Jane Eyre

 

Unwell Women, by Elinor Cleghorn

Hysterical.  Melancholic.  Has the "baby blues".  Neurotic.  Hormonal.  Complaining.  Hypochondriacal.  Nervous.  Loose.  Maladjusted.  Emotional.  Anxious.  Obsessive.  Psychosomatic.  Fragile.

Since the dawn of medicine, labels such as these have been slapped upon women in (often lazy) attempts to explain away their symptoms.  If you are a woman, chances are you have been described by at least one of these terms, probably more, during the course of your life.  I know I have.

About a year ago, I was listening to an episode of the podcast Breaking Down Patriarchy, where the host (Amy McPhie Allebest) and her guest were discussing the issue of the dismissal of female patients in medicine.  They were having a conversation over a new book called Unwell Women by a Dr. Elinor Cleghorn of Oxford.  I had never heard of this book nor of Elinor Cleghorn, but I had certainly experienced this dismissal firsthand on a plethora of occasions.  As the episode went on, I found myself feeling increasingly validated in my own personal encounters within the medical community.  I had to read this book!

It wasn't until many months later that I got my hands on a copy.  I dove right into it and very soon discovered that I was far from alone in my mistreatment and misdiagnoses.  From Hippocrates of Kos -the "father of medicine" himself- we get the oath sworn by all physicians to this day to "do no harm".  Conflictingly, in The Hippocratic Corpus (medical discourse based on the teachings of Hippocrates), physicians and followers seem to attribute all women's diseases to their reproductive functions.  After all, in ancient Greece, what other purpose did women serve beyond the reproductive and domestic spheres?

In Unwell Women, Dr. Cleghorn takes us on a medical journey from this point in history up to the present day (publication 2021), seamlessly weaving both anecdotal evidence and statistics to paint a picture of "misdiagnosis and myth in a man-made world".  It truly is an unbelievable trip: from the "wandering wombs" of ancient Greece to the sadistic torturing of women bearing a "witches mark" (ex: blemishes such as scars, moles, birthmarks, warts, pocks, etc.); from the sickening experimentation on enslaved women in the American South, to the complete dismissal of a woman's cry for help as she experienced acute postpartum depression; from the non-consensual sterilization of women of color, to the equally non-consensual lobotomies of women who "didn't behave".  Since there have been women, there has been medical discrimination, often with unspeakable consequences.

Throughout the book, Cleghorn returns time and again to the theme that "medicine must hear unwell women when they speak -- not as females weighed down by the myths of the man-made world, but as human beings".  She argues "patriarchal ideologies have clung insidiously to medical culture, practice, and knowledge.  The health and lives of all unwell women today are profoundly affected by this historical mythologizing.  It's there when our pain is minimized, our symptoms dismissed, our illnesses and diseases misdiagnosed, and our own bodies and voices distrusted".  The histories that she shares are both mind-blowing and heartbreaking.

So many of the common "women's ailments" that we hear of today are under-researched, leading to the dismissal of their symptoms as anxiety, psychosomatic, or even hypochondriacal.  Endometriosis, cystic fibroids, fibromyalgia, and lupus, rank high among these enigmatic diagnoses.  Autoimmune diseases -such as Multiple Sclerosis- serve as comprehensive examples of the gender bias so pervasive in modern medicine.  Today, we know that MS is three to four times more common in women than in men.  Yet "medicine assumed, for most of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, that MS predominantly affected men.  Of course, this was a misapprehension caused by medicine's insistence that men's neurological and motor symptoms were deserving of diagnostic attention, while women, with their delicate female nerves, must be manifesting such symptoms in their minds.  Gender bias still affects diagnoses of MS.  The disease begins with nonspecific symptoms that relapse and flare, including pain, fatigue, and muscle weakness, and it can be incredibly difficult, and long-winded, for sufferers to be correctly diagnosed.  Women with MS are particularly vulnerable to having their 'unexplained' pain and neurological symptoms misdiagnosed as somatization disorder, a mental illness manifesting in physical symptoms for which no cause can be found".

