Women in books have a way of leaping off the page and into the life of readers, bringing lessons that stick
SINGAPORE (Apr 3): Perhaps it was seeing a picture of Malala Yousafzai and Greta Thunberg together at Oxford University last week that influenced my youthful choices but there is no denying the power of little women. It was hard to whittle down my choices, so I had to pick no less than three of my favourite young ladies from literature, who are as follows:
• Ever since I chanced upon Marguerite Abouet’s Aya of Yop City series of bandes dessinées (comic strips) that revolve around a group of young people and their hijinks in a working-class suburb in the Ivory Coast and set in the late 1970s, I was sold. Although Aya the protagonist is as bright and beautiful as you would expect, what I relished was the chance to learn more about quotidian African life, subverting common and misplaced stereotypes in the process.
• She might be a fictional character but I adore Jean Louise or “Scout” Finch, from Harper Lee’s seminal To Kill a Mockingbird, for her courage, intelligence and southern sass and also because she recognised and treasured her father Atticus’ exceptional qualities — an attribute that resonates deeply with me.
• Marjane Satrapi is far from fictional but Persepolis remains one of my favourite reads, combining honest storytelling about her life growing up in Iran, circumventing growing tensions, fundamentalist spot checks and public demonstrations. Although written as a memoir and as a means of coming to terms with a bewildering time in her country’s long and restive history, I chose Satrapi for the parallels young Malaysian women too can draw from living in an era where hypocrisy and socioreligious pressures and rules seem to dominate. Satrapi’s story in Persepolis highlights how the spirit of a single girl can indeed be mighty and triumphant — a lesson it would do us all well to learn and remember. — By Diana Khoo
Iam not sure what it is about the 1930s that continually captures my imagination, and it is interesting that my favourite female characters are from books set in this period. The strife, perhaps, or the grittiness of pre-war existence — there is much to be said about how life’s toughest realities bring forth the most amount of love and light.
• I came across Amor Towles’ debut novel Rules of Civility during a period of low self-esteem and I believe the book’s protagonist, Katey Kontent, helped pull me out of that self-inflicted funk. Towles’ incredible portrayal of a spunky, smart and self-aware young woman was the panacea I needed.
The glamour and grit of New York in 1937 was not lost on me either, as Katey embarks on a year-long journey from a Wall Street secretarial pool to the upper echelons of society and the executive suites of Condé Nast — rarefied environs where she relied upon little else than her bracing wit and her own brand of cool nerve.
• Fictitious yet steeped in reality, Alice Walker’s The Color Purple was one of my earliest introductions to the mistreatment of slaves in the US and its protagonist’s story is one I never quite recovered from. Although Celie started out as a victim of her own fate, she fought strong and hard to rise above the circumstances she was dealt — a lesson I carry with me to this day. Celie remains one of the most inspiring characters in any book I have ever read, even if revisitng this book is immeasurably painful.
• The rich history and heritage of ancient Kyoto was brought into sharp focus via Arthur Golden’s Memoirs of a Geisha, but it was his many female characters that made this book most fascinating. Slave girl Chiyo and her journey to becoming Sayuri, Pumpkin and her descent into madness, and Mameha’s apparent altruism backed by a mild taste for revenge — all this intriguing drama set against the pastoral beauty of 1930s Japan taught me a great deal about ancient Kyoto, the insular traditions of geishas and the powerful passage of fate and destiny. —By Anandhi Gopinath
They say our childhood favourite books are the ones we are most attached to. I feel they shape our inner self at a most crucial time — when we are trying to figure out our existence and form our ideas of the world. It was amid each book of The Secret Seven series and each tale of the naughty boarding schoolgirls in St Clare’s, for example, where I learnt that being adventurous and just a little bit cheeky is how life ought to be.
