Synthesizing Disney: A Feminist Analysis of the Evolution of the Disney Princess

I am teaching my first Disney-themed course this semester, which means I spent much of my summer researching and reading books, as well as popular and scholarly articles on Disney films, products and theme parks. While the theme of the course is Disney, this topic is simply the medium through which I am attempting to teach college-level writing skills to students who might otherwise be resistant; each week, my students use one or more Disney related articles to practice skills like summarizing, quoting, rhetorical analysis, and most recently, synthesis. To help my students understand the complex process of combing multiple ideas in an effort to create one, cohesive argument, I decided to create a sample synthesis. What started as a "simple, easy-to-follow example" quickly got away from me, however, and I ended up creating what could be the start of a new and interesting research project. What follows is a half-day's reflection on Disney, feminism and the roles each play in our developing American society:

In her article, “The Disney Princess Effect,” author Stephanie Hines quotes a Disney Corporate Executive who argues, “For 75 years, millions of little girls and their parents around the world have adored and embraced the diverse characters and rich stories featuring our Disney princesses.... [L]ittle girls experience the fantasy and imagination provided by these stories as a normal part of their childhood development” (para. 9). In other words, Disney has been educating girls for the better part of a century, teaching them what it means to be “normal” as they develop from girls into women. While Disney clearly views their effect on girls and the institution of American girlhood in general as overwhelmingly positive, many authors have criticized the underlying messages provided by “stories featuring …Disney Princesses.” Alexandria Robbins, author of “The Fairy-tale Façade,” claims that Disney princesses like Cinderella encourage passivity in girls and women. Other authors, however, are noticing a positive change in the representation of girls and women in Disney films. In “On Disney, Daughters and Dads,” author Michael Corso concedes that, while early Disney princesses like Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella are “utterly passive” (para. 3), the next generation of Disney princesses, Jasmine from Aladdin, Belle from Beauty and the Beast, and Ariel from The Little Mermaid, provide girls with more active, adventurous role models. Even more promising, says Laura Sells, author of “Where do the Mermaids Stand?,”are the covert, feminist messages present in many Disney films; she argues that films like Disney’s The Little Mermaid encourage women to reclaim the voices they sacrificed during the era of Second Wave feminism, when women first began entering the predominately white, male workforce. The collective voices of these critics make it clear that there has been a shift in the way Disney represents girls and women. 

While it’s true that Disney often misses the mark, each new generation of Disney princesses appears to be stronger and more powerful than the last. More interesting, however, is that each of these marked shifts in the representation of women in Disney films seems to follow a wave of feminist activity in America. Disney’s Snow White (1939), Cinderella (1950) and Sleeping Beauty (1959) were released in the generations between First and Second Wave Feminism; Disney’s The Little Mermaid (1989), Beauty and the Beast (1991) and Aladdin (1992) appeared in the generation following the Women’s Movement of the 1960s and 70s; and most recently, Disney’s The Princess and the Frog (2009), Tangled (2010), Brave (2012) and Frozen (2013) have appeared in the wake of the Third Wave Feminism of the New Millenium. Each successive generation of Disney princesses reflects the advancement of women in American society, but each film falls short of being truly feminist.  While the films of the 1980s and beyond show a marked improvement in the representation of girls and women, each film relies heavily on traditional stereotypical beliefs about gender roles and modern-day cultural assumptions about female beauty to achieve its “happily ever after” fairytale ending; in this way, Disney films act as cultural representations of the positive effect feminism has had on women in American society and the violent cultural backlash that often follows it.

These observations will probably irritate you...

During the school year, I spend so much time reading for work that I have very little time for reading for pleasure. And, to be perfectly honest, after long grading marathons and hours spent lesson planning, sometimes the last thing I want to do is read. I still read a few novels a semester, but my habits are inconsistent. Instead, I find that I usually spend my free-time (when I have it) catching up on my favorite television shows.

The summer is my time for reading. Although I am still teaching this summer, my schedule is much lighter, and summer thunderstorms and longer days are conducive to getting lost in a good book. In this post, I will discuss the first novel I read this summer. I  have read others and still have so many others on my list ( I hope to write of these in future posts), but I decided to begin with a reread.

Early in the Spring, I was discussing Shakespeare’s King Lear with a colleague. To be more exact, we were talking about what constitutes “good literature.” He made a statement that I agree with wholeheartedly. To paraphrase our discussion and consensus, good literature is any text that makes you think. It is a text that speaks to you where you are. In other words, a reader brings to a text as much as a text gives to the reader. My colleague gave the example of a friend of his who spent a whole month reading and rereading King Lear, and he could never escape the idea of mothers. He said that his friend had never thought of the play in those terms before, and it baffled him. But, then he realized that it was because he was coming to terms with the death of his own mother. Revisiting literature allows us to take something new and different from it every time. That was certainly my experience when rereading Jane Eyre.