Perhaps the most disturbing example that Cleghorn provides is that of heart disease.  "In the mid-1980s, it was revealed that women were more likely to die from heart diseases than men.  Too often, this was because their diseases were misdiagnosed -- and even completely overlooked. By 1989, heart diseases were the leading cause of women's deaths in the US and UK.  And many were dying because they were not presenting the typical chest and left-arm pains of the male 'Hollywood heart attack'.  Studies have since found that women often have no chest pain at all but rather referred pain in their stomachs, neck, and shoulders.  The onset of a heart attack in women is often accompanied by nausea, fatigue, and breathlessness, symptoms that were historically dismissed as emotional and hysterical.  Angina is more likely to be written off as 'nonspecific chest pain' in women.  Chest pain, by the way, along with palpitations, dizziness, and difficulty breathing were all labeled 'hysteric' in the early somatization criteria".

We have come a long way in medicine since the times of leeches and blood-letting.  Even Dr. Cleghorn acknowledges that medicine saved her own life.  For those of us who have been belittled, infantilized, dismissed, berated (yes, it happens), butchered, humiliated, gaslit, or sent away in tears (I can say yes to all of those...) this book is perhaps the most validating thing we could read.  It covers a lot of ground, far more than I could hope to even mention briefly in this review but, for only 321 pages, it is densely packed with impressive and exhaustive research.  While I can't say that I am in complete agreement with everything Cleghorn presents, she hits the nail right on the head when it comes to women needing to be heard by their physicians.  Sadly, I know all too well that this is not the case for many of us and feel that Unwell Women is a book that every person -woman or man- should read.  

Cleghorn ends her book this way, and I'd like to follow her lead:  "To paraphrase the great Maya Angelou, when a woman tells you she is in pain, believe her the first time".

Sue & Tai-chan (Books #2, #3, #4), by Konami Kanata

Cats.  Manga.  Cats.  Kawaii.  Cats.  Silliness.  Cats.  Warmth.  Cats.

Sensing a theme?

Whether or not you are into graphic novels, comics, manga (Japanese cartoons in print form), or kawaii (culture of "cuteness" in Japan), all cat lovers can appreciate this series.  I was first introduced to Sue & Tai-chan by my daughter, who happened upon the first book in the series at our local library.  She shared bits and pieces of this charming work by Konami Kanata with me as she progressed through it herself, and we soon discovered that it was only the first of an entire series.  After receiving books #1-4 for her birthday, we sped through them with joy and ease.  (I personally have only read books #2, #3, and #4 in their entirety.)

Sue & Tai-chan are the titular feline characters in this collection of cat-based manga.  Sue, an aging and dignified kitty, is eager to settle into her restful golden years with her person (Natsuki).  One day, a friend asks Natsuki to care for his new kitten, Tai-chan (or Tai, as the suffix "chan" is a term of endearment).  Tai-chan is everything we know and love about kittens: friendly, fearless, full of energy, loving, curious, insane, and painfully adorable.  Suddenly, Sue's world is entirely different from what she'd been anticipating previously.  Instead of naps punctuated only by food and bathroom breaks, she finds herself playing with, entertaining, and teaching Tai-chan about being a house cat.  Using humor, subtlety, and feline antics familiar only to an animal lover, Kanata will steal your heart by way of these two lovable keets and all of their feline friends.

[Bonus: Kanata also weaves in nuggets of Japanese culture, making this a valuable learning experience for readers young and old.  There are often explanations for traditions (think Lunar New Year customs in Japan) at the end of the book, making it educational, accessible, and fun!]

This series is an excellent "light read" and fits perfectly between heavier novels or works of non-fiction.  They may be a great choice for kids to read on their own, but I would strongly recommend reading them alongside your child(ren); you won't want to miss out on the fun yourself!  The short chapters and dialogue-based narrative make these easy reads perfect for a vacation or a boring-ass waiting room.  You may only seem slightly crazy for laughing by yourself.   >^-^<

Les Contes de Perrault, by Charles Perrault

When we think of classic fairy tales, those of us in the U.S.A. often conjure up images of Disney movies, Shrek, or even the Grimm's Fairy Tales we heard as children.  While these are certainly relevant sources, we often leave out Charles Perrault, who delivered Mother Goose herself to the 17th century.

