Friday 26 July 2013

Maternity as Subversion or Subjugation?: The Double-Edged Maternal Narrative in 17 filles, by Julie Rodgers




 

1. The pregnancy pact

17 filles (2011) marks the first feature of French directing duo and sisters, Delphine and Muriel Colin. The plot is inspired by a real-life event that took place in a Gloucester (Massachusetts) high school in 2008 and which saw 18 teenage girls commit to a ‘pregnancy pact’ with the aim of conceiving almost simultaneously. In the case of 17 filles, the narrative is transposed to the sleepy seaport of Lorient in Southwest Brittany, a town razed to the ground by Allied bombings during the Second World War and later rebuilt in a rather austere and industrial architectural style. Lorient is depicted in the film as a town that is in decline with the dream of prosperity once promised by its reconstruction now far behind it. It is against this background of decrepitude and paralysis that a group of 17 fresh-faced and energetic lycéennes decide to take hold of their future and literally breathe life back into the staleness of their surrounding environment through procreation, much to the outrage of their parents and teachers. Reviews of 17 filles approach the film from a number of interesting perspectives: the invigorating nature of the narrative and the ability of youth to shake up a society that has become stagnant; the awkward transition from childhood into adulthood (not only are there 17 girls, the majority are aged 17 and thus positioned at the liminal stage of ‘no longer child but not yet adult’); and, finally, the feminist potential of the film in that it depicts a reclaiming of the female body by its subject. While the theme of maternity is, of course, signposted in these reviews (it is unavoidable), I feel that, perhaps due to its self-evident presence in the narrative, it has not been fully probed. 17 filles, despite its surface simplicity offers quite a complex and, at times, contradictory reflection on motherhood in contemporary Western culture. This discussion will focus on the ambivalent treatment of maternity which, for me, is at the heart of the film. I will argue that while an initial response to this film may be to read the act of becoming a mother as one that has capacity to be subversive, on closer analysis it becomes clear that the maternal narrative offered by 17 filles is actually one that corresponds quite closely to the patriarchal master narrative of motherhood, a trajectory that is rendered even more pernicious here in that is presented as a act of free choice when, in fact, it is deeply coercive.

 

2.    A subversive maternity?

Before illustrating the more prescriptive and, in parts, retreatist nature of 17 filles, I will examine what it is about this film that leads critics and spectators to view it as revitalising and rebellious in terms of its maternal discourse.

First of all, and this is perhaps where the feminist argument is strongest, in a similar vein to differentialist thinkers such as Irigaray, 17 filles depicts the maternal as something that imbues women with power. There is very little that the adults, despite their utmost determination, can do to reverse the situation, for French law states that no minor may be forced into having an abortion against her will. There is a sense of awe surrounding these pregnant teenagers who strut around the lycée with their bumps on display as fellow classmates, in particular the boys, gasp, but more out of reverence than horror. Indeed, Camille, the first girl to fall pregnant, is presented as a ‘leader’ of sorts whose followers increase in numbers on a daily basis.

Secondly, the film seems keen to present the pregnancies as a reclaiming of the female body. In an opening scene, the girls are shown in their underwear outside a classroom in a corridor of their lycée, each awaiting to undergo an individual medical examination during which their bodies will be measured and scrutinized. In another scene, we see them jogging and being timed, many of them doing so against their will given that they escape to the beach and hide there for part of the run. If, then,  the school is a place where the girls’ bodies are monitored and regulated,  it is when they are outside of its confines that the girls lay claim to their corporeality and inscribe their ownership on the body by deliberately seeking impregnation. The pregnant body is subsequently returned to the lycée where its heavy, swollen contours stand in stark contrast to the slim, lithe and rigorously disciplined female bodies supervised by the school authorities at the beginning of the film. The pregnant shape, therefore, becomes in and of itself a threat to the order of the lycée. The latter is illustrated in the scene of the class photo where the photographer is clearly uncomfortable with all these pregnant teenagers and doesn’t know how to position them in the shot, or, more specifically, hide their protruding bellies.

