Gender Roles in Contemporary Asian-American Literature

From the gender-bending social statements of David Henry Hwang's M. Butterfly to the affronting exploration of misogyny and liberation in Ruth L. Ozeki's My Year of Meats, the role of gender in society plays an incredibly crucial part in discussions regarding any culture. After all, elements including clothing, family structure, and even social activities are often tied to the construct of gender roles and gender understanding within a culture. To ignore such a basic level of human experience, especially when attempting to analyze and understand a culture different from one's own, would be a serious misstep.

M. Butterfly provides one of the most interesting and dizzying portrayals and explanations of the role gender plays into perceived cultural stereotypes and reflexively one's own identity. In the play, the character of Gallimard is led by a foreign spy to believe that this spy is a Chinese woman. Gallimard subsequently marries this woman, only to discover the truth twenty years later. The question is: Did Gallimard really not know?

This piece is intriguing in that the gender disparity between them is rooted doubly in patriarchal misogyny and cultural stereotyping. Each time Gallimard attempts to have Song disrobe, she deflects by appealing to a perceived cultural expectation of submission and shame. As this submissiveness reinforces Gallimard's innate need for male domination, he relents, in spite of the evidence for her true reasons for such a refusal.

What makes the whole affair even more interesting is the use of language to cement the cultural stereotype. Using categorically offensive phrasing to display Gallimard's ignorance (e.g. "Oriental" as opposed to accurate ethnic affiliation) speaks in a veiled way to the reader, informing her/him of the cultural significance of Gallimard's gaffe in misinterpreting his own spouse's gender. Song's appeal to her "shame" also serves the same purpose to the reader, without ever seeming patronizing.

In a winking nod at the reading audience, Gallimard at one point responds to a statement by Song with, "That sounds like a fortune cookie!" Song replies, "Where do you think fortune cookies come from?" Gallimard's reply: "I don't care" (Hwang 65). Such exchanges give readers a sense of their own cultural assumptions and stereotypes, leaving them in the uncomfortable position of not being able to totally dismiss Gallimard. (For perplexed readers: Fortune cookies are from California.)

Using a unique style of intertextually based and reflexively intertextual narrative style, the story actually works as a semi-allegory of Madame Butterfly, allowing for an interesting discourse on the subject of cultural arts and their place in modern culture. While the story begins with Gallimard asserting Song as his "Butterfly," the tables are turned during the final act when he realizes that he has in fact been duped, and is the "Butterfly" of the story. Ripe for literary analysis and critique is the positioning of Madame Butterfly as a work that allows a negative or stereotypical cultural alignment for those in Western culture who perceive Eastern culture through the lens of this cultural artifact. To quote New York Times theater critic Frank Rich: "It's Mr. Hwang's starting-off point that a cultural icon like ''Madame Butterfly'' bequeaths the sexist and racist roles that burden Western men."

The way in which Hwang addresses the woman in his play is quite visionary. While Laura Mulvey's work is mainly concerned with the cinema, her groundbreaking assertions regarding the female and film are just as relevant here. She states the following in "Visual Pleasures and Narrative Cinema":

"Traditionally, the woman displayed has functioned on two levels: as erotic object for the characters within the screen (or here: play), and as erotic object for the spectator within the auditorium." (Mulvey, 1975)

Hwang utilizes the woman in quite a different way as after-all, here, she is a man. By placing her as the object of eroticism both within the narrative, the innate revelation is jarring to both viewers and readers. With a man inhabiting the role of the female, the audience simply has no choice but to address the underlying issue of sexism within both the arts and culture. Why does it seem so out-of-place that Song is a man? What does that say for us, and our understandings of gender and culture?

A markedly different approach to gender is taken in Ruth L. Ozeki's My Year of Meats. Given its intricate plot and rich characterizations, the book tackles subjects as vast as sexual liberation, cultural progression in terms of gender roles, and the gendered hegemonic order as it relates to corporate life. Overall the book works as an indictment of the meat industry, statement on world corporations, and a feminist manifesto, all while framing these themes in a way that lends itself to a rich cultural discourse.