 

I first read Jane Eyre when I was thirteen or fourteen years old, and I haven’t read it again in years. I try to revisit at least one old favorite each year (though I often feel that rereading novels is greedy when there are so many on my TBR pile). This year, I chose Jane Eyre for two reasons:

1.     I loved it as a teen. The melodrama, the madness, the intrigue, the star-crossed love, and the subversion appealed to me.

2.     My niece, Caitlyn, is now homeschooling, and I am in charge of her English work. Her teacher at the private school she attended last year thought it best to have students read spark notes (the horror!) and take tests instead of reading the literature themselves. Because I loved Jane Eyre when I was young, I thought it would be a good introduction for her. I wasn’t entirely correct.

I’m glad I revisited Bronte’s novel, but I must admit that it wasn’t entirely pleasurable. In Bronte’s own words, “These observations will probably irritate you, but I shall run the risk.” I’m sure my opinion is not a popular one, especially for those die-hard fans, but let me explain. I understand and appreciate the novel’s literary worth critically, in terms of its context, its agenda, its critique of the separation of sexes and social classes. I also understand its role in our understanding of feminism today. My response here, though, is not as a critic, but as a reader. The novel itself was not as entertaining to me as it once was. I found myself rolling my eyes at the over-the-top melodrama and love affair between Jane and Rochester.

That said, I found new things about the novel that reminded me of the reason why I loved it. I admire the style and language and the clever fairy tale allusions. I still found myself smiling at Jane’s speeches about freedom and women’s rights (Preach!). There were also other differences in my reading of Jane Eyre as an adult. As a teen, my favorite scenes were those exchanges between Rochester and Jane. This time around, I was drawn to Jane’s time at Lowood because it is during this time, for me, that the novel focuses most on Jane’s internal development and her evolving independence. She becomes Jane.

Charlotte Bronte once said of Jane Austen, “she ruffles her reader by nothing vehement, disturbs him by nothing profound: the Passions are perfectly unknown to her; she rejects even a speaking acquaintance with that stormy Sisterhood; even to the Feelings she vouchsafes no more than an occasional graceful but distant recognition; too frequent converse with them would ruffle the smooth elegance of her progress. ... Jane Austen was a complete and most sensible lady, but a very incomplete, and rather insensible (not senseless) woman, if this is heresy—I cannot help it. If I said it to some people (Lewes for example) they would accuse me of advocating exaggerated heroics, but I am not afraid of your falling into any such vulgar error." I have always preferred Austen to Bronte, perhaps because I am practical above all. I am amused by Jane Austen’s reserved style, her humor, and witty subversion. I love Austen for those very things that Bronte detests. I absolutely think that is why I didn’t enjoy Jane Eyre as much this time. I have matured and evolved both as a reader and as a woman. I’m no longer that young girl who thinks that nothing is as romantic as the love between brooding Rochester and the elfish Jane. Now, not so much…

I will not give up on Bronte. After all, I have never read Villete (it’s on the TBR list), and I have heard that is much more…mature. Even though rereading Jane Eyre wasn’t as enjoyable as I would have liked, it still did what good literature does: it made me think, and I learned things about myself in the process. 

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(Re)Initializing

Four of us started this blog in the hopes of continuing a long-distance book club that had begun when we were in grad school. The time we spent together talking about books (not assigned for classes) are some of my fondest memories during that period in my life.  However, life and distance intervened—as they are wont to do—and it was no longer possible to continue the book club. And, the blog fell to the wayside.

Recently, Heather and I were talking about how much we miss writing and talking about things that are important to us. Because we are both teaching all of the time, we devote our time to developing curricula, lesson planning, grading, student-conferencing, and simply dealing with challenges of everyday life. We, therefore, spend little time on ourselves. As English teachers, book-lovers, and thinkers, writing and sharing our ideas are not only important to us, but also necessary to remind us why we do the things we do. We teach our students about the power of writing and in becoming more culturally aware. To do so, we explain to them, we must be able to communicate our ideas and to realize that we must participate in the conversations around us. Instead of being passive consumers, we should be active participants. We teach these things, yet we were not doing them as much as we would like.

