Passage is the most turbulent body of water on the entire planet? Well, I do, because I just spent the last three hours on the Internet. (35)

2. Personality a la April Ludgate.

There is definitely an essence of April Ludgate in Bernadette Fox. And I love it. It’s sassy, it’s independent, it’s mildly agoraphobic. Therefore, it’s beautiful:

And not just because I hate people, which, for the record, I still do. (36)

3. Political consciousness.

Even though Bernadette is not fond of venturing out of the house, she maintains an awareness of the world and a sensitivity to the injustice within it–especially as it relates to women (a.k.a. my main area of interest).

We live a life of privilege. That doesn’t mean we can literally switch off these women, whose only fault was being born in the Congo during civil war. We need to bear witness.” (65)

4. Geographic snobbery.

I love how Bernadette hates on Seattle and the weather. Especially, I love her critique of Seattleans–Seattletonians? Seattlelites?–consistent complaints about the predictably unpredictable weather.

What you’ve heard about the rain: it’s all true. So you’d think it would become part of the fabric, especially among the lifers. But every time it rains, and you have to interact with someone, here’s what they’ll say: “Can you believe the weather?’ And you want to say, “Actually, I can believe the weather. What I can’t believe is that I’m actually having a conversation about the weather.” (133)

If that doesn’t sound like how Minnesotans (myself included) react to weather like April blizzards, then I don’t know what does.

Yet, perhaps the best moment of this geographic snobbery comes when Bernadette talks about Idaho:

That’s right, we neighbor Idaho. I’ve moved to a state that neighbors Idaho. And any life that might still be left in me kind of goes poof. (127)

5. Her status as a “bitch goddess” (123).

In a future blog post, I’ll delve further into the glorious term that is bitch goddess. But, for now, just assume my correctness when I say Bernadette is a bitch goddess and chew on this beautiful, independently-charged, bitch goddess statement from near the end of the novel that is now my new attitude towards life:

[P]lease step aside because I’m about to kick the shit out of life. (317)

Work Cited

Semple, Maria. Where’d You Go, Bernadette. New York, NY: Back Bay Books, 2012.

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To Mothers–Mine, Especially

Posted on May 10, 2013 by

Since Mother’s Day is approaching and my own mother is on her way to visit me as I type, today’s blog post is going to take a motherly theme. Specifically, how much I love the mother and mother/daughter dynamic in Maria Semple’s Where’d You Go, Bernadette.

Brace yourselves, folks. This is going to be the first of many blog posts on this beautiful, brightly-colored little book.

Bernadette is a formerly-successful-then-shamed-in-her-career mother of only child Bee. The novel itself is Bee piecing together correspondences (emails, letters, etc.) between Bernadette and various others in an attempt to figure out where her mother disappeared to. Way cool.

Even cooler is Bernadette’s attitude as a mother. And especially her attitude to the other mothers at Bee’s school:

See, that’s why I call the mothers there ‘gnats.’ Because they’re annoying, but not so annoying that you actually want to spend valuable energy on them. (23)

Bernadette is basically a lives by her own rules and doesn’t give a damn about tradition or being like anyone else. For someone struggling with some level of inadequacy, she has a fabulous perspective.

To some, Bernadette may seem to have shortcomings as a mother. Yes she does not connect or do much of anything with or for the mothers at Bee’s school. Yes she is (reluctantly, initially) prepared to let her daughter go to boarding school. But she really wants to do what is best for Bee and whatever she can to let Bee prosper–and that is the best a mother can do. Moreover it works–Bee adores Bernadette.

When not critiquing Seattle or the other mothers, Bernadette also dishes out some tasty advice for her daughter that is equally beautiful and real. This is the kind of stuff that makes me want to make any future daughter of mine read this book, as well as buy my mother a copy when we stop at Magers and Quinn’s this weekend, and it’s okay that I’m writing this here because she won’t have computer access before it happens. Win.

