Tender Girl notes

Lisa Samuels, Tender Girl: A Novel (Dusie, 2015) 

In my last post about this I suggested that the full title looks very like the title of a poem. I'm rescinding that suggestion. Now I've read it all I do perceive it as fully a novel, in a way that novels by experimental poets sometimes aren't. Albeit an experimental one and recognizably like Tomorrowland and Anti M in many respects. 

The novel concerns Girl, imagined daughter of the copulation between male human and female shark in Les chants de Maldoror (Isidore Ducasse (aka Comte de Lautréamont), published 1868-1869). 

In the novel Girl comes to land, like the Little Mermaid: but for her this is "the land of the father" (p. 12). Nevertheless there's a glancing reference, e.g. in the title of the opening chapter, "The Prince".  She's young but pubescent, the men are already interested. Her interactions with men, with women, with art; the birth of her daughter. 

Lisa Samuels reading the entire novel in a recording by Tim Page from 2019-2020:

http://writing.upenn.edu/pennsound/x/Samuels.php#tendergirl

Interview with David Spittle (2018) in which Lisa talks at length about some of the background and preoccupations of Tender Girl:

https://www.dspittle.com/post/2018/05/11/light-glyphs-7-lisa-samuels

One of the unexpected things that emerges from the interview is that TG became in part a riposte to the The Awakening (Kate Chopin, 1899, much taught in literature classes) -- "a novel I find deplorable, depressing upon the head of woman whilst presented as some kind of female wake-up narrative." 

Anthony Manu's essay "Narrative Coherence and Postcolonialism in Tomorrowland (2009) and Tender Girl (2015) by Lisa Samuels" (Journal for Literary and Intermedial Crossings 5.2 (2020)).

https://clic.research.vub.be/sites/default/files/atoms/files/MANU_FIN.pdf

"Tender Girl can be interpreted as a text that aims to make it seem possible for a nonfully human person to find a place in the human world where non-humans are objectified and only rationality is truly valued (This evokes posthuman and feminist critiques of patriarchal society)."  

As Lisa points out in the interview, a half-shark half-human is in fact an impossibility. The literal reality of Girl is not the point: we are not in the mode of narrative realism. 

The novel speaks to the recurrent experience of humans who do not feel completely human, at least not as humanity is narrowly defined. Who feel different. Who are indeed judged to be different, by other humans. Who may be judged so for their behaviour, feelings, gender, ethnicity, sexuality . . .

TG verges on fairy tale in respect of its serene counterfactual premise. And across the spectrum it's also about the individual's conflict with society, like 1984. 

By contrast with both these analogies, it strikes me that TG does not render Girl's emotional narrative, in fact does not render emotion, in a straightforward way. In the early part of the book she moves from one man to the next, in scenes that may be graphic or manipulative or abusive but there's little sense of Girl's passion or other emotional responses. It's as if she can't quite understand what's happening, doesn't know what she feels, or doesn't feel what others might. 

As in Tomorrowland, the text often glides out of its premise and Girl is then just a young woman making her way in an urban, educated world, with friends etc.

*

As in other LS texts there is a formal engine. That is, a bundle of features that between them make a sort of hum, defining the distinct character of TG. That includes paragraphing and italics and headings and the accompanying story gloss (think Faerie Queene, Ancient Mariner -- though Coleridge only added his in 1815-16, and some admirers, such as Charles Lamb, disliked them). 

These are all fun, but the most significant aspects of the formal engine occur within the text body itself. E.g. Certain phrases or ideas that recur throughout. 

Little holes for breathing (or similar).

Wetness in general.

Tendrils.

Skin peeling.

Hhhhh (or similar): breathing noises.

Cartilage.

Microchasm.

Yum yum.

awa and ama.

Maybe this is not a formal feature, but the possessive " 's " strikes me as unusually rare ... Well, let's go with that. And it does direct attention to Girl's lack of possessions. Others have things -- such as houses -- (see e.g. the Domestic Man in the passage below): Girl has only her body. 

For Girl, to "have" something is to bring it into closeness with her body. She may eat it or she may breathe with it or have sex with it. In the ocean world she's used to, the limits of body and environment are less stable: things exist to the extent one is immersed in them, with open mouth. 

*

Later, in a stony part of the city, the mazes yielded for a while.

I mean segregating and re-grouping Girl moved in relation with her tribute to the land of the father, she was learning how to walk.

A man with a warm face beckoned her in. It was midnight and she held a cup in her hands and listened to the immigrant deliver his privilege.

His warm hair was full of intention. He held her by the stomach and the rooms were square with wobbly walls, the fluid and colors came out, the hard-to-access insides a feature of the lateral surfaces of flesh squirming, the turns and slate eyes and the bathroom all had logics he would gesture. All the separate parts flung out.

Then his friends came over, wearing his robes and shining. And how thrilling that moment, the plates licked "make sure to get her home," and the sermonette discarded, the little holes for breathing armed.

Hhhh. It was a tall monument so why not leave the smashed glass?