So it is no surprise that when it comes to my favourite book characters, I cannot help but to look at my youthful inspirations, those who informed me one way or another about how a “girl” should be — a bit of a rebel who marches to her own tune or holds her own “true North” when societal norms dictate otherwise. Here are three of them:
• Jo March in Little Women — Maybe it was the fact that she was stubbornly determined and did not care to conform to what was expected of her. For an Asian daughter with a tiger mum, this was fascinating in itself. But I also loved that she was flawed and quite selfish — it made her all the more endearing — and the relationship she had with her father. Plus, she was a writer!
• Elinor Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility — Jane Austen created many heroines, although the elder sister of the Dashwood family did not quite stand out, being the likely snob and dowdy spoilsport. But having been acquainted with her only when I was older, and being the youngest in my family, Elinor’s voice of reason, not to mention her self-scrutiny and “governing” of feelings, provided a refreshing perspective.
• Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing — Witty, good with funny and clever insults, and challenging the gender conventions of her period. She was all too human and yet refused to settle for anything less than what she believed in. What’s not to love? — By Mae Chan
Scanning through the mental bookshelves to find a heroine for this task showed me just how few female protagonists in my reading list made a lasting impression. Most ideas stemmed from childhood, from Jane Austen’s leading ladies and the fiery Anne Shirley of Green Gables to the defiant yet humble Hester Prynne in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter.
I ultimately decided to return to an old favourite — the mysterious Vianne Rocher, a single mother and chocolatier who arrives in the French village of Lansquenet-sous-Tannes as the fasting season of Lent begins, inadvertently tempting its pious citizens with her controversial treats.
Joanne Harris weaves a bewitching tale of subversion in Chocolat, and Rocher is at the heart of it all, building a contentious relationship with river-gypsy Roux, empowering the timid Josephine Muscat to stand up against her abusive husband, and overcoming the prejudices of the villagers with her spunk and steadiness, compassion and courage. Throw in her homemade truffles and indulgence of her daughter Anouk’s magical rabbit Pantoufle, and you have someone I would like to have a spot of tea and conversation with. — By Petrina Fernandez
My favourite literary character has to be Melati Ahmad from Hanna Alkaf’s The Weight of Our Sky. Although a young teenager, she handles the horrors of the May 13, 1969, racial riots in Kuala Lumpur like a trouper, while also managing her obsessive compulsive disorder.
Her ability to keep persevering against all the odds is inspiring. What draws me to Melati is how she copes with her mental illness. Unaware of what OCD is, she believes she has a djinn inside her that flashes awful images of her mother’s death unless she carries out her obsessive rituals of counting and tapping. She still finds ways to help others, fighting her inner demon while enduring the traumatic events that are engulfing KL.
Another favourite literary character who also overcomes incredible adversity is Jane Eyre from Charlotte Brontë’s novel of the same name. Her life is a series of unfortunate events but she never lets that dim her shine.
Jane remains a passionate and principled soul, despite the cruelty she is shown. She holds her own, staying true to her heart even after discovering Rochester’s dark secrets. — By Lakshmi Sekhar
An old copy of C S Lewis’ The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe is wedged between two other tattered books on my bedside table, all with spines that have unravelled and yellowed pages. They belonged to my dad and were a few of the books he kept throughout the years. I was surprised that he had a copy of Narnia (as we call it) — it explained his unusual excitement when we first watched the movie, years before I had read the book.
For me, Lucy Pevensie, the youngest of the four siblings, always stood out and I think her disposition is very admirable.
Despite her young age, she follows her instincts, has overwhelming compassion, holds no resentment and is unquestionably brave. Without Aslan, there would be no Narnia. But I believe, without Lucy, there would be no story.
Her character serves as a reminder of the importance of retaining child-like qualities such as wonder, courage, faith and forgiveness. As adults, we are very guarded and jaded from years of physical, mental and emotional toil. Our reality is injected with catastrophes, deception and cruelty, which makes it difficult to retain any glimmer of hope we might have left. Lucy demonstrates that to have hope, you need to have faith and to have faith, you need to be brave. It is this reason that she could see Aslan when her siblings could not. She is ultimately crowned Queen Lucy the Valiant, a title that suits her perfectly. — By Emily Yap
A fearless maiden picking up her father’s sword and armour and riding off to join the imperial army and fight Hun invaders is the kind of heroic stuff a restless youngster listening to The Ballad of Mulan could imagine doing on a languid day. Watching a DVD of Shaw Brothers’ 1964 production of Lady General Hua Mu-Lan — starring the versatile Ivy Ling Po, famed for her male scholar roles, opposite handsome Hong Kong star Chin Han — decades later ingrained her story in my mind.
