Men and Women

A long time ago someone (a man) read a book I wrote and was startled into saying, “Wow! You write like a man!”

He meant it as a compliment.

I thought a lot about this.

Did you know that Charles Dickens, in 1858, wrote to a friend thusly about George Eliot’s Scenes of Clerical Life: “…whose first  stories I can never say enough of, I think them so truly admirable. But, if those two volumes, or a part of them, were not written by a woman – then should I begin to believe that I am a woman myself.”

What in George Eliot’s writing made it utterly obvious to Mr. Dickens that she was a woman, in spite of her pseudonym? What did the friend who read my book mean when he said that “I wrote like a man”?

I’ll suggest two things, and then you can add some more, since this discussion is ongoing and forever. Very broadly, then:

The first is a man’s brevity in thinking. A man thinks thoughts sharply, and linearly, and he usually writes like that. A character goes from A to B, and even if there is lengthy description or heartache involved, it is presented in a slightly detached, action-oriented way. Women writers, on the other hand, work a lot more with internal dialogue. We tend to prefer novels in which the characters’ inner world is constantly described. Hardly anything has to happen, as long as a lot happens on the inside.

That novel I wrote long ago (called The Director, and it was never published, by the way) was lauded by my male friends and ho-hummed by my women friends. I was experimenting with a different way of writing, one in which I hoped the action would speak louder than words. I used a phrase like this:

She stared. Then she stood abruptly and left the table.
Not: She stared. Was this all that was left? One moment they meant the world to each other, and the next he was cutting the ties between them forever. She rose to her feet, not knowing what to say. What could she say? Was there anything that could make a difference? Etc., etc.

See what I mean?

Secondly, is the difference in how a man and a woman relate to their characters and scenes. I’ll never forget a woman critic asking me, “Do you really like Jonny [my progagonist]?” I realized that I admired him, enjoyed writing and developing him, but I was not ‘in love’ with him. I wasn’t crazy about him, the way I fall madly in love with the heroes of my romantic novels.

But male authors, you can be sure, would never gushily admit to falling in love with their protagonists. They are more likely to admire, or perhaps wish they were like them. Sometimes I almost sense a friendly competitiveness between author and protagonist, an affectionate punch on the arm, one of those warm look-you-in-the-eye kind of appreciative moments.

This week’s writing practice is going to follow on these musings. For those of you who are poets, you can create these in poetic form. (Next week we’re going to continue the male-female exercise using dialogue.)

You’re walking along a narrow road that widens on to a beach. Describe this beach from the point of view of a man. Then describe exactly the same beach from the point of view of a woman. Use lots of detail, but every detail has to create a feeling about the man or woman who regards it. Write no more than one or two paragraphs, and do not use dialogue or action! Don’t say, “I felt peaceful looking at the waves.” No, no. Say, “the waves barely seemed to move, lulled to peacefulness by the late afternoon stillness…” Only description for this exercise; and use all five senses.

The two points of view – male and female – have to be obvious, just from how the beach is described.

What’s the point? I think balance in all our lives is essential to finding inner peace. We need to balance our temperaments, the colors we favor, who we spend time with, and our internal male-female qualities. Apart from balance making each of us more kind and harmonious human beings, I think this ability to see from another person’s perspective makes us better writers.