This reclaiming of the female body through the maternal in 17 filles extends well beyond the rebellious act of getting pregnant and into the full duration of the pregnancy itself via the girls’ transgressive behaviour throughout. When pregnant, the girls pay no heed to the rules and regulations of how to conduct oneself ‘properly’ while carrying a child as dictated by the master narrative. The girls are frequently seen smoking, consuming alcohol and partaking in vigorous and, at times, dangerous physical activities – for example, kicking around a burning football and recklessly diving into a swimming pool. The latter incident is particularly revelatory of the control that they retain over their bodies when pregnant as it takes place during a prenatal swimming class where, at first, all their movements are being closely monitored by an instructor. They are navigating the pool slowly and gently when all of a sudden another of the pregnant girls jumps in jubilantly from the edges and once again the order that the adults/authorities have tried to maintain has been dismantled. It is also important to mention in relation to this new-found control that the girls gain over their bodies during pregnancy (which, I should add, is most often seen as a time when the female body is ‘out of control’, thus this a further subversion of the master narrative of maternity) that the girls continue to position themselves as sexual beings throughout the duration of their pregnancy and remain confident in their ability to arouse sexual interest (evident in the various party scenes). In this respect, the traditional notion of the pregnant woman as both asexual and sexually out of bounds is reversed.

Perhaps the most subversive and progressive aspect of the maternal narrative in 17 filles, however, stems from the girls’ dream of an alternative form of mothering outside of the nuclear familar which emerges during one of their many chats together as a group. Their vision is founded on an all-female community where mothering would occur as a shared activity, among friends, duties would be divided out evenly so that each member could still retain a certain amount of personal freedom, and there would be no rules or regulations dictating how they mother. This concept of a maternal utopia where women take charge of their own mothering is further supported by the absence of any father figures in the film. In the few instances where we know who the father is, it is clear that he will not be involved (and this is the girls’ wish) in the raising of the child. The teenage boys function as little more than sperm donors in the film, with one of them even being paid 50 euro to do ‘do the deed’ (in the case of Clémentine, the last of the girls to get pregnant).

Within this vision of a maternal utopia presented by 17 filles is the question of young mothering. At one point in the film, one of the girls states triumphantly that they will be better mothers because the generation gap between them and their offspring will be greatly reduced, hence they will understand their children better. This proclamation, I feel, incites us to reflect on the master narrative of motherhood and how it positions maternity at a specific time in a woman’s life: after school and after marriage. The girls in this film subvert the ‘natural’ order: they will have children before they have finished their schooling (they will return after the birth) and without marriage, without any man at all in fact. 17 filles, therefore, proposes not only an alternative type of mothering (one that takes place within a community of women and which does not need any prescribed rules and regulations), it also questions why, as a society, we are so compelled to contain motherhood within a very restrictive life trajectory, deeming maternity that occurs outside its established slot (whether that be too early or too late) aberrant and disruptive.

 

3.    The maternal narrative as subjugation

Reading the maternal narrative in 17 filles as one that has the potential to subvert societal norms concerning motherhood and liberate women and their bodies, however, is very much the initial, surface interpretation. Further probing reveals that the representation of maternity in the film corresponds just as much, if not more so, to the master narrative of motherhood from which it purportedly deviates. Throughout the film, a number of maternal myths are perpetuated which are deleterious to an authentic experience of mothering.

First and foremost, it is impossible to deny the glamorisation of the pregnant body that occurs in 17 filles. All the girls are conventionally attractive to the extent that a reviewer for Le Monde remarked ‘le casting a exclu les disgracieuses’. The camera repeatedly focuses on the girls’ bumps, fetishizing them and their neat protrusion from an otherwise slender body. The girls incarnate, therefore, the perfect pregnant body so often encountered on the cover of women’s magazines but which is almost impossible to achieve and places immense pressure on women whose pregnant forms do not adhere to this unreachable ideal. Not only is pregnancy depicted as a state of glowing health and beauty, it is also presented to the spectator, for the most part, as an entirely unproblematic biological event. The girls appear to sail through their pregnancies with very little difficulty apart from one instance of mild disinterest in food. Any medical issues that do arise (a problem with the placenta and light bleeding) are quickly resolved and the pregnancy resumes its normal course. The risk of sexually transmitted diseases is equally brushed aside, with only one character making any reference to it whatsoever.

