In college, I took one of my favorite
classes to date entitled Men and
Masculinities. A naïve sophomore
with a penchant for reading rather than talking to boys, I couldn’t have felt
more ill at ease sitting in a required gender class discussing masculinity. As the semester progressed though, I
found my voice as we read Michael Kimmel’s Guyland,
which exposes a hidden world — at least to me — where males perform
masculinity, clinging to an image of the macho, heterosexual man. This image, carefully crafted through
the art of being anything but careful, coincides with remaining an indelible
frat boy. Through the class, my eyes
opened to the layers and nuances of gender, which is often a performance,
constructed to fit comfortably within an accepted norm.
In an August 2015 edition of The New York Times, Jessica Bennet
writes about Kimmel’s quest to forge the first master’s degree in masculinity.
Kimmel’s project highlights the need to continuously explore and
demystify heteronormative man-code, especially in a world where unimaginable
wrongs are often associated with dominant masculinity, as Bennet writes of “suicide,
terrorism, rape, mass shootings, jetliner crashes or young black men being
killed by the police,” all of which fall under the guise of the masculine
(Bennet). She also notes Kimmel’s repertoire
class question: what is the difference
between a “good man” and a “real man?”
The ensuing discussion, which Bennet documents, identifies a good man as
a genuinely good person with adjectives such as “caring” easily tossed around; on
the other hand, a “real man” elicits such gender-specific responses as: “It means suppressing any kind of weakness…Walk[ing]
like a man… Never cry[ing]” (Bennet).
In this way, although society is cognizant of the confining codes of
masculinity and the corresponding need to deconstruct these restrictive ideals,
at large, there is still a divide between masculinity and femininity that
necessitates the reproduction of hindering gender performances. As Daphne C. Watkins, director of the
American Men’s Studies Association states, “Many men still define masculinity
as someone who can provide for his family, who can wrestle a tiger and protect.
What I would love to see is for us to broaden those definitions” (Bennet).
As such, perceptions of masculinity in
the twenty-first century often correspond with the Medieval Period, as knights
like Sir Launcelot are inelastically idealized. For instance, Sir Launcelot, while in a tussle over Queen
Guinevere, is nonetheless praised for his knightly bravery and loyalty both on
and off his horse. The text
states, “for there was none of the twelve knights might stand Sir Launcelot one
buffet” (Mallory 788). As
such, he can “wrestle a tiger and protect,” while also “provid[ing] for his
family,” as he defends, to the death, the Queen: “for have ye no doubt, while I am a man living I shall
rescue you” (Mallory 788).
Effectively then, even by today’s (apparently not-so) modern standards,
Sir Launcelot is a man amongst men.
Sadly, Sir Launcelot’s association with masculinity is very much
ingrained, proving it nearly impossible to deconstruct these confining gender
codes. On the Youtube channel SoulPancake, for instance, a video
entitled “What is
masculinity?” asks a number of men to analyze their identity as a man. Tellingly, most answer the question in
a limiting, confining fashion, exposing the archaic definitions of masculinity
that still pervade society. One of
the men rhetorically asks, “Am I supposed to like sports and chop wood? What is it?” Most other men too express the need to be strong while
suppressing emotions: “A man is
not able to feel weak in our society.
It is often the source of a tremendous amount of shame”
(SoulPancake). In this way,
masculine ideals have not strayed too far from the uber masculinized chivalric
code.
On the other hand, in Sir Orfeo, the masculine gender norm is
challenged, striking a startling cord as the masculine morphs into an uncomfortable
place of gender-crossover, which challenges the starkly drawn lines of being a
man. As Sir Orfeo’s heart breaks
from his wife’s capture, he removes himself from society to forge a new, humble
life in the wilderness. His
fragility is thus too distinct for the kingdom, so he separates himself from
all that he has known, changing into a different person in the wake of loss:
“Into wilderness ichil te/ And lie ther evermore/ With wilde bestes in holtes
hore” (212-214). As Sir Orfeo
abandons society to mourn his queen, he shows that a masculine, dominant male
does not necessarily coexist with sadness and weakness. Orfeo thus leaves everything behind,
taking with him only a harp, an instrument that speaks more to the non-gendered
soul than to the gendered body:
“Bot his harp he tok algate/ And dede him barfot out ate gate/ No man
most it him go” (231-233). While
some might praise Sir Orfeo’s gentler side, he nevertheless seems less than
well as he paints an image of almost suicidal depression: “Allas!.. now me is wo!/ Whi nil deth
now me slow…Of liif no deth me no reche” (lines 331-332, 342). As such, while Sir Orfeo crosses the
gendered divide, breaking into a show of uncharacteristic emotion, he does so
with a disheveled, unwell psyche. In
this way, as his masculine front suffers, so does his mental well being, making
a poor case for gendered crossover.
Centuries
removed from the Medieval Period, the twenty-first century has bridged many gender
divides. Still though, we have a
long way to go, as Kimmel’s discourse suggests, before the Sir Launcelots and
Queen Guineveres of yesteryear are figures of the past, read about in fiction
rather than enacted in real life. Today
though, too many men still embody the traits associated with Guyland, underscoring the need for a continuous
conversation to remove stigmas surrounding alternative masculinities.
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