Anyway, back to the fabulous advice:

And I’m going to let you in on a little secret about life. You think it’s boring now? Well, [44] it only gets more boring. The sooner you learn it’s on you to make life interesting, the better off you’ll be. (43-44)

Here, here! I wish my mother had served up advice along those lines, and I certainly will pass it on to any of my progeny. But, even though my mom’s advice wasn’t quite along the lines of Bernadette’s, I have to say I owe my mother for my discovering Bernadette. After all, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts: my mother got me into reading. I doubt I would be reading Bernadette or sitting here blogging about it right now if my mother had not made me a reader.

So, Happy Mother’s Day (and birthday!) to the classy mother who gave me books!

Work Cited

Semple, Maria. Where’d You Go, Bernadette. New York, NY: Back Bay Books, 2012.

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Adaptations: From Shakespeare to Stiles

Posted on May 6, 2013 by

Usually, I vastly prefer the book to the movie.

The reason? Books are generally more expansive, offer longer periods of pleasure, and are the original. However, I recently encountered my exception to this rule: 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) and The Taming of the Shrew (1593).

Obviously, there are many similarities between the play and its modern-day take. For instance, that beautifully penned-by-Shakespeare, spoken-by-Cameron line: “I burn, I pine, I perish” (10 Things, Shakespeare I.I, 333).

Of course, as a modern-day film, 10 Things I Hate About You widely differs from the play of the sixteenth century. For instance, the focus is not to marry Kat and Bianca off in the film; instead, it is their differing views on dating and the world.

“It’s a widely known fact that the Stratford sisters aren’t allowed to date.” (10 Things)

Notable character additions–like guidance counselor Ms. Perky–further differed the film from the play in an oh-so-appealing way. Especially when Ms. Perky writers her dirty novel featuring “quivering member[s].” Perhaps it’s humor such as this that makes me prefer the film to the play–or maybe it’s just because I saw the film over a decade ago.

Of course, Ms. Perky isn’t the only woman who’s not afraid to say or write what’s on her mind. The best example of this is my favorite character–Kat–and I think we’ll save the best for last.

A great non-Kat, feminine-power moment reminds me of a scene in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban when Hermione calls Draco “You foul, loathing, evil little cockroach.”

Good girl Bianca gets sassy and stands up for herself–and those she cares about–to certifiable douche bag Joey. She, like Hermione, punches him, declaring, “That’s for making my date bleed! That’s for my sister…and that’s for me.”

Now, to the reason that I love the film more than the play: Kat Stratford.

The Katharina of the play is pretty cool–don’t get me wrong. For instance, this section conveys an astonishing sense of agency for the era it was written in:

Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;

And speak I will; I am no child, no babe;

You better have endured me say my mind;

And if you cannot, best you stop your ears.

My tongue will tell the anger of my heart;

Or else my heart, concealing it, will break:

And rather than it shall, I will be free

Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. (IV.III, 351)

However, even this powerful passage cannot come close to the sassy, bitch goddess-like (you’ll understand that phrase when I talk about Where’d You Go Bernadette) wit of Kat Stratford of the film. 

So many of her lines are gold. Some of my favorite moments happen, of course, when she is in English class. (English class = a proclivity to wit?) Here are two of my favorite such moments:

“He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who squandered half of his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.” (10 Things)

“What did I miss?”

“The oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education.” (10 Things)

And–adding to my feminist enjoyment–the movie wins in the behavior of Kat in the end. As The Taming of the Shrew closes, Kat has very much been tamed, made submissive, and turned into the obedient wife to Petruchio. At the close of 10 Things I Hate About You, yes Kat is contentedly in a relationship with Patrick. But she also wins her father over to sending her to her college of choice and seems poised to embark on an independent future–with or without Patrick.

Works Cited

10 Things I Hate About You. Dir. Gil Junger. Perf. Heath Ledger, Julia Stiles, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Larisa Oleynik. Touchstone Pictures, 1999.

Shakespeare, William. The Taming of the Shrew. 1593. In The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. New York, NY: Barnes and Noble, 1994. 329-358.

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My First Solo Shakespeare Experience

Posted on May 3, 2013 by

The last time I read Shakespeare was nearly three years ago. Naturally, that had to be rectified–how else will I manage to trudge my way through The Complete Works of William Shakespeare?

