Editor's Note

The chosen short stories seem to suggest an inherent inequality between men and women; whether the women are written to be nagging and controlling or submissive and put upon, it seems that no romance is free of this tension. In the chosen stories the relationships all appear to have a victim: the sufferer of unrequited love for a scornful woman, the abused women, the overworked wife, and the neglected widow. However, this dynamic is not necessarily written as tragic, or even unfair; often the characters see this as not just their reality, but the way of the world. Within these stories also lies what is put forward as a universal truth: women are either their sex appeal or their maternity. Women and girls are frequently oversexualized in the stories and yet simultaneously warned against sexual urges. Nevertheless, women frequently utilize this oversexualization as empowerment for themselves, or to be held over others.

In C.L.R. James’ “Triumph,” this is turned on its head as Mamitz, a woman familiar with abuse, realizes she can use her sex appeal to garner favors with different men. The women in the story are paid to spend time with, and presumably sleep with, men with considerably more power than them. Mamitz, described as sensual in all she does, had been physically and verbally abused by her former lover; this, however, is not what bothers her: “Neither the accusation nor the beating had worried Mamitz. To her and her type, those were minor incidents of existence…the kept woman’s inevitable fate.” (37). The women are unable—and as a result unwilling—to confront the misogynistic restraints that kept this imbalance, and instead use it to further themselves; Mamitz charms the butcher to get the resources to court Popo, who in turn gives her money to cook herself better meals. Despite the intentional and calculated oppression of women throughout the story, “Triumph” focuses on the reclamation of sexuality as a form of power.

Similarly, “When Women Love Men” from Rosario Ferré also challenges the patriarchal structure present in both Caribbean and European literature; its stream of consciousness captures the struggle between the dichotomy between the Madonna and the whore, and how they can coexist within one woman. In the wake of the death of her husband, a wealthy woman reflects on how he forced her to express her sexuality through his urges and suppress her own. The thoughts switch between that of the widow and of a prostitute as the women resent each other for the other’s lifestyle, coming to the realization that without the man to foster their insecurities and resentments, they have the same passions and desires. Whether it is one woman coming to terms with her own sexuality, or two women overcoming their internalized misogyny, the Isabels are able to grow without the power of a man being held over them; the understanding that  “…a prostitute lies beneath the skin of every lady…” (258)

That same sentiment is present in Jamaica Kincaid’s Girl, but in quite a different context; Girl is a series of lessons being taught by a mother to her daughter on proper conduct—and on survival in a world that will always be against her. The refrain of the word ‘slut’ as a condescension and an accusation assumes that the young girl is both victim to and an enabler of her sex appeal. Yet, even the harsh, shaming rhetoric breaks to reveal the fears that lie behind them. The prose shifts to a more compassionate tone as it touches on why such strict instruction is being taught: survival is paramount, and the life of a woman is one where she is either dominated or the domineer: “This is how to bully a man; this is how a man bullies you.” (Kincaid).

Girl’s emphasis on how women perform both physical and emotional labor to appear acceptable is also seen in Myriam Warner-Vieyra’s “Passport to Paradise,” in which Eloise, the hard-working wife of a debilitating alcoholic, must perform her duties as a wife as well as a mother. Though her husband and her story laud her for her “good planning and enthusiasm for work,” (274), this seems to be her entire character. Eloise, unlike the women in the other stories thus far, has no faults; she is a faithful mother and wife, who works to provide for her family and later to commend her late husband’s spirit. She is not tempestuous or lustful—rather she is what a woman should be, willing to sacrifice her soul for her husband’s. Regardless, she is a victim of an unequal relationship just as the other women are, providing and caring for her family while her husband does none of the labor, but retains his power.

Despite the more common pattern of the abused woman, it is untrue to say that the power imbalances end there; in “Red Dirt Don’t Wash” by Roger Mais, it is Miranda who commands the authority in the relationship as she mocks and dismisses Adrian. She is a temptress, whose elegance entrances and seduces Adrian, who she treats as entertainment while she meets with other men. Miranda plays clearly into the trope of the cruel vixen whose sexuality is weaponized to toy with the innocent, pure man. She is often described as erotic and teasingly flirtatious even though she has no intention of loving Adrian. While this is by no means her only flaw, it furthers the theme throughout these stories that love is always an incomplete transaction, often caused by a woman’s sexuality.

The women in this collection of stories often have their sexuality represented as a hindering force, whether for themselves or others; the expectation of subservient women is common throughout Caribbean literature, a fracturing within marginalized groups in post-colonial societies. The imposition of European ideas of sex and femininity as well as a loss of control after subjugation resulted in the commonality of misogynistic tropes and the villainization of women’s desires, but also the reclamation of them.