Turtle

Jennifer Raver is of the most caring, thoughtful, introspective women I know (through my sister) .... I can hardly wait for her new novel to come out. Here is a peek at the prologue.

Small, sleek, silver like a bullet shooting across the green, run Rabbit run as fast as you can through the tall summer grass into the sea of silver birches. The trees’ leaves shimmer green and gold in the setting sun that strikes Rabbit senseless. She darts here first- then there- blind to the path but mindful of the finish line. Round and round Rabbit runs skirting the forest’s edge until the sun descends and dazzles her eyes no more.

Master of her senses again, Rabbit dashes headlong into the forest. She sprints at a speed terrifying to lesser creatures, crushing the earth underfoot or crashing into nature’s larger elements. Her feet are sticky with grass and wild strawberries, her fur matted and torn from tree and shrub but nothing stops her. Nothing slows her. Rabbit has a race to win so run on, my fleet-footed friend!

The forest grows more dark and wild the deeper she goes. A lush canopy of feathery ferns obfuscates the earth’s floor. As rabbit dives into the green expanse, the ferns tickle her nose and brush against her furry cheeks, reminding Rabbit of baser needs. She scampers under the sheltering ferns and bites into a soft frond. It is cool and sweet. Eat your fill then lie down with us, the ferns whisper. For a long minute she is tempted but then her animal spirit cries: Tarry not!

On and on Rabbit runs until the ferns disappear and she enters the dark heart of the forest. She stops, afraid to go farther for the forest has drawn a heavy velvet curtain across the land. She looks heavenward for relief- some stars or the moon may reveal the path- but the trees’ branches blanket the sky with leaves.

She believes that the dark has bested her but her eyes grow friendly with the dark and it reveals a series of tall, broad and timeless trees. Thick tangles of roots separate the trees; the roots pop out of the ground and pulse with life, a bluish-black, slow-moving blood. Even with light, the land cannot support new life for the trees’ ancient roots run deep and long and drink greedily of the earth’s goodness.

Ready to run again, Rabbit surveys the land. She spots something, and hops gingerly over one tangle to get a better look. Age has felled one majestic tree. Shriveled roots extend from the tree’s base like a cat’s paw ready to strike. She carefully hip hops along the trunk as if it were a compass pointing in the right direction. She smells water, wood and dirt then the acrid odor of decay and death invades her nostrils and checks her progress. In the tree’s branches something once living has made its final bed among the brown withered leaves.

Rabbit backs away and turns to run but the cold, damp ground sends a shock- both thrilling and terrifying- through her body. She rears up on her hind legs desperate to run but the darkness locks her in its chilly embrace. The stench of decay and death draw near and threaten to overwhelm her.

She steps outside herself and sees a meagerly proportioned bunny doing a stiff two-step with the air. Ha, a high-pitched squeak escapes through the perpetual smile she wears then her pink-rimmed eyes water and a twinge pierces her furry, white breast. Even if Rabbit wins this race there will be others, and even if she wins every race, she will one day return to join those who have run before her. Rabbit’s front paws smack against the ground and her head lists to one side. Where to, she cries.

Suddenly Rabbit’s ears prick at the sound of a branch snapping. The eternal Song sings, Run, run! She hurdles roots and dodges trees in her flight from the forest’s dark heart. She runs and runs; sprinting so fast her feet do not touch the ground; so fast that it seems she has become one with the air.

The light grows stronger as her haunches carry Rabbit out of the woods into a clearing. Beams from a low-hung moon light a smooth, even ground. The wind brushes her back and tickles Rabbit’s tail. Her animal senses tingle and she runs onward, fleet of foot, stout of heart- a champion running the final lap. Each step brings Rabbit closer to victory, and in her mind’s eye, Rabbit has already crossed over into glory; the sound of the crowd’s roar fills her ears. Victory seems certain until the moon’s rays reveal a bright expanse of water. At first Rabbit thinks it a mirage for she has run a long way without sustenance. Her feet slow then stop. She hops to the pool’s edge and taps the surface with a hind leg. The cold water makes her body shimmy and shake. Rabbit bends her head towards the pool.

The water’s surface plays mirror: oblong ears trimmed in white hair, pink-rimmed eyes with dilated pupils, gray tufted cheeks with long pale whiskers, a pink triangle of a nose and a mouth that always smiles. This is no mirage, she thinks and drinks deeply from the cold, clean water. Refreshed, Rabbit remembers the reason for her thirst. She looks right then left but sees only water. She can run but she cannot swim. What will you do, oh runner of races?

