For Excellence, For Girls and Why I Normally Can't Stand Feminist Writing... But this was OK

Feminism has found yet another abrasive outlet with Hypertext fiction. Having graduated from a high school with the motto: “Springside School: For Excellence, for Girls,” where the typical uniform skirt and blouse was traded for a more “dynamic” skort (skirt with shorts) and polo shirt, I still struggle accept feminist writing and even art with a fully open mind. I was reminded of this while clicking my way through My Body - A Wunderkammer.

Feeling as if I was reading the life story of this woman, I couldn’t help but feel that I was missing large amounts of the writing. Somehow, and if I had paid attention I could tell you how, I made it from the tattoo to the vagina in what felt like less than 4 clicks. Needless to say I was not surprised. In fact, how did this completely female part not sneak directly into my first encounter with this text? The answer is unique to this new medium of expression: hypertext fiction makes the linear pathway to talking about female parts into a web of talking about female parts. There is less of a build up, it’s very hard to predict when your going to stumble upon it, and you can find yourself at the same page over and over… as I did with the description of the paper and the… vagina.

As much as I will complain about reading feminist writing, I have to say, this has been one of the most enjoyable of the myriad of female texts that I have read through the course of my all girls school years. Perhaps it was because I had the ability to chose and carefully filter which links I wanted to click based on the words highlighted in blue, or perhaps it was the actual style of writing – to look beyond the technological aspect of this piece. I would also like to point out that I have spent more time with this piece than I do with most school readings.

I kept finding more descriptions or reflections that are written with the most accurate and relatable descriptiveness of any feminist writing I have yet encountered. THAT’S RIGHT! I’M ACTUALLY ENJOYING IT! I even giggled at the description of the nose piercing that I stumbled upon after clicking a completely non-related link. It reminded me of the saga that has been getting and keeping my nose piercing.

I told my father – the more accepting of my parents – that I was planning on getting my nose pierced. I did this over Thanksgiving break so as to have come home from college at least once without facial piercing. He was fine with it saying that “[I] am my own person now… just no tattoos or I’ll beat you.” (KIDDING he’s completely kidding I promise!) So, upon arriving back to Pittsburgh following the break I got my nose pierced. After I did it someone asked me what it felt like and I had difficulty describing it. That is until I read this:

“My nose is pierced on the left side. The operation was quick and antiseptic, an ink dot placed, wiped off, replaced, a smooth little wooden rod up my nose, a deep breath, the needle plunged through. The ring slid in and pushed out the needle. The only raw and beautiful thing about it was the sudden hapless surge of tears to my left eye, which instantly overflowed down my cheek.”

The relationship between that part of my nose and my tear duct was a mystery to me… The saga of the nose piercing continued with my nose completely rejecting the relatively tame stud that was, at times, unnoticeable. This was a terrifying ordeal that involved a hole in my nose and a stud that wouldn’t stay put. So I got a ring. I really liked the ring. But, knowing it would not be “mother approved” I once again called my dad. “You’re going to get so much shit on Christmas from the family! You should probably prepare a phone conversation or something to let your mother know.” Well… I didn’t. I figured it would be more traumatic if I told her about it and she wasn’t able to see it. I was wrong. We are all familiar with that look of disappointment. Multiply that by 100.

As I grew to really like my nose with a small silver ring on the right side, my mother’s spite, which I swear has some magical power over my life, once again forced the alignments of the planets to disrupt the normality of my life. I’m not saying that her spite sent me to the hospital for a week, but I ended up there over Christmas. While the doctors scrambled to figure out what was wrong, my nose and I were put through multiple tests including the MRI. For those unfamiliar, that’s the one with the magnet. So not only did I avoid the “shit” on Christmas by not even being there, my mother got her wish and I was forced to take the ring out or get it ripped out by a giant magnet.

The point of this story, other than procrastinating many other things I should probably be doing right now, is to say that now, with a small red healing dot where once there was a ring, I have a story. This type of story telling – where one story reminds you of another and so on – appears to be the style in which My Body - A Wunderkammer is written, reflecting how well this style matches this medium.