In place of Sunday's Snippet, a short critical essay about an interlinked connection of stories by a faculty member of my program at Spalding. Julie Brickman's work is poignant, engaging, and thrilling. I sincerely appreciated exploring her collection through the eyes of a feminist writer. Enjoy!
Is She a Feminist?
In
Two Deserts, a gripping novel by Julie Brickman, a variety of
independent character voices come together to present a cohesive and relatable
story. Through her effective use of imagery, Brickman is able to not only
engage the reader in each of the independent story lines, but is also able to
showcase her immense literary skills and ability. Of particular note to
the reader is the almost seamless ways in which Brickman presents details that
might otherwise not be noted.
Beginning with the contents of the novel, Brickman
showcases her ability to appreciate intimate detail. The chapter names of
her work range from The Night at the Souk to The Lonely Priest.
For the reader, this is exciting, as it encourages further and deep
exploration of the narrative.
In The Night at the Souk, the reader is
immediately transported into a Middle Eastern market where an American woman is
in search of traditional clothing that will obscure her blonde hair.
During her search, the woman waxes poetic on the position of women in
Middle Eastern countries. For the female reader, this sort of discourse
is known and comfortable to read. What is of particular note in Brickman’s
work is the fact that she’s able to present a feminist perspective without the
work reading as preachy. For example, she writes, “Like dominance,
clarity belongs to the men” (Brickman, 2013, pg3).
With effortless
description, Brickman is able to establish the narrator as an independent woman
attempting to assume a role in a society in which women are not considered to
be on the same social and intellectual levels as men. The narrator goes
on to observe women haggling over the prices of jewelry, “the asset they could
always claim as their own” (Brickman, 2013, p4). Surprisingly, for as
staunch a feminist as the narrator appears to be, once she dons the traditional
headscarf of the region, she notes that “as though by draping my form in black
I had become enigmatic, ethereal” (Brickman, 2013, p7). The duality of
the feminist agenda, that is, the fine line that must be approached between
being independent and still remaining a part of the society, is touched on with
this line. Brickman is able to showcase the struggle of countless
generations of strong women who have fought for basic human rights for women,
again without appearing as though she’s taking a particular stance.
Perhaps that is the brilliance of the voice of this narrator – she is
factual, but has underlying principles that are clear and able to understand.
The reader, whether male or female, can certainly relate to this notion,
though the female reader would likely be more akin to the struggle than the
male.
The narrator, Emma, asks
for a burqah in the shop where she has mounded fabric over her frame,
attempting to blend in with the rest of the women in the region. While
the shopkeeper is at first hesitant to provide the garment for her, eventually
he concedes. Upon donning the burqah, Emma notes that, “Eventually, I
could smell only myself, a decaying stuffy smell like the inside of a laundry
bag” (Brickman, 2013, p9). Perhaps Brickman is using this image to
present the idea that we are all decaying in some way, as the novel’s underlying
theme is loss. Or maybe wearing a burqah really does smell like an old
laundry bag. Unless the reader has worn one, s/he doesn’t know what the
experience might entail. This further reinforces the brilliance of
Brickman’s writing.
The narrator, however,
is not satisfied with just wearing a burqah, and demands from the proprietor of
the shop a shaylah, a scarf that is wound around the face of women to further
obscure them from view. Emma vanishes into “black-specterdom” where she
notes that no one on the street would dare meet her eyes, “… for they knew not
to whom or what household they belonged” (Brickman, 2013, p11). This is
an interesting correlation, as the narrator is clearly a feminist given her
internal dialogue, but respects and recognizes the fact that the shaylah does
encourage, in some facet, a sense of power for the women who are forced to wear
it. After putting it on, the shopkeeper remarks on how “modest” Emma
looks, “how nourishing to the empty flask of a man’s soul. A real woman
of God, he declared” (Brickman, 2013, p11). Again, the dichotomy that
Brickman creates for her narrator is effective and well presented for the
reader. The allegiance of the Western reader would surely be for Emma to
walk the streets proudly ‘uncovered’ but Brickman’s presentation of details
pulls on the sensibility of the morality of the reader.
The claim could
be made that just as the woman is searching for her place in the world in which
she is currently engaged, so too is the reader, as Brickman offers little to no
backstory in the opening twelve pages of the narrative. This is an
effective literary tool, as it furthers interest in the rest of the work.
To that, the details that Brickman presents for the reader are
simultaneously delightful and harrowing. In few words, Brickman is able
to spin the beginnings of a tale that have as much to do with location as with
a search for personal identity. Two Deserts is able to masterfully
maneuver between worlds that seem on the surface to be so far apart.
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