Her senses sing as someone- predator or competitor- approaches. She hops around to face the forest and scans the horizon. Her ears strain for sound; her nose sniffs the ground for the smell of another. Throat parched, she licks her lips and taste metal. Bang bang bang bang the rhythmic beat fills Rabbit’s ears and blood rushes to her temples. He comes! Run, run!
Rabbit’s mind races but her feet remain still…or do they? She looks over her shoulder to see her right hindquarter hammering away at the earth. Her foot slows and she sighs, able to breath at last, but the rush of oxygen to her brain makes her giddy. Unbalanced, she staggers backwards and falls into the shining pool.

Down, down into the deep water Rabbit dances, torso twisting and limbs kicking. The current carries her deeper still and water fills every orifice. Her lungs burn and head pounds with red impotent rage at the heavy, cumbersome and slow being she has become. As she watches her last breath bubble to the surface, a calm replaces the rage. Rabbit thought she’d return to the dark heart of the forest to die but death visits her instead, releasing Rabbit from her physical form.

Heaven here I come! Rabbit’s spirit navigates the once treacherous current with a speed and agility that her body lacked. Lighter, nimbler and faster, her spirit glides towards the light, rushing higher and higher, parting the water with ease and assurance. Rabbit’s spirit breaks through the surface to join with the radiant, all-powerful light.

Daylight strokes its warm fingers across her back, ushering Rabbit once again into the physical world. I’m alive! I’ve not died! She raises her head still heavy with sleep to see the risen sun. She has dreamt a strange dream- a nightmare that somehow ended well.
Suddenly Rabbit sees something. It’s him! It’s my competitor! Bulging black eyes covered by thin eyelids, a boxed-in nose, no mouth to speak of, a skinny neck, and a hard, wide shell too large for its extremities. It’s a reptile; order Chelonia; family Emydidae. Ha, her squeak is low and muffled, It’s a turtle! More precisely, it’s a painted turtle.

He fixes his bulging black eyes on Rabbit then both Rabbit and Turtle crane their necks to get a better look at each other. Bold Turtle, she thinks then her nose touches water and he becomes a wave. Rabbit is frightened to be so near the water again. Her head snaps back and darkness envelops her. Where am I, she wonders. It seems to be a kind of cave, one that is dark and unknown but somehow familiar and safe. She sees nothing but senses that her legs are nearby. For a moment she wonders if she’s gone mad then a thought occurs.

She ventures forth from the darkness, trying to hop but too heavy to do so. She doesn’t hear or smell so well but she can still see, and waddles towards the pond. She looks into the pool and finds Turtle staring back at her. She takes two steps back then two forward; Turtle disappears and reappears. A horrible thought fills her head: I am the turtle. She stares at her reflection then big watery turtle tears begin to fall.

When she finally sheds her last tear, she creeps to the pond’s edge to take inventory of her new self. She is short, squat and low to the ground with a tough, round shell and a soft underbelly. Her senses of smell and hearing no longer sing but she sees just fine. She cannot run or hop; at best she manages a brisk waddle walk. Yes, travel on land is laborious but then she remembers: I can swim. She waddle walks to the bank and this time, she enters headfirst, eyes open.
Those watching see a small, brightly painted turtle making short but steady strokes through the pool, water fanning out behind her like the lower-case v of a young child.

Equality without Protest: Reviving Political Engagement

There are a significant number of women who are reluctant to identify with feminism.

Nevertheless, they consider themselves equal to men and expect to be treated as the equals of men. The extent of this ‘proto’-feminist consciousness — an awareness of the inequality of women and a determination to resist it at an individual level — is a definitive accomplishment of the women’s movement. But the rupture between feminist consciousness and the movement from which it emerged is something of a conundrum.

Perhaps it is an inevitable fissure. Take for example the women’s enfranchisment movement. Recently, my mother-in-law, upon learning the subject matter of the book I was reading — Kumari Jayawardena’s Casting Pearls — was flabbergasted when she heard that at some point in history women did not have the right to vote. How many women today, young or old, identify with the women’s struggle for the vote in the early 20th century? Nevertheless, women today understand the power an individual vote has in determining the future of our country; and, I would imagine, be outraged if the State decides, say on the grounds of family cohesion, to introduce legislation allowing only male heads of household the right to vote. One could argue that this unquestioning acceptance of political rights as being fundamental to citizenship, this shift from a demand to the idea of an entitlement, signals the success of the suffrage movement.