(From Tender Girl, Ch. 1 "The Prince", p. 18. The narrative gloss says "Girl walks at night, smelling human talk. A man pulls her in".)

Quelle est cette armée de monstres marins qui fend les flots avec vitesse? Ils sont six; leurs nageoires sont vigoureuses, et s'ouvrent un passage, à travers les vagues soulevées. De tous ces êtres humains, qui remuent les quatre membres dans ce continent peu ferme, les requins ne font bientôt qu'une omelette sans œufs, et se la partagent d'après la loi du plus fort. Le sang se mêle aux eaux, et les eaux se mêlent au sang. Leurs yeux féroces éclairent suffisamment la scène du carnage ... Mais, quel est encore ce tumulte des eaux, là-bas, à l'horizon? On dirait une trombe qui s'approche. Quels coups de rame! J'aperçois ce que c'est. Une énorme femelle de requin vient prendre part au pâté de foie de canard, et manger du bouilli froid. Elle est furieuse; car, elle arrive affamée. Une lutte s'engage entre elle et les requins, pour se disputer les quelques membres palpitants qui flottent par-ci, par-là, sans rien dire, sur la surface de la crème rouge. A droite, à gauche, elle lance des coups de dent qui engendrent des blessures mortelles. Mais, trois requins vivants l'entourent encore, et elle est obligée de tourner en tous sens, pour déjouer leurs manœuvres. Avec une émotion croissante, inconnue jusqu'alors, le spectateur, placé sur le rivage, suit cette bataille navale d'un nouveau genre. Il a les yeux fixés sur cette courageuse femelle de requin, aux dents si fortes. Il n'hésite plus, il épaule son fusil, et, avec son adresse habituelle, il loge sa deuxième balle dans l'ouïe d'un des requins, au moment où il se montrait au-dessus d'une vague. Restent deux requins qui n'en témoignent qu'un acharnement plus grand. Du haut du rocher, l'homme à la salive saumâtre, se jette à la mer, et nage vers le tapis agréablement coloré, en tenant à la main ce couteau d'acier qui ne l'abandonne jamais. Désormais, chaque requin a affaire à un ennemi. Il s'avance vers son adversaire fatigué, et, prenant son temps, lui enfonce dans le ventre sa lame aiguë. La citadelle mobile se débarrasse facilement du dernier adversaire ... Se trouvent en présence le nageur et la femelle de requin, sauvée par lui. Ils se regardèrent entre les yeux pendant quelques minutes: et chacun s'étonna de trouver tant de férocité dans les regards de l'autre. Ils tournent en rond en nageant, ne se perdent pas de vue, et se disent à part soi: «Je me suis trompé jusqu'ici; en voilà un qui est plus méchant.» Alors, d'un commun accord, entre deux eaux, ils glissèrent l'un vers l'autre, avec une admiration mutuelle, la femelle de requin écartant l'eau de ses nageoires, Maldoror battant l'onde avec ses bras: et retinrent leur souffle, dans une vénération profonde, chacun désireux de contempler, pour la première fois, son portrait vivant. Arrivés à trois mètres de distance, sans faire aucun effort, ils tombèrent brusquement l'un contre l'autre, comme deux aimants, et s'embrassèrent avec dignité et reconnaissance, dans, une étreinte aussi tendre que celle d'un frère ou d'une sœur. Les désirs charnels suivirent de près cette démonstration d'amitié. Deux cuisses nerveuses se collèrent étroitement à la peau visqueuse du monstre, comme deux sangsues; et, les bras et les nageoires entrelacés autour du corps de l'objet aimé qu'ils entourèrent avec amour, tandis que leurs gorges et leurs poitrines ne faisaient bientôt plus qu'une masse glauque aux exhalaisons de goëmon; au milieu de la tempête qui continuait de sévir; à la lueur des éclairs; ayant pour lit d'hyménée la vague écumeuse, emportés par un courant sous-marin comme dans un berceau, et roulant sur eux-mêmes, vers les profondeurs de l'abîme, ils se réunirent dans un accouplement long, chaste et hideux!... Enfin, je venais de trouver quelqu'un qui me ressemblât!... Désormais, je n'étais plus seul dans la vie!... Elle avait les mêmes idées que moi!... J'étais en face de mon premier amour!

