Fellow Sassie, Fiona Dunbar, recently posted the
following question on Facebook:
“To all my friends who write for kids/young teens (particularly
girls): do you feel enough is being done in fiction to address fat/thin
stereotypes? With all the cultural pressure to conform to certain ideals, is it
our responsibility to counter that – and if so, how? *Can* it be done?”
I quickly became engrossed in reading all
the comments that were posted under Fiona’s question. I had more than a passing
interest for, as well as being a children’s writer, I have two young teenage
children of my own who are becoming more and more aware of what society is
saying to them. My daughter, in particular, seems to equate “skinny” with
“perfection”.
The Facebook debate did, however, remind me
that I had once been found guilty of describing a character as a “big fat
greedy wotsit”. I remember thinking at the time that it had not occurred to me
for an instant that what I had written would be offensive, because the words
were spoken by a seven-year-old character in that careless, thoughtless way that
children sometimes do speak.
I did, however, edit the comment once it
was pointed out to me that if you are a child struggling with eating disorders
(which sadly affect children at a much earlier stage in life than they used to)
then seeing the word “fat” used in a negative context can be very damaging, as it reinforces the stereotype that “fat” equals
“greedy” or “lazy” or “unattractive” or just plain “bad”.
It was pointed out in the Facebook feed that
we have, in fact, come a long way and that “we are better than we used to be”. Lord of the Flies was quoted as an
example of how not to stereotype large children. I decided to go back and
re-read a section of Lord of the Flies,
thinking that I would surely not find it offensive, telling myself that the
book is a product of a particular time and the characters who gang up on Piggy
are hardly portrayed as heroes. However, I have to admit that reading the story
again after a 25-year gap, Golding’s descriptions of Piggy did make me squirm:
“The naked crooks of his knees were plump .
. . He was shorter than the fair boy and very fat . . .
‘Can’t catch me breath. I was the only boy at our school what had asthma,’ said the fat boy with a touch of pride. ‘And I’ve
been wearing specs since I was three.’”
He is referred to as “the fat boy” until he
admits that his nickname was “Piggy” and that is the name that sticks for the
rest of the book. We never find out his real name. There is no doubt that the
fact he is fat and wears glasses equates to him being unappealing and weak.
There is much debate at the moment as to
what extent we in children’s publishing should be the “guardians at the gate”
on various topics, including that of body image. Should we watch what we write,
or does this restrict our creativity? Is the story the thing, or do we have a
responsibility? Many publishers increasingly feel that we do. We publish our
books under the clear imprimatur of “children’s publishing”, and that in itself
says something important: that children are clearly looking for and need
something different from adults. Otherwise, why bother separating the two markets?
Children are vulnerable and impressionable,
we know that. As a parent I am constantly worrying about and trying to monitor
what they watch on television, see on the internet and in video games, so
should it come as any surprise that books, and the words in those books, need
to be chosen carefully too?
Or are we going too far when we start to
worry about editing our characters’ thoughts, appearances and dialogue? Is it
in fact ridiculous to load such a simple three-letter word so heavily with negative
connotations, thereby driving it into the arena of “issues”? As Caitlin Moran
says in How To Be A Woman:
“In the last two generations, [‘fat’ has] become a furiously
overloaded word – in a conversation, when the word ‘fat’ appears, it often
alarms people, like a siren going off.’
So is the answer to avoid the issue of body image altogether in
our writing? In Fiona’s Facebook conversation, writer Dawn
Finch commented, “I try not to include any physical description unless it’s genuinely
important to the plot.” She said that she likes to leave it to the reader to
decide how the characters look based on how other characters respond to them.
It is true that there can be nothing more irritating than being told someone is attractive or ugly because they are
fat/thin/blond/tall/blue-eyed. (I recently read Michael Frayn’s Skios and found it incredibly annoying
to be repeatedly told that the lead romantic male role was gorgeous and had blue eyes and
“floppy blond hair”. Personally that immediately put me in mind of Boris
Johnson, so from that moment on I was certainly not going to imagine him as
attractive, I’m afraid.)
Inbali Iserles, another Sassie, said that “making it an
issue is not a good thing”, while writer Sophia Bennett pointed out that even when
books are addressing particular stereotypes, the covers rarely do anything to
back this up, and in some cases actively do the opposite. She quoted Cathy
Cassidy’s Ginger Snaps and Chris Higgins’
A Perfect 10 as examples of books
whose covers perhaps even belie the content.
So what to do? Maybe we should at least not
make “skinny” the default position for the beautiful and popular. If we are
writing a romance, for example, should we go out of our way to make the
romantic lead a larger person? If so, how do we do this without it “becoming an issue” as
Inbali warns us against doing? And if we do all this, what about the book
jackets? Maybe this, in fact, is where the redressing of the balance should
start.
(With thanks to Fiona for letting me borrow her FB question!)
Anna Wilson