Let’s take what I would like to call the 'proto-feminists' in the corporate sector: smart, savvy women who have excelled academically and who now hold management positions. They would not tolerate without protest any notion that men are smarter than them. They know that’s not true. They’ve outperformed them in the classroom, more often than not. These women certainly would not accept being paid less than their male counterparts either. She thinks, perhaps unconsciously, that as long as her contribution to the organization is recognized and she is equally rewarded for her hard work that there is gender equality.

Even in the home, these women would not accept, without protest, the gender division of labour—that they should do all the cooking, cleaning, ironing and child care without assistance from their husbands. Take for example my friend Iromie—mother of two, running her own small garment business who actively negotiates on an everyday basis how she and her husband share child-care and house-work responsibilities. Or Cristina, who actively protests stereotypical images of female beauty by refusing to wear makeup and ‘feminine’ clothes despite the many hints from her family. Iromie would be shocked if I tell her she’s drawing from a feminist consciousness, and Cristina cannot see any parallels between the choices she makes and feminism.

One danger posed by the expanding rift between feminism as a movement and this (proto) feminist consciousness is that feminist consciousness is losing its radical edge, argues Barbara Epstein, a professor at the University of California Santa Cruz, in her article “Feminist Consciousness after the Women’s Movement.” This has happened, she says, in the professional fields where feminism has tended to absorb the obsession with individual success that prevails in that arena. Rhonda Garelick, an associate professor at Connecticut College, writing in the New York Times, reflects on the lack of political engagement in the contemporary classroom about women’s rights and cultural politics. “Although virtually all of my female students expect to pursue careers, this is where their enlightenment seems to end. For them, the reassuring power of a college degree to unlock professional doors seems to have rendered ‘feminism’ obsolete. In other words, the fires of feminism may have burned down to the ashes of careerism.”

Let’s take an example of a young woman working for an international NGO. Having chosen to work on women’s livelihoods, she’s now preoccupied with writing countless reports and attending meetings. Because gender equality is part of the organizational philosophy, if not one of its explicit objectives, she may not think that there is any need to have a feminist awareness, and certainly does not identify herself as a feminist. (Perhaps, she’s even embarrassed by the label because of its associations with angry, humourless women with scant regard for personal appearance.) This lack of a feminist consciousness means a lack of political questioning of the work she does. So, she may not find it problematic at all to ‘work’ towards women’s ‘empowerment’ by setting up beauty culture and sewing classes.

Young women today are more self-confident, are climbing the corporate ladders, and are not afraid to speak their mind, for the most part. However, they are like the present day environmentally conscious people Epstein describes, who take action on environmental issues largely in individual ways - such as in their shopping habits and in recycling - but bear no resemblance to the activists who engaged in radical political activity. To some degree, this expansion of ‘consciousness’ beyond the borders of the movement in which it first emerged, as Epstein argues, shows the lasting influence of those movements. But as she says, it also has to do with what appears to be the decline of political and protest movements.

But, wait! Protest cannot become irrelevant or old-fashioned because the struggle is by no means over. Personal success is not equality. What about domestic violence? What about equality before the law with regard to land and property rights? What about women continuing to be regarded as wives and mothers and not valued for who they are? And what about being classified with children and the disabled—in our Constitution no less! What about the barrage of gender stereotypes and sexist imagery that is spewed at us in the name of advertising? Why do women continue to be told how to behave, how to dress, and what to look like? Why do we accept without protest the misogynist commentary of our radio DJs during morning shows?

A feminist consciousness is a consciousness that is not complacent—it is forever analysing and always critiquing.

What about sexual harassment? Otherwise strong, independent women continue to tolerate it in the workplace because of fear. Fear to tip the precarious balance of equality because it would prove that women really are not up to the task of serious work if they’re going to cry every time the boss makes a sexual innuendo. Fear that one would lose one’s popularity with the boys and perhaps even other women. Fear that one would be labelled a ‘feminist’, i.e., a ‘prude’ with no sense of humour.

A (proto) feminist consciousness is inadequate to the challenge.

Asha Abeyasekera-Van Dort (MHC '98) is a native of Sri Lanka.

