Memoir Nonfiction Review

“The Dance of the Dissident Daughter” by Sue Monk Kidd

Kidd, Sue Monk. The Dance of the Dissident Daughter (1996) 
HarperCollins, 238 pages, $12.95 trade paperback   
ISBN 0-06-064589-X

Highly Recommended

Long before Sue Monk Kidd’s novel The Secret Life of Bees hit the bestseller lists, Kidd was an established Christian inspirational writer and speaker. Then suddenly one day an incident involving her teenage daughter sent her on a years-long journey to discover the role of women—and therefore of herself—in society, in the universe, and in the spiritual world.

Although Kidd’s Southern Baptist upbringing had taught her that women are—and are meant to be—subordinate to men, through research she “began to discover that for many thousands of years before the rise of the Hebrew religion, in virtually every culture of the world, people worshiped the Supreme Being in the form of a female deity–the Great Goddess” (134). This discovery sent her on a quest to rediscover the sacred feminine that traditional religion has for thousands of years denied. For Kidd, this was not simply a research project, but rather a deeply personal investigation into how she, as a woman, fit into an all-encompassing spiritual realm:

Reclaiming the ancient feminine consciousness as a model of what’s possible, integrating it into the world as it is now evolving, and balancing it with masculine symbol, image, and power together allow us to go forward and create an utterly new consciousness, one large enough and strong enough to carry us into the future. (p. 145)

This spiritual quest affected Kidd profoundly and up-ended every aspect of her life. In this moving memoir she puts her considerable writing skills to work to explain how she reached the conclusion that “What is ultimately needed is balance–divine symbols that reflect masculine and feminine and a genuine marriage of the masculine and feminine in each of us” (p. 189).

“The Divine Feminine is returning to collective consciousness, all right. She’s coming, and it will happen whether we’re ready or not” (p. 99), Kidd warns. Like the ancient oracle, she seems to have predicted the best-selling suspense novel of summer 2003, Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code.

I encourage all women, particularly those in midlife, to read The Dance of the Dissident Daughter.

© 2003 by Mary Daniels Brown

Literary Criticism Literary History Literature & Psychology Nonfiction Review

“Writing a Woman’s Life” by Carolyn G. Heilbrun

Heilbrun, Carolyn G. Writing a Woman’s Life (1988) 
W.W. Norton & Company, 144 pages, $14.95 hardcover 
ISBN 0-393-02601-9

In the “Introduction,” feminist scholar Carolyn Heilbrun explains the topic of her book:

There are four ways to write a woman’s life: the woman herself may tell it, in what she chooses to call an autobiography; she may tell it in what she chooses to call fiction; a biographer, woman or man, may write the woman’s life in what is called a biography; or the woman may write her own life in advance of living it, unconsciously, and without recognizing or naming the process. (p. 12)

Heilbrun says that she will focus on three of these methods, omitting fiction.

Men have always had narrative stories, such as the quest motif and the warrior exemplar, on which to base their lives and within which to tell their life stories. But, Heilbrun argues, such stories of action and accomplishment have been denied to women; the behavior praised by these stories has always been branded “unwomanly”:

above all other prohibitions, what has been forbidden to women is anger, together with the open admission of the desire for power and control over one’s life (which inevitably means accepting some degree of power and control over other lives). (p. 13)

Because this has been declared unwomanly, and because many women would prefer (or think they would prefer) a world without evident power or control, women have been deprived of the narratives, or the texts, plots, or examples, by which they might assume power over—take control of—their own lives. (p. 17)

Well into the twentieth century, it continued to be impossible for women to admit into their autobiographical narratives the claim of achievement, the admission of ambition, the recognition that accomplishment was neither luck nor the result of the efforts or generosity of others. (p. 24)

The concept of biography itself has changed profoundly in the last two decades, biographies of women especially so. But while biographers of men have been challenged on the “objectivity” of their interpretation, biographers of women have had not only to choose one interpretation over another but, far more difficult, actually to reinvent the lives their subjects led, discovering from what evidence they could find the processes and decisions, the choices and unique pain, that lay beyond the life stories of these women. The choices and pain of the women who did not make a man the center of their lives seemed unique, because there were no models of the lives they wanted to live, no exemplars, no stories. These choices, this pain, those stories, and how they may be more systematically faced…are what I want to examine in this book. (p. 31)

In subsequent chapters Heilbrun offers George Sand, Willa Cather, and particularly Dorothy L. Sayers as examples of women who tried to mold their lives into patterns other than those traditionally allowed to them. However:

Only in the last third of the twentieth century have women broken through to a realization of the narratives that have been controlling their lives. Women poets of one generation—those born between 1923 and 1932—can now be seen to have transformed the autobiographies of women’s lives, to have expressed, and suffered for expressing, what women had not earlier been allowed to say. (p. 60)

These poets, all American, are Denise Levertov, Jane Cooper, Carolyn Kizer, Maxine Kumin, Anne Sexton, Adrienne Rich, and Sylvia Plath.

Finally, Heilbrun argues for what she calls “reinventing marriage,” for a new kind of marriage in which husband and wife both recognize and nurture the other’s strengths. “Marriage is the most persistent of myths imprisoning women, and misleading those who write of women’s lives” (p. 77), she says. As an example of this new kind of marriage she cites the relationship between Leonard and Virginia Woolf.

One of the more interesting aspects of Writing a Woman’s Life is Heilbrun’s explanation, in chapter six, of why she chose to use a pseudonym in the 1960s when, as a young college professor, she started publishing detective novels: “I believe now that I must have wanted, with extraordinary fervor, to create a space for myself” (p. 113). “But I also sought another identity, another role. I sought to create an individual whose destiny offered more possibility than I could comfortably imagine for myself” (p. 114).

A potential problem with any  type of literary criticism based on a particular ideology is that it often ends up reducing complex issues to dismissively simple statements, such as this declaration by Heilbrun: “Marriage, in short, is a bargain, like buying a house or entering a profession” (p. 92). Nonetheless, in general, Writing a Woman’s Life offers a compelling view of cultural and social conventions that are currently undergoing change.

© 1999 by Mary Daniels Brown