Shiver me timbers. I bet she’s cold.

We both enjoy reading about and discovering stories about women pirates.

Sadly, they are often poorly represented in pop culture and in advertising as little more than the aforementioned nautical sexpots, turning up, as women sadly often do, only to prove that the central male characters are heterosexual and dashing.

The example on the left is a good one. This was taken from a pirate-themed crazy golf park. The male pirates had clothes. And coats. And treasure. All kinds of useful pirate things.

This is the trope we are used to – men representing the cut and thrust of the character, women thrown in for a bit of titillation (assuming that you like your titillation in this form, and sadly we live in a universe were that is the the assumption).

But all is not lost, me hearties!

There’s a sea-change coming. If we set sail to Hastings, that lesser known bastion of cut-throat feminism, there is a weather-beaten and battered but nonetheless awesome figure of a woman pirate on the roof of a restaurant.

A far cry from scantily-clad mermaids attempting to flog battered cod and chips – and a very refreshing change, as well as two fingers up to all the people who think that a woman’s place is stapled to the prow of a ship.

Avast in front! Now you’re talking.

No high seas bikini here! She’s got an outfit suitable for Proper Adventuring, she’s steering a boat, and she’s got treasure, which (aside from clothing that protects you from the elements and your enemies) is what every pirate wants.

Throw in the eyepatch and a pet crow (plus points for cool animal companion) and she’s ready to plunder the high seas.

So, aside from the fact that we’ve finally (finally!) got a female character in a similar position and costume to male characters, what really makes this a Found Feminism for me is the placement: we’re so used to having female characters as the special, odd one out, look-at-me-I’m-a-girl that having this figure here without any particular attention drawn to it makes it all the better.

It’s not a special Lady Pirate Restaurant, it’s just a bit of pirate ship decor which also happens to have a normalised, non-stereotyped female pirate aboard.

I’ve long flown the flag for giving women characters equal weighting in stories, especially fantasy and sci-fi fiction, where writers and audiences get the joy of experiencing other worlds that aren’t bound by the tedious social rules of our own – including sexism.

Weird tales, well told

For one thing, her stories are more original, imaginative and accomplished than much of what is served up to young fantasy readers. The reason I reached for Red Spikes a few nights ago is because I wanted to be transported. I wanted a way out of my worries, and in her short stories Lanagan places you in an (often unnervingly) immediate, vivid and visceral other place.

She’s economical with the detail she gives you, winding her descriptions around dialogue or a protagonist’s thoughts rather than self-consciously setting the scene. The situations and societies she presents feel solid, brutally so at times, without you needing to be told what colour the sky is. The story is about the situation, not the setting, if you see what I mean.

And those situations are genuinely unusual, strange and surprising. You can set your story on the third moon of Azkablam and still make it clichéd, formulaic and dull as ditchwater (famed for its dullness). In Red Spikes and another collection, Black Juice, a girl watches her sister killed in a tar-pit as punishment for murdering her husband, while elsewhere in a circus-y dystopia two anti-clown vigilantes carry out a hit. A girl in a paper dress graduates from Bride School, and a boy finds some tiny figures of a bear and a heavily pregnant armoured queen who grow and come to life in the night. Naturally, he is enlisted as midwife.

Lanagan’s stories are bizarre, and even when you’re in more familiar terrain they’re often told from an unusual point of view. In Black Juice a village is periodically attacked by terrifying underground ‘yowlinin’ monsters. So far, so Tremors. But the tale is told by an ‘untouchable’ outcast, treated as a monster herself, who saves the life of the boy she loves only to be rejected. However, UNLIKE the Little Mermaid, she doesn’t wimpily dissolve into seafoam, but sees him for the coward he is and strides away into her future.

These synopses have probably given you a clue that as well as being strange, Lanagan’s stories are often pretty dark. And if you think Harry Potter is ‘dark’ you may be in for a shock: the first few chapters of her novel Tender Morsels include child abuse, incest, forced abortion and gang rape.

