Gender, Power, and What My Characters are Teaching Me

“They filled the hallway to overflowing, somehow, the three of them, loud and male and so comfortable with one another they allowed no one else to be comfortable with them.” Stiefvater, The Raven Boys

I’ve been working with young people for a long time. I love them. I love their moods, their vibe, their emotional journeys. But there’s no mistaking that teen boys take up more space in general than teen girls do. This Maggie Stiefvater quote describes the phenomenon quite nicely.

I was sitting in our local diner this morning (yay COVID vaccine!) with my elementary-aged son when a group of older teen boys jostled in. It struck me, even more so than it does in high school hallways, how much presence they had. Their loud young maleness overpowered the room. Everyone looked at them. Even if you weren’t looking, you couldn’t help but be aware of them. I watched my small son watching them, learning: This is how you exist in the world.

I say this with no judgment as to whether the boys’ presence was good or bad. They were all respectful and polite. I’m sure many of them, inside, felt awkward or self-conscious or afraid of judgment. The point is this: they wielded power, whether they knew it or not.

And I’ve always been envious.

I remember sitting on the college campus shuttle next to a young man with his legs scissored open, taking up as much space as possible, while I squashed myself small to fit in my seat without touching him. It seems an apt metaphor for how we exist in the world.

As a kid, I was fascinated with male heroes, male characters, and male musicians. The louder and more flamboyant, the better. As I grew, I justified this by telling myself I had crushes on them when really, I wanted to be them. I wanted their power. I wanted the freedom to be loud and outspoken and to TAKE UP SPACE . As a girl with a propensity for loudness, outspokenness, and space-taking, I felt shushed, shunned, and squished—albeit awkwardly, with the edges spilling over—into an acceptable female mold.

The novel I’m drafting explores this dissonance between internal and external power. The female main character has a ton of power which has been held in check—magical, of course, because fantasy is a great medium to turn painful things into metaphor. The male main character is a big presence with a lot of social power. To my surprise, I’m finding it easier to write from his point of view than the young woman’s. It’s giving me a lot to think about. Do I relate to him because it’s wish fulfillment? Because I’m used to reading/seeing male perspectives in the media I’ve consumed? Because I want so badly to inhabit the space he does? Or is it because the girl’s perspective is too close to home, and his gives me emotional distance?

It may be all of the above. In any case, it’s worth considering as we move into a future where women, LGBTQIA+, disabled, and BIPOC are fighting for a toehold in space that’s always been occupied by men, able-bodied, hetero/cis people, and White people. As those same people fight constant messaging that makes them believe, “I don’t belong here,” “I don’t deserve this,” “I’m not good enough.”

I’ve grown weary of listening to those voices. I’m tired of making myself small and quiet. Hell, the grand irony of my life is that I chose a profession to help others accept their identities and live more authentically, but am also required to maintain a bland, socially acceptable public persona. Hiding behind a pen name has given me the freedom to write about things I never would have before.

I’ve gotten a taste of freedom and I don’t want to go back in my cage.

But I hope you’re there with me. Each day, whether we know it or not, we all have to decide whether we’re going to squish ourselves down for the benefit of others, sprawl in our seats without regard for those we’re stifling, or look around and make a conscious choice to give everyone the space they need.