Like most other fairy tale writers, Perrault did a great deal of "collecting" of common fairy tales of his day.  Oftentimes, these stories were shared orally, and were passed through the generations by way of storytelling.  This would obviously lead to problems of continuity; it is thanks to fairy tale "collectors" like Perrault, the Grimm brothers, and Andrew Lang that we have many of these stories with us today in the ways we have come to commonly recognize them.

That being said, I would argue that many fairy tales lack a single, obvious, original author.  Beauty and the Beast, for example, has elements that appear as far back as ancient Rome in accounts of "a feast that served itself".  While we all can recognize that scene in a snap, the rest of the story as we know it would have been entirely different in the ancient world.  It wasn't until the mid-18th century that the modern version of this fairy tale (of movie acclaim) would be penned by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve.  Even since that time, the story has evolved into something new and different.  Guys, there are songs now.

It seems to me that every culture worldwide has some type of Cinderella story.  In China alone there are differing versions but, perhaps the best known is that of Beauty and her one evil stepsister, Pockface.  (I know.)  The Algonquin people have the story of The Rough-Face Girl, whose cruel sisters force her to stoke the fire day and night, causing sparks to permanently mar her hair and skin.  Ultimately, her inner beauty wins when the Invisible Being sees her for the kindhearted person she is and marries her, shaming her sisters and their inner ugly.

Even our own western tradition has different iterations of this classic tale.  The Disney movie is based on the version of Charles Perrault (France) while the Grimm version (Germany) is much more gruesome and violent.  Personally, I'm really glad that Cinderella's bird friends didn't peck out the eyeballs of her lying stepsisters in the movie.  It would have been a hard sell to the kids of the 1950s if the stepsisters cut off toes or heels to fit into the glass slipper while cute mice sang songs about making a lovely dress for Cinderelly.

[Side note: Cinderella gets her nickname because she sits among the cinders of the fire and is dirty as a result.  The nickname is similar in French: Cendrillon.  However, the nastier of the two stepsisters in Cendrillon actually calls her Cucendron, which could be roughly translated as "Cinderass".  This is my favorite thing in all of fairy tale bitchiness.]

The contes (tales) that I read in this particular publication appear in their original French.  I have listed them below in both their French and English titles.  You will likely recognize most of them, though many are not widely known to English speakers.

Les Contes de Perrault (The Tales of Perrault)

1. Cendrillon (Cinderella)
2. Le Chat Botté (Puss in Boots)
3. Les Fées (The Fairies)
4. Le Petit Poucet (Tom Thumb)
5. Riquet à la Houppe (Riquet [proper name] with the Tuft [of hair, like a cowlick])
6. La Barbe Bleue (Blue Beard)
7. La Belle au Bois Dormant (Sleeping Beauty [of the Woods])
8. Les Souhaits Ridicules (The Ridiculous Wishes)
9. Petit Chaperon Rouge (Little Red Riding Hood)

Common themes I have noticed throughout these nine contes would include what we often think of with fairy tales:  Things aren't always what they seem.  Kindness triumphs over cruelty.  Appearances don't mean everything (with a caveat, explained in a moment).  These are all good lessons.

We must, of course, make some allowances for fairy tales.  They are often, by nature, the antithesis of our modern values.  Take, for instance, the notion that nearly every happy ending takes place with a wedding between relative strangers who fall instantly in love.  Obviously, this is not realistic.  Critics would cite this as problematic, but I don't feel so quick to point it out as a flaw.  We are, after all, willing to suspend our disbelief enough to allow for a talking cat with boots (OMG ADORABLE!!!) or a young girl who can fall asleep for 100 years and wake up without bedhead or dragon breath.  

While I can swallow the weddings equating to happy endings, I do struggle with some of the blatant misogyny apparent in these stories.  Remember how we said that "appearances don't mean everything"?  Evidently, this only applies to inanimate objects.  Without fail, the victimized female protagonists are always beautiful, in spite of their trashy, poor people clothes.  Even the young princess who is known throughout the kingdom for being pretty but as dumb as a rock (Riquet à la Houppe) comes out on top.  Her smart (but ugly) twin sister is forgotten within a sentence of being labeled as jealous once the pretty sister becomes smart.  You see, the good fairy who was present at their birth said that the pretty girl could magically become smart...but there wasn't really anything she could do for the UGLY smart one.  I mean, gross.  Her magic powers can only do so much.  The happy ending?  The pretty (and now smart, too!) sister gets married to the protagonist.  The (always) smart sister remains ugly, and is therefore not an integral part of the story.  So, I guess that means that, for women and girls, value is determined by beauty.  But we musn't forget that appearances don't mean everything...right?  