Tender Morsels

Here’s a review that describes why I think it’s a remarkable work. But it is distressing. Briefly: 14-year-old Liga lives in the usual cottage-on-the-edge-of-the-dark-forest with her father, who repeatedly rapes her. When she becomes pregnant, he forces her to have an abortion. He dies, but she discovers she has become pregnant again. She has her baby and lives alone in relative peace in the cottage until some boys from the nearby town come to find her and sexually assault her. Liga despairs, takes her baby daughter to a ravine in the forest and tries to kill them both, but they are magically saved and wake in what seems to be a parallel world in which she is at last safe. The townspeople have been replaced with kind, two-dimensional versions of themselves, and in this world there are no men. It seems to be a heaven that Liga has created to protect herself and her daughters (she has another baby). But as her daughter grows up the membrane between their protected world and the world Liga left behind starts to grow thin, and the story becomes a reimagining of the traditional fairytale of Snow White and Rose Red.

Of course, when it was published Tender Morsels met with a fair amount of controversy, but I agree with Lanagan when she says “I guess I’m not a big fan of corralling sex, death and war into the adult world and then giving children a terrible shock when they realise their existence.” Besides, there is nothing graphic, titillating or exploitative about the descriptions of the abuse suffered by Liga in the novel. One of the things the book is about is how people take refuge and heal from trauma.

Women in fairytales

It’s also about fairytales, and women’s lot in them. Asked in this interview why she was drawn to the Snow White and Rose Red story, Lanagan said:

Mainly I was annoyed by what the Grimm Brothers had done with Caroline Stahl’s story, that is, rewritten it to deliver a very oppressive message to girls and women: At all costs, however beastly your menfolk’s behaviour, remain nice, kind and always willing to come to their aid. This kind of message is not uncommon in the collections of transcribed and revised folktales of the 18th and 19th century, and it’s distressing that those versions are often mistaken for the root stories – although they still sometimes contain the germs of the originals, they are very much products of their times and societies.

So, the irritation was the main thing, but then I couldn’t resist a story that had such a great character as the ungrateful dwarf, the kindly bear and the three bemused women, trying to make good lives for themselves in an ever stranger world.

Like Angela Carter, Lanagan seems to be interested in the rawer, messier, less moral incarnations of our familiar fairytales, but where they differ is that Lanagan’s story fully inhabits the folkloric style where Carter’s versions are self-conscious and ironic.

The final thing I love about Lanagan’s stories is that they’re full of GIRLS and WOMEN! All kinds of different ones! With different personalities! And they do things! In Tender Morsels there are two witches, both distinct and full-developed characters, with powers and flaws and everything. The novel deals with violence against women, but also with women’s sexuality and desires.

I can’t say I’d recommend them to help you get to sleep, but Margo Lanagan’s stories offer strange worlds to be explored.

But why should this concern us? There are women in these stories; Helen, Hecuba, Penelope, Dido, Lavinia, Guinevere, Morgan le Fay, Isolde, Galadriel, Arwen, Polgara, Ce’Nedra. Their presence offers the necessary balance, and if the characters who drive the plot are predominately male, that’s just a traditional aspect of this genre which does reflect so much history. Before the last few decades, women were subject to male authority for centuries. No one’s saying that women shouldn’t be equal in the real world nowaday, but this is fiction after all. Right?

No, wrong, and for a whole lot of reasons.

Let’s start with the historical basis. Granted, the history read by JRR Tolkien and his generation was all about the great deeds of great (white) men. Such interpretations reflected the Victorian worldview of masculine authority and responsibility. That immediately creates problems. When the importance of great men is taken for granted, that’s where the historian’s focus will be. If women are not deemed important, why bother writing about them except where they impinge on the main subject’s life or deeds? They will inevitably end up absent from the narrative that emerges.

Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. That was then, and this is now. Since the first emergence of women’s studies as a discipline in the 1960s, a wealth of historical research has explored the role of women in all levels of society. Women’s influence and significance is now apparent, even when they were effectively denied financial and political power by the cultures of their day.

So a fantasy writer can no longer point to a few exceptional women in fantasy narratives, such as Galadriel, and hide behind a claim to reflect historical accuracy because the only significant women in history were exceptions such as Good Queen Bess. Not when I have books on my study shelves about the women who sailed with Nelson’s navy and built his ships in the royal dockyards, about the role of so many women in the scientific developments of the Enlightenment and a whole lot more besides.

Women’s roles in all facets of life are now being acknowledged. These women had authority and autonomy. Granted, that was often limited by their wealth, social status and culture, but there is no excuse for women characters in fantasy fiction only ever being passive and reactive. Historically we now know that women were rarely only defined by their relationships with men in the way that so many women characters in fantasy have been. While women can be wives, mothers or lovers, benign or malicious, that is assuredly not all they can be. Fantasy fiction should reflect such current historical research, not attitudes that were outdated fifty years ago.

