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witticasterMy professor called it a "gorgeous paper" (which means she will be very disappointed by the one I turned in today >>), and I am pretty proud of it myself, considering. So, yeah, posting it. It's my response paper to Leslie Feinberg's Stone Butch Blues.
Thunder and Yearning: New Words for a Butch Narrative
Near the end of Stone Butch Blues, Jess is reunited with Frankie, a butch Jess1 previously “put down because [Jess] couldn't deal with the fact that she got turned on by other butches” (271). After a much-needed apology, the beginning of Jess's final leg of the journey to something approaching self-acceptance, the two begin to discuss the problem of silence among butches. This is a pain Jess has only begun to consciously grapple with, the inability to articulate experiences: “Frankie, I've got no words for feelings that are tearing me apart. What would our words sound like?” (275) The text of Stone Butch Blues attempts to answer this question by presenting itself as a butch text, using “ butch words to talk about butch feelings” (275).
This is most evident in the way the novel treats sexual encounters. What we see through Jess' eyes is always failed in some way—the worst are rapes, the best, awkward or aborted positive encounters. The very best of Jess's sexual experiences are never shown; every time the narrative indicates that Jess and Jess's beloved, Theresa, are going to make love, it fades to black without revealing the details of the tryst: “Since I had no words to bring the woman I loved so much, I gave her all my tenderness” (138). Describing these moments with Theresa would reveal a vulnerability Jess is unable to show the world, even in writing; as a “stone butch,” Jess has great difficult in allowing touch from other people, particularly sexually, and notes in the letter to Theresa that “Only you could melt this stone” (11). We as an audience are in no way close enough to Jess to see the stone aspect of Jess's butchness chipped away.
Other sexual acts mentioned in the frame of the story include a gang rape by high school peers (40-41), which is described clinically; Jess's first rape at the hands of the police, which Jess attempts to escape mentally (62-63); the loss of Jess's butch virginity, which is ultimately positive but very awkward (70-73); and an encounter with Ruth, which is over before even beginning (270). Jess is vulnerable in all of these, but Jess's armor, that which makes Jess stone, remains at the core through all of them. Angie, the femme who has the honor of taking Jess's butch virginity, even comments on the fact when they are together: “'What a butch,' she laughed” (73).
Feinberg succeeds in giving these scenes a certain distance from the reader through an emphasis on action over description, perhaps the most notable way in which Stone Butch Blues is a book with a butch voice. The story is long on people doing and saying things, and often almost painfully short on where they are, what year it is, or even what the world looks like, except when the details are especially relevant to the plot arc at hand; the shirt for Jess's first suit is lovingly described—“the buttons were sky blue with white swirls” (59)—but Edwin, one of the most important secondary characters in the novel, is never mentioned as black until Jess asks to go with her to “a Negro club” (54). The emphasis on who Edwin is, what she says and does, comes before the fact that she is dark-skinned.
By the end of the novel, it is clear that Leslie Feinberg's work has found the language that Jess so badly needs. Through hir, Jess has found the words, for the sake of Jess, Theresa, and stone butches everywhere, and the words are indeed different. To talk with integrity about feelings that are just under the surface—as they must be, since butches operate under the pretense of “Feelings? [...] What are those?” (275)—of the butch psyche, the language used must likewise skim the surface of a deep well of thoughts and emotions about the butch experience.
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1 I do not feel comfortable using any pronoun for Jess, even a gender-neutral one; Jess never expresses a preference for he, she, they, zie, pers, or any other possible word, and I do not feel it's my right to attach one to Jess. I will try to make this as unobtrusive as possible.
--
Aaaaand yeah, it's supposed to be that short. She likes 'em one page, single-spaced. It's both refreshing and terrifying.
Near the end of Stone Butch Blues, Jess is reunited with Frankie, a butch Jess1 previously “put down because [Jess] couldn't deal with the fact that she got turned on by other butches” (271). After a much-needed apology, the beginning of Jess's final leg of the journey to something approaching self-acceptance, the two begin to discuss the problem of silence among butches. This is a pain Jess has only begun to consciously grapple with, the inability to articulate experiences: “Frankie, I've got no words for feelings that are tearing me apart. What would our words sound like?” (275) The text of Stone Butch Blues attempts to answer this question by presenting itself as a butch text, using “ butch words to talk about butch feelings” (275).
This is most evident in the way the novel treats sexual encounters. What we see through Jess' eyes is always failed in some way—the worst are rapes, the best, awkward or aborted positive encounters. The very best of Jess's sexual experiences are never shown; every time the narrative indicates that Jess and Jess's beloved, Theresa, are going to make love, it fades to black without revealing the details of the tryst: “Since I had no words to bring the woman I loved so much, I gave her all my tenderness” (138). Describing these moments with Theresa would reveal a vulnerability Jess is unable to show the world, even in writing; as a “stone butch,” Jess has great difficult in allowing touch from other people, particularly sexually, and notes in the letter to Theresa that “Only you could melt this stone” (11). We as an audience are in no way close enough to Jess to see the stone aspect of Jess's butchness chipped away.
Other sexual acts mentioned in the frame of the story include a gang rape by high school peers (40-41), which is described clinically; Jess's first rape at the hands of the police, which Jess attempts to escape mentally (62-63); the loss of Jess's butch virginity, which is ultimately positive but very awkward (70-73); and an encounter with Ruth, which is over before even beginning (270). Jess is vulnerable in all of these, but Jess's armor, that which makes Jess stone, remains at the core through all of them. Angie, the femme who has the honor of taking Jess's butch virginity, even comments on the fact when they are together: “'What a butch,' she laughed” (73).
Feinberg succeeds in giving these scenes a certain distance from the reader through an emphasis on action over description, perhaps the most notable way in which Stone Butch Blues is a book with a butch voice. The story is long on people doing and saying things, and often almost painfully short on where they are, what year it is, or even what the world looks like, except when the details are especially relevant to the plot arc at hand; the shirt for Jess's first suit is lovingly described—“the buttons were sky blue with white swirls” (59)—but Edwin, one of the most important secondary characters in the novel, is never mentioned as black until Jess asks to go with her to “a Negro club” (54). The emphasis on who Edwin is, what she says and does, comes before the fact that she is dark-skinned.
By the end of the novel, it is clear that Leslie Feinberg's work has found the language that Jess so badly needs. Through hir, Jess has found the words, for the sake of Jess, Theresa, and stone butches everywhere, and the words are indeed different. To talk with integrity about feelings that are just under the surface—as they must be, since butches operate under the pretense of “Feelings? [...] What are those?” (275)—of the butch psyche, the language used must likewise skim the surface of a deep well of thoughts and emotions about the butch experience.
--
1 I do not feel comfortable using any pronoun for Jess, even a gender-neutral one; Jess never expresses a preference for he, she, they, zie, pers, or any other possible word, and I do not feel it's my right to attach one to Jess. I will try to make this as unobtrusive as possible.
--
Aaaaand yeah, it's supposed to be that short. She likes 'em one page, single-spaced. It's both refreshing and terrifying.
