The Women

When I read A Midwife’s Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, Based on Her Diary, 1785-1812 by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, I was astounded to learn that some young couples in 18^th-century rural Massachusetts would become lovers before they married, even though such relationships were technically considered criminal. In these rural communities, women who bore children out of wedlock were rarely shunned or abandoned nor were married couples prosecuted if their first child was born too soon. I was also fascinated to read about the dependency and reverence several communities of people had for one woman, Martha Ballard, for her expertise and wisdom in prenatal care and the safe deliveries of their newest citizens. She was, indeed, a dignified, strong, and influential woman assisting and sustaining other women as they carried out their most feminine of feats.

Fast forward to 2008 to the final scene in Diane English’s film adaptation of Clare Boothe Luce’s play, The Women, and witness an attempt at a parallel sentiment in which Edie is vociferously pushing her fifth child out of her birth canal and into the light of day. Her three best friends surround her, assisting her with struggling efforts (antics?) that are evidently designed to be funny, but really only create confusion and bemusement, most notably the perplexing absence of Edie’s husband during this vital moment.

Edie’s husband’s no-show, apparently, is part of the point of this movie, the 1939 movie, and the original play. So is the folly of women, their fixation on appearance and the daily rituals they go through to maintain a certain look (To preserve her youthful “bazooms” Sylvia applies on them ice every morning and camphor at night [Luce, Clare Boothe, The Women, Revised Edition, Dramatic Play Service Inc., 1966. p. 30].), and their struggles with maintaining important relationships, including those with husbands, girlfriends (“As if any women needed to go to a psychoanalyst to find out she can’t trust women,” says Mary [Luce, p. 75]; “Betrayal is inevitable in any relationship,” says Sylvie in the 2008 film.), and daughters (When she learns of her parents’ impending divorce, Little Mary asks her mother, “I won’t fall out of love with you and Daddy when I grow up. Will you fall out of love with me?” [Luce, p. 53]; and in the 2008 film version, Little Mary – now Molly – adopts Sylvie as her confidant because she’d “make the coolest mother. Not like mine.”) Sometimes, as in the 1939 movie and the original play, these struggles amount to physical tussles akin to cat fights replete with name-calling (“Why, you dirty little trollop!”…“You bitch, you!” [Luce, p. 63], “You painted wagon!” [p. 89]), hair-pulling, scratching with Jungle Red fingernails, slapping, and biting so hard that blood is drawn. It seems this kind of childish behavior is tolerated in these societies, but confronting a wayward husband is not. To the contrary, women are encouraged to blame themselves when their husbands go astray. Sylvia tells her husband, “If you ever manage to make a fool of me, I’ll deserve what I get” (Luce, p. 13). Peggy is startled to learn Lucy’s husband beats her, but Lucy replies that “a lot of women in this hotel need a beating worse than me” (Luce, p. 58). Mary’s mother tells her to remain silent when she learns of Stephen’s indiscretions because he can’t help himself and it’s up to the wife to look the other way. A man “has only one escape from his old self: to see a different self – in the mirror of some woman’s eyes,” she tells her daughter (Luce, p. 25). Even Edie in the 2008 version echoes this way of thinking when she reminds Mary that everyone is capable of making a big mistake. “A good marriage counselor might ask, ‘How are you culpable?’” she asks.

If Mary isn’t culpable by deserting her husband (according to Miriam in the 1939 film), she is because she stopped paying attention to her man (according to Crystal in the 2008 film.) Thank goodness she finally comes to her senses, realizes that pride is a “luxury a woman in love can’t afford” (Luce, p. 89), and wins her man back.

In 1993, Luce’s family agreed to allow the Clare Boothe Luce Policy Institute to use her name for the non-profit organization whose mission is “to prepare women for effective leadership and to promote leading conservative women” (http://www.cblpi.org/). Luce, after all, served as a Republican representative for Connecticut in the U.S. House from 1943-1947 and was ambassador to Italy during the Eisenhower administration. It’s interesting to note, however, the irony of one of its newest projects: the 2009 Pretty in Mink calendar (http://abcnews.go.com/Politics/BeautyShots/popup?id=6306477&contentIndex=1&page=7&start=false), featuring the likes of Fox News’ Mary Katharine Ham as Miss May, outrageously vocal Ann Coulter as Miss September, and Miriam Grossman, M.D., author of Unprotected: A Campus Psychiatrist Reveals How Political Correctness in he Profession Endangers Every Student, as Miss November. The women are all right pretty dressed up in animals, like “glamorous movie stars of classic Hollywood…when…

women were a little more feminine, the men a little more charming – and the world a little less politically correct.” Yes, when women knew their place and how to look while they were in it. I wonder what Martha Ballard would think about that state of women today.