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A review by eshalliday
The Seawomen by Chloe Timms
1.0
What I want to discuss in a review of ‘The Seawomen’ relies upon events from midway to the close of the novel, and so contains major spoilers.
On one hand, the fact that a novel broaches discussion of a same-sex relationship between women should be noted. However, what is the wisdom of comparing that lesbian relationship between Maddow and Rose to the central relationship between the female protagonist Esta and the male object of her desire, the merman Cal?
Publishers, librarians, reviewers, and readers should question the virtue of commending an author for simply glancing at female homosexuality. Why should we feel especially grateful just for showing up in a text; just for gleaning a mere mention?
Furthermore, I was enraged by the conflation of the lesbian character with the archetype of 'bad mother', who leaves her child behind to run away with her partner. This presentation of lesbians as unmotherly, barren, and unwomanly is anything but original, and I'm sorry to say that this novel appears to bolster the opinion that women in same-sex relationships are somehow the antipathy of femininity, a corruption of what it is to be female: i.e., fertile, maternal, and child-bearing, child-rearing.
‘The Seawomen’ undertakes no genuine exploration of Esta’s mother’s motives; Timms paints her lesbian character as one-dimensional, flat. There is a unique and vital opportunity here to investigate women’s experiences of homosexuality in an isolated, oppressively patriarchal society. In fact, in the absence of this investigation, I find it bizarre that Timms seemingly randomly assigns this sexuality to Esta’s mother. It’s absurdly arbitrary.
As an author from a marginalised minority group, an advocate for equality, accessibility and inclusion, I had expected more from Timms. She opens up a charged space to discuss the motives of a lesbian mother faced with the dissolution of her family and imposed heterosexual marriage, as well as the implications for her child. Yet instead of participating in this discourse, Timms has Maddow function solely as a foil for Esta, to throw into relief Esta’s heteronormativity and experience of the overdone motif of ‘forbidden [straight] love’.
The ultimate insult is that the author overwrites any significance or value added to Maddow’s experience by giving Esta the happy ending, where she is reunited with her straight paramour and lives, what looks like (by all accounts in the final words) a fulfilled life as a mother who can keep and raise her child in a peaceful and free community.
Is this novel's takeaway message supposed to be: STRAIGHT = GOOD, GETS TO BE A MOTHER; LESBIAN = BAD, CANNOT BE A MOTHER? Because it takes very little effort to read it as such. And if the author has even remotely left that open as a possible interpretation, then this text is problematic in the extreme. For this reason, I have rounded down to one star as the minimum rating.
As I read 'The Seawomen' past 70%, I felt a little ashamed of myself for always being such a hopeful reader, eager to award that fifth star in a review, which I normally reserve for books that are ‘lesbian friendly’. And I would note that that is a shamefully small reserve of books; readerships shouldn’t be quick to assume that all novels labelled LGBTQ can be counted. Very rarely do any of the authors who slap on that populist label actually fairly represent lesbians in a realistic or normative manner. Often, lesbians won’t even get a mention amongst a cast of GBTQIA characters. Hence, my hopeful eagerness to award that ‘lesbian-friendly’ fifth review star matched with my awareness that a precious few books will reflect me and my genuine life experiences. Even in this age of ‘wokeness’, authors and publishers too often remain unaware or ignorant of the fact that they are compounding the worn-out ‘Dead Lesbian Syndrome’ narrative, or simply neglecting to feature any female homosexuality at all. Can you name three successful, well-promoted novels published in the last year that feature a lesbian relationship centrally and where the lesbians get a happy ending?
In my perfect world as a librarian and a reader, I wouldn’t have to interrogate every book where my sexuality was reflected, to see whether it was realistically done, or to question the motives and virtues of authors and publishers, because I would be able just to trust that I would get a fair deal - and not just in Sarah Waters or Emma Donoghue novels, or Virago publications, for instance, and their Lesbian Landmarks reading project.
I’d be really interested to hear what other lesbian readers think of this novel.
On one hand, the fact that a novel broaches discussion of a same-sex relationship between women should be noted. However, what is the wisdom of comparing that lesbian relationship between Maddow and Rose to the central relationship between the female protagonist Esta and the male object of her desire, the merman Cal?