Fairy tales like these Contes de Perrault are of their time.  They are typically written by men -sometimes women- who were willing to perpetuate the the untruths at the base of the patriarchy so pervasive to their respective cultures.  Nevertheless, while the stories we tell are greatly indicative of our values and world views, they also help to shape us.  I like to think that we can laugh at the absolute absurdity of a mother who intentionally "got to work quickly [having children], and didn't make less than two at a time" (Le Petit Poucet).  

Despite these frustrating nuances, I still love the classic princess fairy tale stories.  I am a product of the 1980s-1990s Disney Princess Explosion and, to this day, I thoroughly enjoy a poofy dress and a tiara, but you know I'll be wearing sensible shoes.

Fairy Tale, by Stephen King

I have always been partial to fairy stories.  From my earliest memories, tales of princesses, magic, evil stepparents, and mythical creatures have captivated me and left me perseverating on memorable scenes long after turning the final page.  As a little girl, I was particularly fascinated by the story of Rumpelstiltskin.  To this day, I can't tell you exactly why, although I'm sure my parents could vividly recall my insistence on renting a very specific animated rendition of it every time we went to Blockbuster when I was a pre-schooler.  My guess is that it had something to do with the bizarre nature of the whole thing -- you know, the kind of spookiness that delights us at Halloween.  I mean, take king/husband of the protagonist, for instance.  This asshole threatens to kill the young girl on three separate occasions if she doesn't spin mountains of straw into gold.  Her only salvation?  A mysterious little man who keeps appearing to hustle her into giving up her valuables in exchange for completing the impossible task set before her.  It's downright weird.  And I loved it.

So it came as no surprise to me that I enjoyed Fairy Tale as much as I did.  In fact, there are some very heavy Rumplstiltskin influences to be found within this novel.  (Color me thrilled.)  Often touted as a (the?) "Master of Horror", I feel that Stephen King is more meritorious of a less limiting moniker.  Sure, books like The Shining and It evoke a certain level of terror.  I have heard that it is less than desirous to listen to the audiobook of It while camping in the woods on a dark night with nothing but a tent to separate you from whatever lurks outside.  (I said I have heard...)  Nevertheless, I would argue that King is more of a Master of Character Development, or even a Master of Character Relationships.  Again, using It as an example, the relationships of the characters are what truly drive the story and make it so unforgettable. Clowns are just a backdrop.

Like It, and so many of his other works, Fairy Tale is a marvelous presentation of dynamic and unforgettable characters from the mind of Stephen King.  Centered around the life and experiences of high school athlete Charlie Reade, the story takes us on a journey that begins with an act of altruism in our world, then leads us into a series of adventures in another.  Fans of King's 11/22/63 (one of my all-time favorite books) may notice some parallels in terms of plot points, but with a great deal more fantasy and fairy tale tropes woven throughout.  Charlie is a lovable character whose life circumstances have forced him to mature before his time, but King offers gentle reminders throughout that he (Charlie) is indeed still a child in many ways.  Accompanied by his faithful and aging dog Radar (don't worry, she's fine!), images of Dorothy and Toto are called to mind.  Along the way, Charlie makes a great deal of friends and allies whose loyalty, sacrifice, and love tug at the heartstrings.  Meanwhile, the villains are villainous -in every sense of the word!- and just as wicked as their original fairy tale counterparts.  (Think greedy dwarves, man-eating giants, and evil wizards.)  Devotees will appreciate the Easter eggs tucked into the corners of this novel ("There are other worlds than these"), but it can certainly be enjoyed as a stand alone read for folks new to King's multiverse.

Alongside beautifully crafted character development, readers of this modern fantasy can expect all of the classic fairy tale elements: bravery, princesses, swords, spells, humor, tragedy, love, animosity, loss, mystery, adventure, and -most importantly- magic.  After all, without magic, is it even a Fairy Tale?

For additional Stephen King reviews:  The Dark Tower series