So, the two of us decided to revisit and revamp the blog. This blog will allow us to talk about the things that matter to us: books, popular culture, teaching, and anything on our minds. Our goal is to post at least one blog a week, and we will alternate weeks. Part of the problem with our inconsistency in posting before was that we felt too much pressure to take time to write, especially when we are busy teaching, grading, attending meetings, and conferencing with our students. We hope that by alternating, the pressure will be relieved and that the blog will be a pleasure to maintain instead of a chore. In the next few weeks, we will post about our summer reading lists, our summer Netflix binges, and the challenges/rewards of teaching. Should be fun! 

Summer Reading and Random Thoughts

I've been meaning to post all summer about the books I've been reading. Because this was the first summer I've had off in at least six years, I wanted to read as much as I possibly could. But, of course I didn't keep up with things on the blog they way I intended. So, even though I have read quite a few books this summer, I'm only going to post about the first two, the two that started my summer of reading off with a bang.

I read a sample of Alice Hoffman's The Dovekeepers on the kindle several months ago, but never had time to read it. I, therefore, chose to start my summer with this beautiful and haunting novel. I'm so glad I did! This historical novel brings together the stories of four incredibly strong and different women as they journey to Masada almost two thousand years ago. In the end, (no spoilers, I promise) the reader--and the women--realize that their stories are, in fact, one and the same. (Can you tell I like books like this? Guernsey, anyone?) What can often be a formulaic and trite trope--that of multi-narrative--works here and made me keep reading.

When I finished this book, I couldn't stop thinking about it or talking about it, and it has been a long time since a book has affected me in this way. (I blame grad school!) Part of it's effect, I think, is the subject: both women's stories and the story of Masada. There is something resonant (and perhaps dissonant) about the story of Masada and the Jewish people's struggle, fight, and sacrifice that always gets to me. I like historical fiction and love metafiction, and this novel has both. It's a novel that is, at the heart of it, about storytelling and mothers--all kinds of mothers, those who are born, those who bear, those who are made, and those who long.

The next novel I read is, on so many levels, much, much different. Yet, there is a common theme here. Vanessa Diffenbaugh's The Language of Flowers is a kind of quirky story about a young woman raised in orphanages and foster homes who learns to communicate through flowers. She learns each flower's symbolic meaning and navigates her relationships and the world through them. The novel opens with Victoria Jones's emancipation from the foster system. She soon realizes that she can touch others' lives through the flowers she chooses for them. While I really enjoyed this book (told in a series of flashbacks) I have to admit that the ending was problematic and predictable. But the unique premise still made it a book I would highly recommend. What this book has in common with Hoffman's is that at its core, it too is about language and relationships with mothers. It raises the questions about what it means to be a mother. Are mothers born? Or are they made? What makes a good mother? A bad mother? And who decides?

Which brings me to my random thought (which in fact is not quite so random). This last year has been difficult and full of hard decisions. And this week, for some reason, things have gotten to me a little more than I would like. I thought I was past all of this. Nothing has happened. It's just been one of those weeks where I feel kind of bleh: the mean reds. Because I have a Type A personality, I am a planner, I'm competitive, and I'm an overachiever. Sometimes these qualities are not pretty. Especially when my life doesn't end it up where I thought it would. I say all of this to also say that I have been working really hard on changing my attitude about a lot of things in my life. But this week, I felt as if I was taking a few steps backward. Then, I heard someone complaining the other day. They were talking about that oft-quoted scripture about God giving you the desires of your heart. This person said that this scripture was a lie, that h/she had many unfulfilled desires. I started thinking. You know, there are so many things I want and even sometimes think I need that I don't have. But this scripture does not say anything about God giving us the things we want. Don't get me wrong, I think God gives us things we want too, sometimes. But, what the verse actually says is that He will give us desires.

Caitlyn, my fourteen year old niece, wanted a cup of coffee near bedtime once. Because I wanted her to have this thing she wanted (even though I knew she didn't need it) I gave her a cup. She couldn't sleep that night and was grumpy the next day. It would have seemed unfair to her at the time, but if I hadn't given in to her desire, we would have had a much better day. I think that's what this verse conveys.

I don't understand everything. I don't understand why some people seem to have all the luck and others work so hard.   I do know that we live in a world full of disease, and trouble, and storms, and full of flawed people. But if I just focus on all of that, then my life will never be anything other than disease, trouble, storms, and flaws. It's easy to get sidetracked, to think that our lives are so much worse than they really are. Yes, there are still a lot of things I want that I don't have. And I don't think I'm wrong for wanting them. But I am trying to learn that although my life not end up where I thought it would, there may be something I don't know. Maybe there is a better plan.