Through the characterization of Jane, a producer, readers are introduced to corporate life as it relates to gender. Jane is an American working for a Japanese company on a production that furthers the meat industry agenda, and the man to whom she reports is the narcissistic and not-particularly-intelligent "John" Ueno. As an independent and capable producer, she is thwarted at multiple terms by this misogynistic business executive.

During a startling scene, a drunken Ueno actually attempts to rape Jane, instead finding himself on the floor with an injured groin and busted knee. Unlike many authors who often portray females as automatically over-powered and dominated by males in such situations, it is obvious that Ozeki is presenting a different agenda. (Note that blaming the victim is not being advocated here in the slightest. Rape is a serious and horrific crime. This point merely illustrates the empowering way in which the female is represented in this narrative, not the culpability of victims in rape, as there is certainly none.)

Further themes of liberation are displayed in a highly unique relationship between Jane and a mysterious character by the name of Sloan. Her sexual empowerment couples with his non-chivalrous respect paints a very post-modern portrait of sexuality and relationships. Through this same relationship, themes of intimacy and sexuality are highly expanded upon as well, further framing this modern social sensibility regarding women and men's places within the social and sexual realm of relationships.

The most controversial character throughout this story is certainly that of Ueno. His character is one of unapologetically misogynistic patriarchal narcissism. Upon first reading this work, his character seemed most likely positioned as one of narrative catalyst for progressive discourse, with Ueno providing a strong anti-thesis of all things moral/ethical. However, it has been suggested that given his Japanese ethnicity, his character may also serve to indict elements Japanese culture, a move that could either be viewed as unabashed racism or pointed cultural critique, depending on one's reading and perspective.

Given the highly articulate nature of the work, its multiple positive progressive standpoints, and the fact that the author is herself an Asian-American, allegations of racism seem at worst highly cynical and at best a bit unsubstantiated. So for the purposes of this essay, it will be assumed that Ueno represents only the hegemonic order, misogyny, and ignorance, all as they relate to humanity, not specific cultures/ethnicities.

In the narrative, the readers introduction to Ueno is one of cultural insensitivity and blatant sexism. He finds Jane unfit for the job and seems to view her more as a highly capable maid than a valued employee. He treats American culture as a buffet of commercialization to be poached for mass profitization from his Japanese audience. (Although some would argue his view of American culture isn't terribly off.)

Jane struggles to balance her individuality with the demands of her sexist boss, oftentimes appeasing him simply to keep her job. Ozeki never overtly references this sexism, preferring to let the narrative speak for itself. Rather than a feminist diatribe, savvy readers are left with an intelligent dissertation regarding the glass ceiling faced by many women in the corporate world.

Aside from strictly the corporate level, Ueno's personal relationship with his wife Akiko plays an arguably even larger role in this novel's exploration of gender issues. Before discussing the focal point of Meats in regards to gender issues which takes place in the final act, it is important to outline the character arc of Akiko.

Akiko's character is one of helpless submission, nearly childlike in nature. She serves at Ueno's every call, ignoring his constant verbal abuse and relatively frequent physical abuse. A very naïve individual, it often seems as though Akiko knows little about the world around her and spends little time even considering the possibility of leaving Ueno.

After each episode of Ueno's show, Akiko dutifully serves the featured dish from the week's show. She also takes part in a regular survey in which she rates the show on various points from wholesomeness to authenticity. However, she is criticized at every turn by her abusive husband, as he seeks to display his superior knowledge in all things personal and professional.

Her character could be viewed in a sense as both a portrait of female victimization at the hands of the patriarchal system and as a negative critique on traditional Japanese gender roles. Given Ozeki's status as a Japanese-American, it would seem accurate to assume that Akiko's ethnicity is hardly irrelevant or accidental. Unlike the less-clear portrait of Ueno that seems less rooted in culture than corporate commentary, Akiko's narrative arc seems quite concerned with issues of social culture.