Even more pernicious than the glorification of the physical state of pregnancy in 17 filles are the various problematic socio-political messages concerning maternity disseminated (probably unconsciously but this shows the extent to which they have been internalised) by the film. Becoming a mother is presented as a means of acquiring status in society (for example, the girls are aware of the number of social benefits that they will receive). Although the girls do not turn their back on their education entirely (they all intend to return to the lycée after giving birth), they see maternity as a more direct route to personal fulfilment, recognition, and money! More subtly but much more insidiously, maternity emerges not only as means of improving the girls’ lives, it is also imbued with the potential to rescue its surroundings (Lorient) from an obvious economic and social downturn. Throughout the film, shots of the town suggest degeneration and discontent among its inhabitants. Juxtaposed against this are the scenes of the sea which are full of vigour, joy and possibility. It is interesting to note that in French the words for sea (la mer) and mother (la mère) are homophones. Subsequently, I believe that in the same way that the sea (la mer) serves as a place of escape from the grimness of Lorient, so too maternity (la mère) is posited as a ‘life-line’ of sorts for this town in economic and social decline and the pregnant girls are revered as its saviours. The girls then, unbeknownst to them, are being drawn into the socio-political discourse that turns to maternity for rejuvenation in times of economic deflation.

Furthermore, although 17 filles is keen to present these multiple pregnancies as a choice (except in the case of the ringleader, Camille, whose pregnancy is the result of a condom accident), to what extent can these girls really make their own minds up about having a baby when they know very little about the actual facts of the event? This lack of knowledge concerning maternity is evident in several scenes throughout the film: when they ask the pharmacist if they can share a pregnancy testing kit; when they discuss the foetus and display amazement at the information they read concerning its development; and finally, when some of the girls both giggle and squirm at the video portraying a real-life birth shown by the headmaster at the school in a bid to halt the ‘pregnancy pact’. As a result, it becomes disputable as to whether we can actually state that these girls are reclaiming their bodies and freely choosing to be mothers when they know very little about how pregnancy unfolds. It could be argued that women are deliberately misinformed/deprived of information by society in a bid to coerce them more readily into motherhood. Certainly, in 17 filles, the girls’ ignorance, albeit a source of much of the humour in the film, is disturbing given the serious impact on their lives of the decision that they have made. Alongside this is the fact that we are never really offered any clear reason as to why they want to have a baby. We can surmise as to their motivations (rebellion, desire for fulfilment etc) but nothing is ever confirmed. Given, therefore, that the girls don’t even seem to know why they want to become mothers, nor do they possess much practical information about the experience, I feel that 17 filles (again unconsciously) raises the question of how much real choice women actually have when it comes to maternity.

In conjunction with this lack of choice is a threat to the woman as individual brought about by the institution of motherhood. Granted, the girls in 17 filles are never positioned as individuals even in the pre-motherhood state. On the contrary, they are most often found in gangs and there is little detail to distinguish one from the other (their bedrooms, for example, usually a haven for personal expression as a teenager, are almost identical). However, this lack of individuality disintegrates even further when they become pregnant. More and more they travel around in what can only be described as a maternal tribe and, at times, when the camera focuses on their bumps, it is difficult to discern which belly belongs to whom. Of course, this ‘maternal tribe’ could be heralded as an alternative form of mothering outside of the master narrative, but it comes, it would seem, at the expense of the individual. The version of motherhood, therefore, that we are presented with in 17 filles is one where everyone ascribes to the same model and there is no place deviance.

This leads me to my final point which, for me, is the most oppressive aspect of the representation of maternity in the film - there is no tolerance of ambivalence in motherhood. As stated above, the girls seem to sail through pregnancy without any real doubts or fears and abortion is not a option for any of them. It is highly unrealistic to portray 17 pregnant teenagers who all embrace the idea of young motherhood so unproblematically. Alongside this is the chastising of mothers who display any ambivalent feelings towards their children, for example, Camille’s (the protagonist) mother. The latter is a single mother who has to work long hours in order to provide for her family. She is shown to be in conflict with her maternal status and it is clear that she struggles to negotiate her own personal desires with her responsibilities in the home. Due to her ambivalence, Camille’s mother is represented to the viewer as a ‘bad’ mother, one who is selfish and neglectful. The viewer is encouraged to empathise with Camille, especially in a early scene when she is depicted alone at home, assuming the maternal role by preparing dinner only to have her actual mother return from work and announce that she is going out to socialise, abandoning her daughter once again. Throughout the film, Camille repeatedly asserts that she will be a ‘better’ mother and devote herself to her child, thus perpetuating the notion that there is only one way to be a ‘good’ mother and that women who do not abide by this norm (namely, Camille’s mothers) are inevitably ‘bad’ mothers.

