An anthology that celebrates every label thrown at women and another by Margaret Atwood brings forth an exuberant variety of voices and stories�
If the sisterhood were an idea that could be compressed into the shape and size of a book, it would be Furies: Stories of the Wicked, Wild and Untamed. A seriously joyous celebration of and by women (though not only for them, because the sisterhood loves its allies), this collection of 15 short stories marks the half-century of feminist publishing house Virago. And it's such a party.
The contents page reads like the answer to that popular mind game: Who would you invite to dinner, if you could invite anybody? What about Margaret Atwood (top billing, but of course), Kamila Shamsie, Helen Oyeyemi, Emma Donoghue, to name just four? And then there are the story titles, all labels thrown at women who refuse to fall in line, stay within the box, and do what they're told: 'Vituperator', 'Hussy', 'Spitfire'.
And if that were not enough, there's the absolutely delicious introduction by the multi-hyphenated Sandi Toksvig, pointing out the many ways in which words are weaponised against women. "I long to be a combination of all of them," she writes, "because every one of those epithets sounds like a woman who would stand up for herself".
The titles are all synonyms for virago (the Furies reference the classical Greco-Roman goddesses of vengeance) but there's no superficiality or sameness in their interpretation. The stories span all of history and some fantasy, from Biblical times to the early days of the Christian church, from an aquatic conference to World War II, and from 19th century Germany to a pandemic attic. In form, too, there is an exuberant variety: notwithstanding the classical beginning-middle-and-end rigour, they manage to include a graphic narration, an unschooled voice, an excerpt from medical case notes.
Breaking the rules
In their predilection for pushing the envelope, the forms of the stories reflect their protagonists as they break the rules, sometimes tentatively, sometimes with conviction, occasionally with encouragement and often spontaneously and powerfully. They may work differently for different readers but none can be faulted for lack of passion or vulnerability or courage. Consider the very last story in the collection, Stella Duffy's 'Dragon'. It is a delicate, magical meditation on menopause and, indeed, many of the difficult, unarticulated bits and pieces of womanhood. As Toksvig says, it is writing that will make every reader rethink their relationship with their own bodies.
On the other hand, 'Hussy', Caroline O'Donoghue's story of a porn star past her prime, who unexpectedly runs into a former co-star (in a fun subversion, he's the Hussy of the title - or is he?), is a deeply empathetic, completely unsentimental account of a woman trying to make her way around the world. The quiet, unflashy writing is a sharp contrast to Duffy's, but the impact is as emphatic.
Two stories based in fact are worth special mention. In 'Virago', trans researcher and writer C.S. Lester presents the case of W, whose understanding of their birth body is at odds with the world's. It is a sensitive salute to the rarely acknowledged earlier generations of queer and trans people who refused to bury their sexual identities in shame and clothing. W would have found a soul sister in Emma Donoghue's 'Termagent', based on the life of Kathlyn Oliver, who chose her own name, her own sexual preferences and her own calling as a women's rights activist in the early 20th century.
In view of the many gifted writers contained within these covers, the superior quality of the collection is a given. But to say that would be to undervalue the tight ideation and editorship that birthed this anthology. Its success belongs at least as much to these (oddly unnamed) talents.
Short of sublimation
The cohesion of this volume is especially stark against Atwood's solo collection of short stories, released earlier this year. Her last such work was Stone Mattress, almost a decade ago. Unfortunately for her fans, Old Babes in the Wood can read a bit like an author's scrapbook of thoughts and vignettes, all of which have potential but most of which fall short of sublimation.
And yet, the shimmering humour and acute observations of 'Siren', Atwood's opening story in Furies, are in evidence here too. 'Tig & Nell' and 'Nell & Tig', the bookending sets of connected stories (a favourite Atwood device) bear witness to the 83-year-old writer's immense compassion for the ageing process, in its denial as much as in its actualisation. The germ of an unrealised novella lurks unsatisfactorily in these pages.
The section in between, tantalisingly titled 'My Evil Mother', is really a jumble of scraps. They might all contain the familiar Atwood flash of brilliance but this reader, at least, was left wondering about what they might have been if they hadn't been rushed to the press.
Courtesy: THE HINDU