During the course of the book, Akiko eventually reaches out to Jane for help in escaping her abusive husband. Corresponding by fax, she takes numerous precautions to avoid being intercepted by Ueno. However, the fax from Jane is found by Ueno, who is overcome with rage.

Ueno first begins by beating Akiko mercilessly, hurling insults as he batters his wife. But the even more shocking moment comes when he returns the same day for another round of abuse and viscously rapes Akiko both vaginally and anally. Given the psychological implications of rape in regards to the rapist, especially in the case of Akiko who is raped in multiple ways, Ueno's character is unmistakably asserting his power in response to her liberated behavior, attempting to punish her back into submissiveness.

Hospitalized, Akiko achieves a new level of resolve. She befriends the nurse who comes to serve as both an ally and counselor of sorts, even offering her a place to stay. Liberated, Akiko decides to leave Ueno once and for all. She plans a creative escape in which she will assume her housewife duties, living alone while he is on his trip. During this time she can secure housing, and fly out to America the day before he arrives at home.

She contacts Jane and arranges for travel to the United States, with Ozeki now positioning Jane as the force of liberation for both herself and women everywhere. The international implications of the situation are for Ozeki a way of describing the universal plight of women, and disallowing excuse for any cultural or geographical reason.

Upon arriving in America, Akiko decides she wants to stay with the lesbian women from her favorite episode of My American Wife!, and is given the go-ahead from the wives to come stay with her. Jane makes the arrangements, and Akiko is one her way, crossing the American landscape and experiencing the various cultures within the country as she travels.

The issue of sexuality is also important here, as Akiko is shown to have tendencies that are either sexually independent or bi-sexual. During an aforementioned scene with a friend, she actually kisses the friend on the lips. She lightly struggles throughout the book with the concept of sexuality throughout the book, wondering after viewing the episode of the lesbian women if she might be a lesbian herself.

However, this issue of sexuality seems far less rooted in eroticism than the pure liberation of the female. For the purposes of the narrative, Akiko's possible lesbianism is mainly a marker of her new-found independence from a husband, a tangible way for her to remove herself from the patriarchy. Given Akiko's highly innocent nature, as opposed to Jane's blatant liberated sexuality, eroticism as it relates to Akiko is never really discussed. This is most likely because Ozeki is using each character to represent a unique facet of liberation, and by embodying these facets separately, they can be more carefully considered without the interference of having one character represent all facets of liberation.

Ozeki's style of storytelling and her deep nature were very warmly received by critics, with Jane Smiley (Chicago Tribune) calling it "up-to-the-minute" and USA Today labeling it "rare and provocative." Much like Hwang's M. Butterfly, Ozeki navigates gender and sexuality in a truly masterful way as she weaves strong statements about culture and cultural perception among the many messages of the book.

As shown by just these two works, contemporary Asian-American literature has much to offer in the way of commentary on gender, gender roles, and sexuality. While many would be tempted to read such works for their face cultural value, they would be remiss to ignore these often highly articulate and thought-provoking statements on the intersection of cultural identity and gender identity/sexuality. For culture and gender are hardly inseparable, as theoretically it would be impossible for either to exist without the other, at least when viewing gender as construct.

While Hwang spends the majority of his time illuminating the way stereotypes effect individuals' view of gender and in effect sexuality, Ozeki chooses to focus on the connection between cultural values and oppression/liberation. Both are important works and would lend themselves to much more in-depth analysis than provided here. Also evident is the need for all individuals to never ignore these serious issues of gender and sexuality. Ozeki and Hwang, along with a host of other Asian-American writers, drive home the point that no issue exists within a vacuum and that all people would be well-served to recognize these intricacies when having any discussion regarding culture.

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References:

Hwang, David Henry. M. Butterfly. (1989) Plume. New York.

Ozeki, Ruth L. My Year of Meats. (1998). Viking Penguin. London.

Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema." (1975) Visual and Other Pleasures. From Screen. Glasgow.

Rich, Frank. "Review/Theater; 'M. Butterfly,' a Story Of a Strange Love, Conflict and Betrayal." (1988) The New York Times. Ret. April 17, 2009.