‘I knew what forbidden love felt like. It drove me the way it had driven her.’The novel forcefully claims that both relationships are equally doomed and unholy, and a blight upon the community. By doing so, the author eliminates the possibility for commentary upon the visibility of homosexual females, by - in actual fact - doing just what society does to us. That is, erasing or overwriting our experience in favour of heteronormativity. If the barriers erected in the way of a lesbian relationship are simply presented as a foil to inspire pity for the protagonist who suffers in her heterosexual relationship, is the author really making any statement at all about how marginalised and silenced lesbians are?
Publishers, librarians, reviewers, and readers should question the virtue of commending an author for simply glancing at female homosexuality. Why should we feel especially grateful just for showing up in a text; just for gleaning a mere mention?
Furthermore, I was enraged by the conflation of the lesbian character with the archetype of 'bad mother', who leaves her child behind to run away with her partner. This presentation of lesbians as unmotherly, barren, and unwomanly is anything but original, and I'm sorry to say that this novel appears to bolster the opinion that women in same-sex relationships are somehow the antipathy of femininity, a corruption of what it is to be female: i.e., fertile, maternal, and child-bearing, child-rearing.
‘The Seawomen’ undertakes no genuine exploration of Esta’s mother’s motives; Timms paints her lesbian character as one-dimensional, flat. There is a unique and vital opportunity here to investigate women’s experiences of homosexuality in an isolated, oppressively patriarchal society. In fact, in the absence of this investigation, I find it bizarre that Timms seemingly randomly assigns this sexuality to Esta’s mother. It’s absurdly arbitrary.
As an author from a marginalised minority group, an advocate for equality, accessibility and inclusion, I had expected more from Timms. She opens up a charged space to discuss the motives of a lesbian mother faced with the dissolution of her family and imposed heterosexual marriage, as well as the implications for her child. Yet instead of participating in this discourse, Timms has Maddow function solely as a foil for Esta, to throw into relief Esta’s heteronormativity and experience of the overdone motif of ‘forbidden [straight] love’.
The ultimate insult is that the author overwrites any significance or value added to Maddow’s experience by giving Esta the happy ending, where she is reunited with her straight paramour and lives, what looks like (by all accounts in the final words) a fulfilled life as a mother who can keep and raise her child in a peaceful and free community.
Is this novel's takeaway message supposed to be: STRAIGHT = GOOD, GETS TO BE A MOTHER; LESBIAN = BAD, CANNOT BE A MOTHER? Because it takes very little effort to read it as such. And if the author has even remotely left that open as a possible interpretation, then this text is problematic in the extreme. For this reason, I have rounded down to one star as the minimum rating.
As I read 'The Seawomen' past 70%, I felt a little ashamed of myself for always being such a hopeful reader, eager to award that fifth star in a review, which I normally reserve for books that are ‘lesbian friendly’. And I would note that that is a shamefully small reserve of books; readerships shouldn’t be quick to assume that all novels labelled LGBTQ can be counted. Very rarely do any of the authors who slap on that populist label actually fairly represent lesbians in a realistic or normative manner. Often, lesbians won’t even get a mention amongst a cast of GBTQIA characters. Hence, my hopeful eagerness to award that ‘lesbian-friendly’ fifth review star matched with my awareness that a precious few books will reflect me and my genuine life experiences. Even in this age of ‘wokeness’, authors and publishers too often remain unaware or ignorant of the fact that they are compounding the worn-out ‘Dead Lesbian Syndrome’ narrative, or simply neglecting to feature any female homosexuality at all. Can you name three successful, well-promoted novels published in the last year that feature a lesbian relationship centrally and where the lesbians get a happy ending?
In my perfect world as a librarian and a reader, I wouldn’t have to interrogate every book where my sexuality was reflected, to see whether it was realistically done, or to question the motives and virtues of authors and publishers, because I would be able just to trust that I would get a fair deal - and not just in Sarah Waters or Emma Donoghue novels, or Virago publications, for instance, and their Lesbian Landmarks reading project.
I’d be really interested to hear what other lesbian readers think of this novel.