Given the plethora of options, I chose the 1593 comedy The Taming of the Shrew. Admittedly, the reason was because I loved 10 Things I Hate About You since I first saw it as a pre-teen. More on this later.

Reading Shakespeare out of the context of class is weird. I had only previously read it as required reading, guided by the thoughts of my professos and some of my other classmates. Now, I was on my own… and without a heavily-annotated edition. Naturally, being familiar with the loosely-adapted modern-day film, I had a sense of the plot.

Baptista, a wealthy gentleman, has two daughters: Katharina and Bianca. Katharina is unsuited for and uninterested in matrimonial affairs, while Bianca is set up as the ideal wife. The play follows Petruchio’s pursuit and ‘taming’ of Katharina, inspired of course by wealth to be attained through such a union. And of course encouraged by Bianca’s many suitors who are eager to claim such an ‘obedient’ wife as their own.

As the play goes on, Katharina is sufficiently tamed and wed, permitting Bianca to marry Lucentio. At the play’s end, three husbands compete to see whose wife is the most obedient; naturally, Katharina–now oh-so-tame–is the picture of obedience (more on this annoyance later).

While I did feel that I had a good understanding of the play, I feel that reading it on my own–without seeing a performance or discussing it in a classroom setting–was a challenge. Maybe next time, I’ll have to read then watch the play. Or watch then read. Or both.

Since this is Shakespeare, there are of course many beautiful uses of language. Here are two of my favorites as I was reading:

From Katharina,

I see a woman may be made a fool

If she had not a spirit to resist. (3.3, 345)

On the positives, this line implies some feminine agency (having ‘spirit’); on the negatives, it suggests a submissiveness to women (being ‘made a fool’). This line is representative of how Katharina is both a lively source of feminine power and a disappointingly submissive woman.

However, to not end on a feminist rant, one of my favorite lines and perhaps new mottos for life comes from the Induction and the minor character Christopher Sly:

Come, madam wife, sit by my

side, and let the world slip: we shall ne’er be

younger. (Induction, II, 332).

Works Cited

Shakespeare, William. The Taming of the Shrew. 1593. In The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. New York, NY: Barnes and Noble, 1994. 329-358.

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Musings on Male Narrators

Posted on April 29, 2013 by

If you know me well at all, you know I’m a huge fan of things that bend gender stereotypes (i.e. my love of the novel Orlando by Virginia Woolf or my dressing up as Oliver Twist for Halloween). Thus, I find it pretty stellar when writers assume the identity of a differently gendered person for their stories.

However, when I was reading two novels by women published in the past year, it troubled me that both chose a male protagonist. The books in question: The Round House by Louise Erdrich and Arcadia by Lauren Groff.

Disclaimer: I enjoyed the narration in both books. And I found the fact gender status of Erdrich’s protagonist to be highly effective. And, both boys are shown to truly love, care about, and want to do anything to help their mothers. Which is absolutely lovely. And, in the cases of both books, women are highly influential.

BUT.

Was there any reason that these two very different stories could not have featured a female protagonist instead? After all, as sub character Helle says, “Most powerful people in the world are young, beautiful girls” (Groff 128).

Wouldn’t it have been just as effective to a see a 13-year-old girl tormented by the rape of her mother? Would she not, too, have felt the need to protect and avenge?

Wouldn’t a young woman have the same experiences as Bit and feel the same closeness to her mother? Would she not also try to do everything in her power to help her family and to live up to the ideals of Arcadia?

Of course, there is no way of knowing what would have happened with these books if they had starred young women. And, in the larger sense, it doesn’t matter because–to go all liberal artsy–gender is a construct and not necessarily important to character. But, I can’t help but feel frustrated that these great women writers write from a male voice when the “she’s” of literature are still outnumbered by the “he’s.”

Work Cited

Erdrich, Louise. The Round House. New York, NY: HarperCollins, 2012.

Groff, Lauren. Arcadia. New York, NY: Hyperion, 2012.

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