This non-tolerance of ambivalent  mothers in the film also extends to non-mothers. Motherhood is depicted as a kind of ‘cult’ or ‘in’ group and those who do not adhere to its model are branded deviant. An example of this is the character of Florence. A loner at school, Florence desperately wants to fit in and thus feigns pregnancy in order to be accepted by the other girls. As soon as her deceit is discovered, however, she is callously cast aside and branded a traitor. The choice of the word traitor is charged with meaning. For me it suggests that motherhood is seen as the natural state for a woman and that Florence, by failing to join in with the pregnancy pact and choosing to stand outside of motherhood, is viewed as an aberrant female, having betrayed not only other women but also herself and her supposed ‘core femininity’. The school nurse, another non-mother, finds herself on the receiving end of a similar dismissal. While during a conversation with Camille when she tries to encourage the latter to put an end to this pregnancy pact and dissuade any further girls from entering into it, Camille retorts viciously that she (the nurse) could never understand their motivation or what it feels like as she (the nurse) has never had children of her own. What we are witnessing here is a rejection of the non-mother whose reasoning is relegated to nonsense because she has no physical experience of being a mother. Motherhood, therefore, emerges as an institution that is deeply exclusionary and dismissive of women who do not fall inside its parameters. Again we return to the question of choice in motherhood. If this is how despicably non-mothers are treated, do women actually have any real choice in their decision to become mothers?

 

4.    Retreatism or Progression?

To conclude this reflection, I will return to the question raised in the title, that is, to what extent is the version of motherhood presented in 17 filles one that subverts the master narrative or one that merely submits to it? Near the middle of the film, an emergency staff meeting is organised at the lycée in order to deal with the pregnancy pact that is spiralling out of control. In a discussion that reflects many of the divisions between postfeminism (anti-feminist) and third wave feminism (progressive feminism) with regard to women’s behaviour in the twenty-first century, two distinct responses are forwarded by the teachers. The first considers the girls’ actions to be regressive, deleterious to their futures and a resumption of an out-of-date form of femininity that relegates women to the household and posits motherhood as their ultimate goal in life. The second, on the other hand, argues to the contrary, stating that the girls are reclaiming their bodies for themselves and refusing to listen to the diktats of society on when and how they should become mothers. As this reflection has illustrated, 17 filles does not adopt a clear-cut stance on the matter. An initial reading leads us to view the film as refreshing and daring in its depiction of maternity, and there is much to recommend this interpretation. However, as we strip away the initial layers of the narrative, it becomes clear that more noxious and manipulative form of motherhood lurks beneath, one that serves the needs of a patriarchal society rather than allowing women to take control of their own mothering in the way that the film initially sets out to achieve. Although the impact of a narrative should not be reduced to its conclusion alone, it is nonetheless important in the case of 17 filles to point out that a return to ‘natural order’ is restored at the end of the film. The idea of a maternal utopia so fervently discussed by the girls throughout the film has come undone following the departure of Camille who loses her baby due to car accident. The other girls subsequently return to their parents’ homes, give birth and resume their studies. Consequently, their transgression is corrected and any chance of truly positioning themselves outside of the master narrative of motherhood and thereby threatening its structures is promptly and, perhaps, inevitably quelled.

 

Friday 19 July 2013

Report on Workshop 5: Motherhood, Religion and Spirituality, by Indrani Karmakar


The fifth workshop of the ‘Motherhood in post 1968 European Literature Network’ was held on 28th June. The objective of the workshop was to explore the connections between motherhood, religion and spirituality across diverse disciplines (such as anthropology, literature and religious studies) in order to investigate the various ways ‘religions are impacting on mothers as individuals and how women as mothers come to experience it’. The workshop, I believe, has been successful in fulfilling its aims as the presentations addressed specific research questions and the discussions yielded different perspectives on this issue.

Instead of going into the details of each paper, which might sound like repeating the abstracts, I will try to focus on some key issues which, I think, the papers highlighted and the discussions brought forth.

The Maternal Body (and Religion):

Pregnancy, childbirth, lactation: all these aspects of biological motherhood are of profound significance in feminist discourse and it has been a contentious issue resulting in both positive and negative views. Rachel Jones, in her responses after the first plenary session, indicated this debate around the female body, mentioning feminist thinkers like de Beauvoir who had rather negative and ambivalent views on female and/or the maternal body, and also positive accounts of the maternal body as articulated by thinkers such as Christine Battersby.  Different religions have always had a strong influence in this area, be it religious interpretations of the female and/or maternal body, ritualization of childbirth, or different theological discourses on motherhood.  Anna Fedele’s paper was particularly interesting as it explored how the physicalities of childbirth (which do not really count as emancipating in dominant feminist conceptions) have been regarded as not only empowering but a sacred experience on the part of the mother in terms of her own spiritual transformation, by the members of international Goddess movement. This sacralisation of motherhood, as the paper rightly argues, has the potential to challenge the dominant feminist conception of women’s emancipation. However, during the discussion Christine Battersby raised a very crucial point:  are we in a way ‘re-trapping’ ourselves while emphasising the physicalities in this way? I also think that it has the potential risk of reinforcing traditional ideas of biological motherhood.