Why Smart Men Marry Smart Women

by Dr. Christine B. Whelan

Conventional wisdom - and more than a few hysterical headlines - would have us believe that the odds are stacked against smart, high-achieving women when it comes to marriage. Men don't want to marry women who are ambitious in their careers, the naysayers declare. Or women who make as much, or more, money as they do. Once a successful woman hits 30, her chances of finding a husband are limited, if not dire.

Nothing could be further from the truth! My new book, Why Men Marry Smart Women, explodes the ongoing myths about high-achieving women and marriage. The good news is backed by solid statistics from U.S. Census data, a Harris Interactive survey commissioned specifically for this book, and more than 100 interviews with high-achieving women and men in nine cities nationwide.

This groundbreaking new study corrects the bad-news lies widely perpetuated on television talk shows and in the pages of bedrock publications such as Newsweek and Forbes.com and shatters widespread myths:

Myth: Men want to marry subordinate women.Reality: 90% of high-achieving men want a woman who is as or more intelligent than they are. And more than 80% of high-achieving men said they want a woman who is as or more accomplished and educated than they areMyth: Successful career women aren't good mothers.

Reality: 68% of high-achieving men agree with the statement: "Smart women make better mothers." And two-thirds of high-achieving men said they believed a woman could be just as good of a mother if she worked outside the home.

Why Men Marry Smart Women is packed with personal stories and advice for smart, ambitious women who are worried that their career success is holding them back in their quest for love and happiness. Among the advice:

* Stop perpetuating the myth that men are intimidated by smart women. There's a high cost to the conventional wisdom that accomplished women don't get married - and it could be a self-fulfilling prophecy for you if you have a bad attitude toward dating.

* Don't downplay your career or educational success. One-third of the high-achieving women are hesitant to tell a man about their job or their educational background for fear it will intimidate him. But 71% of men say a woman's career or educational success makes her more desirable as a wife, so be proud of your accomplishments.

It's all about having the right attitude: For more information, visit http://www.whysmartmenmarrysmartwomen.com/ and buy your copy today!

Womanhood – A State Of Being

I am a ‘woman’, and I am proud to be one – are you? Maybe not. Know why? Because ever since you were a little girl it was drummed into you that a ‘woman’ is any overweight female with about three kids and facing a midlife crisis. Wrong. That is far from being a woman.

Ever gone to a party and heard ripples of laughter and girlish giggles when a grownup man enters and says "hey girls?" Compare that to the response you would get to "hello ladies" or worse – "ah women.". Nope not even a smile to that last remark. Ever wondered why?

I’ll tell you why. The word ‘woman’ is associated with so many negativities that no female wants to be called a woman. Shame isn’t it? Draw a mental picture of a ‘woman’ in your mind. Now let me rip that apart. Because a ‘woman’ is far from what has been portrayed and the general connotations people associate with ‘womanhood’.

Misconception 1: Womanhood does not come with age. It is an attitude, a state of being. Womanhood is not a physical state, but rather a stage of mental maturity and emotional intelligence. It is maturity not only of action, but thought and emotion. Perhaps that’s why it is usually misinterpreted with age. But a 20 year old female can also reach womanhood.

'Womanhood' is the most beautiful, fulfilling yet challenging experience any female can have in her lifetime – if she ever reaches that level of competence and security within herself. To be able to look the world in the eye and say I will, I can, I am and I accept myself for not having the physical strength of a man – but emotions as firm as boulders, a mind as intelligent as can be and a will strong enough to move the world. To not only accept herself as the physically petite sex, which was not made to do certain tasks but still be able to make decisions which can change the world. A woman knows that she has to and is capable of running a house, rearing children, and being extremely competitive at work. Women are the only beings who can juggle so many tasks and still not lose their feminine touch.

Ah ‘feminine’ – does not mean stilettos, a perfect figure, manicured nails and picture perfect looks. Feminine is a feeling. Within your heart you must know that you are the most beautiful creature God ever created. That even ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’ and the most beautiful adornment of heaven is also – a ‘woman’!

Womanhood comes only from the test of times, and signifies strength paired with delicateness. A woman is graceful not in her physical attributes, but in her manner, her poise, her actions. She can compete at the highest levels of intelligence and still not be classified only in one box. Any female who comes even near the feeling, the always vibrating emotion of womanhood in her existence - like being in love – can conquer the world any day, and will love to be called that which she is – not a girl, not a baby, not a lady, not a little lady – but just a woman – and oh – that is so hard to be!

Afreina Noor

Pakistan