(A live-action film based on Disney’s 1998 Mulan will be released in US and UK cinemas on March 27.)
On a deeper level, the legend of Hua Mulan is about love and sacrifice — a filial daughter taking her ailing parent’s place to uphold his honour, and do her part to keep China safe. Mulan’s martial arts skills, drilled by her father, a retired general, take her through battlefields and win her admiration.
What is even more engrossing is that she manages to fool the soldiers she fights with and her real identity is only revealed years later, after the wars.
As with every girl of her time — the ballad is said to have been composed in the fifth or sixth century CE — Mulan is schooled to be a good wife. But her father, who hopes to see her wed, also teaches her to read and write, lessons that shape her mind.
At the end of Mulan’s long warring adventure, when the emperor wants to heap rewards on her, all she asks for is a horse to ride home. The request takes her full circle, leaving us feeling good about this smart, brave warrior who knows what is most important in life — family and loved ones. — By Tan Gim Ean
In previous generations, the age of 30 was a realisable aspiration for a woman to be married with children. But this is 2020, and there are only a few things in the world that are more infuriating than unsolicited comments about your personal life.
There is an unexpected gift that also comes with this age — you have little concern for others’ opinions. Which brings us to Ruth Young — the 30-year-old protagonist of Rachel Khong’s maiden novel Goodbye, Vitamin — who moves back home to Southern California to care for her father with dementia who has started leaving his pants in trees.
After breaking up with her cheating fiancé Joel, Ruth has to deal with the Alzheimer-stricken and irascible man who raised her. But amid blips of cognitive clarity, her father shares a notebook in which he recorded Ruth’s childhood. A poignant anecdote reads:
“Today I thought of what I would give to have time just stop here. You’re out of my league. I’m waiting for the day you’re going to leave me.”
The reversal of roles, with a child having to care for his or her parents, is difficult, especially when they are at the mercy of a disease. Goodbye, Vitamin has all the makings of a downcast read, but maudlin it is not. Treading on the geography of the forgotten with wry humour, Khong carefully folds life lessons between the pages without beating the reader over the head with morals.
Ruth admits her shortcomings — of not being a better daughter and person — but she is willing to relearn her steps to find meaning in life again. We do not always have things figured out. And that is perfectly all right. — By Kong Wai Yeng
Who can resist the woman who slew the Witch-king of Angmar? Perhaps it has to do with growing up a tomboy but I have always felt that Éowyn of JRR Tolkien’s trilogy, The Lord of The Rings, suitably defies the conventions of being a woman, especially one raised as a royal. She is the daughter of a nobleman who perishes in a battle with orcs and her mother eventually dies of grief. As the king’s niece, she is raised in the royal courts, educated and groomed as a princess.
But life in a warring world filled with orcs, uruk-hai, noble elves and deceitful men prove to be far from simple. She dutifully cares for her uncle, who grows sicker every day while under the spell of his traitorous adviser Grima but is freed when the wise wizard Gandalf visits and breaks the spell. Éowyn eventually rides out to war with the men, her identity disguised by heavy armour and her hair tucked beneath her helmet. The Nazgul leader attacks her but she lunges forward and kills him with her sword.
I love her every virtue. She is a good woman who sets aside her personal plans to care for her sick uncle, wastes no time in her royal claim and, instead, spends hours honing her craft as a shield-maiden — as she is called in the book — so that she is prepared for battle and to defend the living in their greatest time of need.
Besides, a princess who is prepared to do away with pretty things to fight like a man? We need more of them today. — By Cheryl Poo
