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(Due to the topics discussed, this post includes general spoilers for: the Shades of Magic series, the Grisha Trilogy, the Six of Crows duology, Deathless, The Bear and the Nightingale, The Priory of the Orange Tree, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell as well as the Yukibana no Tora manga.)

Book after book, especially in fantasy, one might come across a similar situation: daring plots, grandiose characters, extensive worldbuilding… until it concerns women. Then, all creativity goes to the drain, reusing the same tropes, the same caricatures of how a woman behaves and where her rightful place is – a supportive aside to the main characters’ journey, absent, if not outright dead. Such criticism is often levelled at male writers, their lack of effort, their fetishes obvious. Yet what of female authors?

Women, it is said, do not fall into the same traps as men and create complex male characters with more passion than any man will spare for a female one. Do they, thus, honour their fictional counterparts in kind? Would reading women be the solution to the neverending waves of stereotyped heroines and love interests?

Unfortunately, we found ourselves confronted to the same rancid ideas in books authored by women. Too often, their characters oscillate between virginity and depravity, eternal victimhood and stupidity. Vapid and vain, or weeping and weak, or sweet and pure, all to better "defile" them later; their personality barely sketched in the sidelines, their existence hardly worth a mention, their life trivial, sacrificed. Thus appears a string of familiar figures: the dead idealised mother, the living but children-fixated mother, weak, crying; the shallow, beauty obsessed queens and girls, stupid and selfish to the core; the beloved sisters and relatives, abused and killed to distress the male half of their family; the missing female friends and aunts and grandmothers and passersby, the women whose very presence is omitted, repeatedly.

This listing may have triggered a few memories, especially to readers familiar with young adult literature, but let’s be specific: do you recall the few appearing girls derided by Lila Bard, in Schwab’s Shades of Magic series? The queen, always afraid and weeping, having no life outside of her fears and her son? Perhaps, if you persisted until the last volume, you also assisted, powerless, to the systematic abuse and slaughter of every other female character while men mourned?

Or maybe have you picked up Bardugo’s first fantasy series, The Grisha Trilogy, with its vain and unnamed Ravkan queen, its most beautiful woman punished with ugliness, its villain’s mother sacrificing herself for her son and disdaining her daughter? Or were you more interested in her later additions to her universe, Six of Crows, with its dead or mad mothers, its silly and grating young wife to a much older man, its manipulated girl-assassin finding no common grounds with her female rival, only death?

Have you opened Arden’s The Bear and the Nightingale and felt dismayed at the lack of care towards Vasya’s sister, sent away at a young age to marry and breed? At the upsetting and unending sexual suffering of a not that much older stepmother, turned bitter and cruel, demeaned despite her resemblance to the heroine, worthy of no compassion?

Perhaps you might have perused Valente’s Deathless where Baba Yaga is portrayed as a bitter old crone expressing sexual jealousy of Marya, espousing views such as a wife’s role is to be a “good mount for her husband”? Her enslavement of the previous Yelenas who were used up and cast aside as Koschei’s sexual playthings (and even more swiftly discarded by the narrative) with Marya giving only a fleeting thought to their plight?

Or Clarke’s Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell wherein a female perspective is conspicuously absent, existing only to be dutiful wives or hapless victims caught in a powerplay between magical men and maleficent fairies?

It would seem only a few chosen women and girls can be in the spotlight. These, usually, take the mantle of "heroines", though, as we noticed, female authors will still not allow them the same latitude as men. Stuck in a man-made world, they must submit to their gazes still, solely rely on them for friendship, love, knowledge and general plot advancement; with their every interaction tied to them, they, too, see their development denied in favour of the men’s. They must shrink themselves, give up on their ambitions, their ambiguity, accept a society designed entirely against them and feel grateful for the scraps of freedom graciously ceded to them. In that sense, they resemble very much the other girls they often strive to detach themselves from.

You may have noticed, in The Bear and the Nightingale, how Vasya, a young girl of fourteen, cannot escape the gaze of a lustful priest, the very narration also espousing his point of view, decentering her. Magic may allow her a way out of forced unions and pregnancies, yet still misogyny weights her down, isolating her from other girls and women, like her stepmother.

You may also have come across the various threats of rape Lila Bard must endure, her cross-dressing to prevent this, her loneliness and contempt for the members of her own sex. You may have noted her ambition and recklessness, only to see it crumble before a male character’s tragic backstory, while her very own desires and excessiveness were handwaved amidst a plot focusing on temptation.

Or you may have seen, in the pages of the manga Yukibana no Tora, a bold female warlord overcome her discomfort with men by ordering a friend to "take" her, turning herself into a passive recipient for men’s sexuality. Her life experience and thus, her differing point of view and confidence in herself is completely swept away. Even in a fictionalised account of her life, she must yield to men’s degrading view of her body.

In fact, despite the infinite possibilities offered by fantasy, many women still build cultures infused with conservatism. Traditional gender roles remain enforced in appearances: makeup, dresses, thinness and not a hint of masculinity, which would prove a stain, an assumed hatred against femininity and its unlucky subjects. Society, in such worlds, favours harmless and nurturing soon-to-be mothers, emotional and lesser girls whose value lies in the marriage they will be able to secure. Bloodlines, powers, knowledge and divinity itself all belong to men in an unquestioned misogynistic realm. Female characters must struggle against the chains of sexism before undergoing any other kind of development, if they benefit from such an arc at all. Rape, pregnancy and misery is their lot.

Take a look, then, at the rulers as well as the extras populating these worlds: men, in Schwab’s, as king, guards or nameless sailors, dressed as such, that is, without dresses; men as rulers again in Bardugo’s, as merchants, as mobsters, while women obsess over their appearances.

Samantha Shannon’s Priory of the Orange Tree presents a striking example of a world still conceived by men: in a country ruled by women for over a millennium, producing a blood-related heiress remains such a primordial task that even a queen becomes a broodmare. Forced into marriage, her character endures unwanted sexual unions until she finally assumes her goal as a woman – a mother, through and through. Reverse the roles, parse history: royal men annulled their marriages, kept mistresses, adopted heirs… and yet, and yet. Fictional women are kept on a tight leash. What a waste of creativity!

Disappointing and frustrating, yes. Even moreso as many reviewers – including women – will gloss over such issues, when they do not misconstruct a lone strong heroine as feminist-worthy, or qualify a superficially egalitarian world as "matriarchal". Yet what bothers us further is the way these authors receive a constantly harsher treatment than their male peers, their works immediately ridiculed and their intents disregarded, however flawed they could be. Despite their failings, men’s works are still deserving of an analysis, of some doubts and nebulous improvements; women’s should be denounced and go back to the garbage bin.

The books evoked in this post aren’t to be thrown out and dismissed. They, too, had commentaries and themes that we may disagree with, that we may believe unfortunate, or short-sighted; they had their stylistic failures beyond sexism, their convoluted plots, their lacking arcs; their moments of brilliance and artistry, their moving scenes, their heroines still shining, despite it all. Hence this blog: a space focusing on women in women’s works, neither absolving them of criticism nor disregarding them completely. We want to inspire discussions, not irredeemably condemn… and, hopefully, spark a few ideas.

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