Because fiction is important. Stories have always been one of the primary means of education and instruction, from the very young on into adulthood. Look at any list of best-sellers for teens and you will see how fantasy fiction dominates. Thankfully, writers like the late Diana Wynne Jones and Philip Pullman have been writing stories for decades encouraging children to explore and debate the worldviews that might be imposed upon them, along with the roles they’re expected to fill and the authority which adults might claim.

So it’s vital that epic fantasies on the ‘adult’ shelves don’t undo all that good work. I really do not want my teenage sons unconsciously absorbing notions of male privilege and entitlement in stories where a woman’s importance is always defined by who she might choose to sleep with, or better yet, save her precious virginity for. Where women who transgress male authority are invariably punished by supposedly indifferent twists of fate. I don’t want my niece and god-daughters reading stories which imply that true happiness lies in meekness, submission and doing the cooking and mending to facilitate so much more valuable male heroics.

Not when so much of today’s baser popular culture looks so indulgently on misogynistic male ‘celebrities’, excusing infidelity or excess at the same time as subjecting women in the public eye to merciless, puritanical scrutiny while extolling the role of Wife And/Or Girlfriend to a rich man as the pinnacle of female achievement. Not when pay gaps and glass ceilings and the Old Boy network are still so insidiously prevalent.

I want all those teenagers to read stories where male and female characters are equally significant in the narrative, all making the best use of their respective talents and abilities, where their gender is only influential when such things as physical strength come into play. Is that realistic or just more fantasy? Perhaps, but another facet of fiction has always been encouraging aspiration.

Thankfully there have long been fantasies with strong female characters taking the initiative to drive plots forward, making their own choices and dealing with men as equals, even when their cultures frown upon it. Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Darkover books, Melanie Rawn’s Dragon Prince series and Anne McCaffrey’s Pern novels are all notable as such pioneers.

But this is still not enough. Those writers are all women, and research has shown that men and boys’ reading is so often unconsciously biased towards books written by men. The representation of women in fantasy is an issue that should concern all authors. We need a substantial list of male authors to cite after Sir Terry Pratchett, when the question of men writing effective, convincing women comes up.

I want to read those stories myself. But this doesn’t mean I want to read about feisty servant girls who wake up, throw off a lifetime of cultural conditioning along with their blankets and decide it’s time to invent feminism. Any more than I want to read about honest farm boys who discover they’re a lost heir and regain the throne thanks to a great mage’s help, who won’t claim it for himself because he’s a decent chap.

So somewhat paradoxically, the representation of women in fantasy must still include women leading circumscribed, subordinated lives, to remind all of us reading, male and female, why our grandmothers, mothers and aunts campaigned for the vote and marched for equal rights. To remind us what women’s lives are like today in so much of the world where their human rights are curtailed by culture and poverty. And of course, so many similar arguments apply when we consider the equally problematic question of characters of colour in fantasy fiction.

Doesn’t this all sound so worthy and politically correct? Oh dear, because so often that means just plain dull. The most tedious storybooks which I read to my children were the ones with An Improving Moral Message. Some of the most boring news reports are the ones analysing sexism, racism, any other –ism you care to name. That doesn’t mean these issues aren’t important but it can be such hard work to stop your eyes glazing over…

True, and this is another reason why the representation of women in fantasy fiction is so important, alongside that of other minorities who’ve been historically marginalised and abused. Because epic fantasy fiction, with its traditional high heroics, hair’s breadth escapes, valorous last stands, black-hearted villainy, the tragedy of good men in conflict, and yes, star-crossed lovers here and there, will be read and enjoyed by all sorts of people who would never sit through an earnest documentary or read a lengthy newspaper analysis.

As writers we have the opportunity to enrich our readers’ lives as well as entertaining them. We should take that as seriously as we take the challenge of crafting an enthralling, surprising, rewarding page-turner of a story.

• Find out more about Juliet E McKenna at her official website, on Amazon, and on Twitter. Juliet regularly speaks at SFF conventions and gives creative writing lessons in schools, and she is one of the authors behind The Write Fantastic, a group who organise events to promote the fantasy genre and to showcase the scope of current writing in this genre.
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