Demystifying/Desacralising Motherhood:

Quite contrary to the idea of the sacralised motherhood with the potential of spiritual transformation, is the darker side of motherhood tinged with confusion, disappointment, and self-effacement. Julie Rodgers explored and problematized this area in the break-out session that she facilitated, which focused on an extract from Éliette Abécassis’s Un heureux événement [A Happy Event]. The extract juxtaposes a practising Jewish mother of ten children, who purportedly considers her children as her ‘whole life’, with a non-practising, secular mother of one, quite hesitant and confused with her maternal identity. The group discussed a number of questions concerning the encounter of these two different women such as: To what extent is religion influencing these two women’s motherhood as experience? How is the experience complicated and/or dominated by the institution?  What is, if any, the common ground of motherhood beyond the religious dictates (e.g. societal factors)? I particularly liked Sheridan Marshall’s interpretation of the supposed ambiguity of the word ‘whole life’. Is it a mother’s conscious decision and love to consider their children as whole life or is her life confined by them?  Sheridan’s own paper explored the connection between motherhood and religion in terms of the disappointment (and also ambivalence) they both generate. I would like to mention Pauline Eaton’s paper on Rosie Carpe here, as it, through the analysis of the novel, depicted how the image of Virgin Mary fails to be the model for motherhood today. The extract is also very relevant to the aforementioned issue i.e the maternal body, as it portrays Rosie’s inability to breastfeed her child and her experience of it. In relation to religion’s influence on motherhood, I must also mention ‘Limbo’, the text extract presented by Máire Ní Annracháin in another break-out session, which depicts the extreme agony of a mother whose child has been buried in the cemetery for unbaptized children. These poems unravel how religion as an institution impacts on maternal experience insofar as it can even aggravate and intensify a mother’s pain of losing her child. 

Negotiating Motherhood and Religion:

Sariya Cheruvallil-Contractor’s paper offered important insights into how motherhood can be reshaped by women as an empowering identity and how it facilitates their religious belief which has otherwise been misinterpreted by patriarchal scripts. Muslim women in Britain negotiating their maternal agency and faith lives can be an example of empowered motherhood which is emancipating for women. Nonetheless, the potential risk, I think, cannot and should not be ignored that this might be seen as over-idealised version of motherhood which can be rather detrimental. In the context of Christianity, Dawn Llewellyn’s paper was interesting as it shows her research on motherhood and voluntary non-motherhood in connection with Christian women’s identity.

Motherhood, Religion and the Question of Situation: 

Undeniably situation plays a determining role in the connections between motherhood and religion and its impact on women. By situation, I mean national context and also the socio-cultural and economic conditions in which women come to experience both motherhood and religion. As Mohar Choudhury pointed out while discussing Sariya’s paper: the idea and practice of empowered mothering based on the foundational Islamic text experienced by Muslim women in Britain, might not retain its liberating nature in case of other Muslim women elsewhere (in India, for example, as she said). Sheridan’s paper on maternal and religious disappointment also shows the influence of specific national contexts in forming and/or destabilising the connection between motherhood and religion. The extract taken from the novel Life is a Caravanserai similarly provides much insight into this issue, portraying the changing time and its influence on the protagonist whose mother and grandmother represent two generations and two different sets of beliefs.

Maternal Ambivalence:

The papers and breakout discussions have shown motherhood to be a site of contestation and a site of transformation; to add to this, I would say, most of the papers have also shown motherhood to be a site of profound ambivalence. However, following Rachel Jones (who refers to Lisa Baraitser with regard to this issue), I would say that this ambivalence is not always and necessarily negative; rather, it has the potential to form a maternal subjectivity when a mother can actively reflect upon this ambivalence.

In conclusion, returning to the objective of the workshop – to explore ‘new or re-connections’ with diverse religions thereby enquiring into the influence they are having on women as mothers  – I could say the workshop not only succeeded in achieving this objective but also moved beyond this with more questions on and insights into motherhood.