What is this army of sea monsters that cut through the waves with speed? They are six; their fins are vigorous, and open a passage, through the uplifted waves. Of all the human beings, who move their four limbs in this not very firm continent, the sharks soon make only an omelette without eggs, and share it according to the law of the strongest. The blood mixes with the waters, and the waters mix with the blood. Their fierce eyes sufficiently illuminate the scene of the carnage ... But what is this tumult of the waters over there on the horizon? It looks like a waterspout approaching. What strokes of the oar! I see what it is. A huge female shark comes to take part in the duck liver pate, and to eat cold porridge. She is furious; because she arrives hungry. A fight begins between her and the sharks, to compete for the few throbbing members that float here and there, without saying anything, on the surface of red cream. To right and to left she snaps with her teeth, inflicting fatal injuries. But three living sharks still surround her, and she is forced to turn in all directions, to foil their maneuvers. With growing emotion, hitherto unknown, the spectator, placed on the shore, follows this naval battle of a new kind. His eyes are fixed on this brave female shark, with such strong teeth. He no longer hesitates, he shoulders his rifle, and, with his usual skill, he lodges his second bullet in the ear of one of the sharks, just as he appeared above a wave. There remain two sharks which only testify to a greater relentlessness. From the top of the rock, the man with the brackish saliva throws himself into the sea, and swims towards the pleasantly colored carpet, holding in his hand the steel knife he never abandons. Now every shark has to deal with an enemy. He advances towards his tired adversary, and, taking his time, thrusts his sharp blade into his belly. The mobile citadel can easily get rid of the last opponent ... The swimmer and the female shark he has saved are left together. They looked each other in the eyes for a few moments: and each was astonished to find so much ferocity in the looks of the other. They go swimming around in circles, not losing sight of each other, and say to themselves: “I have deceived myself up to now; here is one who is still more evil." So, by mutual agreement, between two waters, they slid towards each other, with mutual admiration, the female shark spreading the water with her fins, Maldoror beating the wave with her arms: and held back their breath, in deep veneration, each eager to contemplate, for the first time, his living portrait. Arrived at three meters distance, without making any effort, they suddenly fell against each other, like two magnets, and embraced with dignity and gratitude, in an embrace as tender as that of a brother or sister. Carnal desires closely followed this demonstration of friendship. Two sinewy thighs stuck tightly to the monster's slimy skin, like two leeches; and, the arms and the fins entwined around the body of the beloved object which they surrounded with love, while their throats and their bosoms soon became but a glaucous mass with the exhalations of seaweed; in the midst of the storm that continued to rage; in the light of lightning; having the foaming wave for their mating bed, carried by an underwater current as in a cradle, and rolling on themselves, towards the depths of the abyss, they united in a long coupling, chaste and hideous !. .. Finally, I had found someone who resembled me! ... Henceforth I was no longer alone in life! ... She had the same ideas as me! ... I was before my first love!

From Les Chants de Maldoror, Chant deuxième. (Translation mainly by Google Translate.) The second half of this passage is the epigraph of Tender Girl. Girl has quite a strong family resemblance to her father Maldoror, e.g. in his lack of human empathy and quest to understand himself; as well as to her shark mother. Given the supposed moral status of her parents, is Tender Girl in dialogue with the idea of original sin? 

The youngsters came tumbling up the steps, the quadroon following at the respectful distance which they required her to observe. Mrs. Pontellier made them carry her paints and things into the house. She sought to detain them for a little talk and some pleasantry. But they were greatly in earnest. They had only come to investigate the contents of the bonbon box. They accepted without murmuring what she chose to give them, each holding out two chubby hands scoop-like, in the vain hope that they might be filled; and then away they went.

The sun was low in the west, and the breeze soft and languorous that came up from the south, charged with the seductive odor of the sea. Children freshly befurbelowed, were gathering for their games under the oaks. Their voices were high and penetrating.

Madame Ratignolle folded her sewing, placing thimble, scissors, and thread all neatly together in the roll, which she pinned securely. She complained of faintness. Mrs. Pontellier flew for the cologne water and a fan. She bathed Madame Ratignolle’s face with cologne, while Robert plied the fan with unnecessary vigor.

The spell was soon over, and Mrs. Pontellier could not help wondering if there were not a little imagination responsible for its origin, for the rose tint had never faded from her friend’s face.

She stood watching the fair woman walk down the long line of galleries with the grace and majesty which queens are sometimes supposed to possess. Her little ones ran to meet her. Two of them clung about her white skirts, the third she took from its nurse and with a thousand endearments bore it along in her own fond, encircling arms. Though, as everybody well knew, the doctor had forbidden her to lift so much as a pin!

“Are you going bathing?” asked Robert of Mrs. Pontellier. It was not so much a question as a reminder.

“Oh, no,” she answered, with a tone of indecision. “I’m tired; I think not.” Her glance wandered from his face away toward the Gulf, whose sonorous murmur reached her like a loving but imperative entreaty.

“Oh, come!” he insisted. “You mustn’t miss your bath. Come on. The water must be delicious; it will not hurt you. Come.”

He reached up for her big, rough straw hat that hung on a peg outside the door, and put it on her head. They descended the steps, and walked away together toward the beach. The sun was low in the west and the breeze was soft and warm.

VI

 

Edna Pontellier could not have told why, wishing to go to the beach with Robert, she should in the first place have declined, and in the second place have followed in obedience to one of the two contradictory impulses which impelled her.

A certain light was beginning to dawn dimly within her,—the light which, showing the way, forbids it.

At that early period it served but to bewilder her. It moved her to dreams, to thoughtfulness, to the shadowy anguish which had overcome her the midnight when she had abandoned herself to tears.

In short, Mrs. Pontellier was beginning to realize her position in the universe as a human being, and to recognize her relations as an individual to the world within and about her.

(from The Awakening)