All of the characters in these two books deal with these same issues. In despairing for the things they desire, they often miss out on the miracles in their lives. They eventually learn that some desires are never fulfilled. But sometimes, in a beautiful way, we find something we never even knew we wanted. So, I'm waiting to see what desire will be given to me next. I'm waiting to see what happens when I let go of some of the things I always thought I wanted. I have a feeling that in the end I will have a better day.

Unsung Lullabies

I had written the following blog a couple of weeks ago, and I didn't want to post it because it would open old wounds and make me feel vulnerable.  Now, I'm not sure if it's ironic, sad, or unseemly to post it, but here it is.

I don't like self-help books, but one day, I was browsing amazon.com and this book showed up under "Recommendations for You."  I didn't know if I should laugh or cry.  The book is titled, Unsung Lullabies and provides coping strategies for those suffering infertility.  I ordered the book mainly because its focus on fertility narratives appealed to me.  I read the book in one sitting, feeling all the while like someone finally got it.  Someone understood how I feel.  I cried and cried.  The first time I had allowed myself to cry for an absent baby in a very long time.

The book accurately explains that for someone who suffers infertility, it isn't just about the inability to conceive.  The real problem is the fertility narrative we tell ourselves (and that society tells us) from the time we are children.  We imagine ourselves rocking a child, holding a child, singing them lullabies.  Essentially, we tell ourselves, "When I have children, fill in the blank."  For some, "When I have children, the nursery is going to look like this."  For others, "When I have children, we are going to have early morning Christmas traditions."  And still others, "When I have children, I will sing them the songs my mother sang to me."  Or, "When I have children, I am going to give them the childhood I didn't have."  There are so many stories we tell ourselves throughout our lives.  Also, having a child is one of those milestones that let us know that we're adults.  That we are responsible.  That we are...well, enough.

I have been taking care of my niece and nephew since I was thirteen, so my fertility narrative began early.  I took care of them when they were sick, when they were happy, when they were sad.  I was always there.  And I dreamed of the day when I would have my own child.  As I sang to the beautiful babies I held in my arms and watched them grow, I knew that I wanted children of my own.

I am an educated woman, and logically, I know that I am not less of a woman for not having children.  I can even push down the nausea and heartbreak that washes over me when people ask that most dreaded question, "Do you have kids?"  I see the look on their faces that tell me that they simultaneously feel sorry for me and feel superior to me.  (Trust me, they feel this way). Some even think, because they don't know my story, that I'm one of those selfish feminists.  I know all of this is not necessarily true.  I am still a woman.  But my heart rebels.  It tells me that I am incomplete.  I feel the emptiness of my womb all day, everyday.  I feel that selfish envy and soul-crushing shame when I see pregnant women.  And I hate myself for it.

But all of these things, I could perhaps deal with.  It's the stories that are unbearable.  For eight years, we have tried to get pregnant.  I have had surgery, charted my cycle, taken my temperature, lain with my legs in the air, taken round after round of hormones.  Still, nothing.  (and last week I found out once again that not only am I not pregnant, but I can no longer take hormones.  And it seems that the endometriosis has returned.) I have run out of options.  I'm open to adoption or IVF.  But both are immensely expensive and can take years.  There are so many logistics involved with both that it is absolutely impossible right now.

So, the hard part is that my fertility story has ended. Yet, all the stories are still in my head.  The book advises that you tell your friends how you feel, but what the book doesn't consider is that your friends may not understand.  Certainly, they will try to understand.  But they can't. Unless they have been there, they don't understand how frustrating it is when you have turned sex and conception into a science, knowing what your temperature is and what your ovaries are doing at any given moment. They don't understand that you're not being selfish when you don't attend baby showers, when it's hard to talk about babies, or when you can hardly look at a pregnant woman without crying.  They don't understand that you're not selfish at all. You're heartbroken.  You don't know how to keep going through the day like everything is normal.  You don't know how to smile anymore.  Or when you do smile, it's painful.  They don't know that the holidays are brutal.  Christmas is one of my stories.  I always imagined sitting around the Christmas tree with my children, unwrapping gifts and drinking hot cocoa.  It may seem cheesy, but the gifts and hot cocoa seem empty when you don't have the children you imagined sharing them with. 

We are all book lovers, and it's the story that drew me to this book.  Imagine having worked for years, writing a book, only to have the last half of it destroyed.  What do you do?  Do you start over? Do you give up?  Re-writing is painful and hard.  And it will never be the same.  Unsung Lullabies focuses on the idea of all the songs you plan to sing to a baby that never comes.  For me, it's not the songs.  It's the books that I will never read to my child.  I'm afraid I will never share my favorite stories and novels with them.  It's all the unread stories that cause my heart to break.