Note: as a special request, no photos were permitted in this session. To respect the wishes of those involved I did not take any photographs.
With the exception of a few men dotted here and there throughout the audience, it was a crowd of mostly women at the Rage on the Page WORD event, which tracks; this session brought together three women authors to discuss the ways in which they’ve written about anger and all that comes with it in their latest books. On Friday afternoon, The Piano was honoured by Louise Wallace, Airini Beautrais and Talia Marshall, who joined Julie Hill in a conversation that was like a log burner - fiery, but also warm and wholesome.
Hill began by acknowledging the incredible work behind each of the panellists’ recent releases, which delve into the “forbidden territory” of shame, fear, hatred, and rage. Though, she made sure to note, each title was also filled with so much joy.
Louise Wallace’s Ash is a brilliant novel, and in some ways much like a poem. It follows a rural vet who, worn down by the world around her, is inwardly burning with rage. In her review The Spinoff’s Claire Mabey referred to ‘Ash’ as “not only one of the best books I’ve read this year, but ever.” (If that’s not a reason to run out and get your hands on this book immediately, I don’t know what is).
Airini Beautrais, who very recently was awarded the 2024 Janet Frame prize, dropped The Beautiful Afternoon this year, and it is certainly beautiful. From Byron, to the patriarchy, to Star Wars, and growing up as a Quaker, there’s no shortage of fascinating topics covered in her first essay collection.
Talia Marshall (Ngāti Kuia, Rangitāne o Wairau, Ngāti Rārua, Ngāti Takihiku) recently released Whaea Blue', a meditation on memory, whakapapa, romantic relationships, and the Musket Wars, just to name a few. It's a transcendent, tempestuous work, and her first book.
Rage
As women, rage is an emotion that we often have to stuff down inside us, keep it hidden, so that we may be considered ‘feminine’. Do you think it’s now acceptable, Julia asked the panel, to express that rage on the page, or anywhere in fact?
Wallace noted that she didn’t set out to explore rage when she initially wrote Ash. It was, rather, an exploration of the feeling of overwhelm and anxiety, to which rage is a symptom. When Wallace reread her work, she realised “Oh, yep! This is an angry book!” from the start, but it was surprising to her. That seemed to be a theme throughout the event - rage is not necessarily one isolated emotion, but a combination of many.
In terms of expressing that rage, Wallace noted that her privilege as a Pākehā woman meant that she could generally communicate anger in a way where she might not receive the backlash that others would experience. Writing in New Zealand also brought its own safety. What she had to think about, when putting rage to the page, was whether it could possibly hurt someone she loved.
Beautrais felt that it depended on the context. Who is expressing the rage, and who are they expressing it towards? She referred to the disgusting and highly unfortunate death threats that poet Tusiata Avia had received towards her work and her show. Rage, noted Beautrais, is “palatable” in some instances, and in some it is not. Regarding her own experiences, she explained how writing non-fiction brought about complications; if people she had written about were able to identify themselves from her writing, that could cause problems. (She later spoke of one particular man in her past who was particularly unpredictable, invasive and insistent - luckily, he's blocked on everything now).
Marshall, who quipped “when I fly into a rage, it feels like I’m really flying”, said that she had no fear of writing of “anyone living”. In contrast to Wallace and Beautrais’ perspectives, she spoke of how she could be perceived - frightening, or unjustified in her anger - simply by way of being a Māori woman.
“If you know me, I’m not frightening… Some frightening things have happened to me, but that doesn’t necessarily make me frightening. I think people should interrogate themselves, rather than project it onto me.”
What about that ever-controversial word that is all too often used to describe women - the bitch? What is “being a bitch”? Is it saying things that are direct without trying to drape them with pleasantries and niceties?
Thea, the protagonist of Ash, is referred to as a “bitch” for saying things directly and foregoing politeness. During her writing process, Wallace was intrigued with the idea of the “difficult woman” (and, on the flip side, the “good woman”). Being “difficult” can sometimes just mean people who do not conform to the unspoken rules of femininity. A lot of Thea’s rage is structural - it comes from her experiences of the patriarchy at play and sexism in the workplace. She is also a mother, coping mostly by herself. Even being good at her job generates scorn (on one occasion, Thea turns up to assist a farm animal and is greeted with “When does the real vet get here?”) Hovering on the precipice of holding it all together, Thea cannot bring herself to adhere to expected social niceties. Microaggressions, those little slights that wear you down further and further over time, are bound to get to a point where you feel like exploding.
Inspirations growing up
Marshall spoke of her mother, an extraordinary woman who left her religion and the straight world behind to join what she referred to as a “free lesbian army”. She lived her life the way she wanted, and had an “incredible capacity” for others. It took time for Marshall to think about her in terms of boldness - when her therapist referred to her mum as part of a movement that was changing the world, Marshall thought, “Oh, were they? I thought they just had to hide from all the normal people!” But past childhood, the notion slowly crept up on her. Nowadays, she sees her mother as someone incredibly brave.
Beautrais grew up as a Quaker, and has positive memories of the community. Compared to plenty of the other communes that populated New Zealand in the 80s, the Quakers were rather tame. Sex and drugs were not a focus, and the accepting nature of the church (they were the first in Aotearoa to affirm same-sex marriage) made it feel open-minded and progressive. Beautrais said that her upbringing is an “inseparable part” of the person she is today. Anyone wishing to join the Quakers today? "They don't evangelise - they love when new people come. [But] if you're under 70, you'd be young."
Readings from their books
Each author then read a passage from their respective books that embodied "rage on the page".
The excerpt Wallace chose took place in a workplace meeting, where her protagonist Thea argues for a younger, well-qualified female colleague to be considered as a new shareholder to replace a retiring colleague. “Is Kim the right fit?”, her male boss keeps asking.
I realised the shareholding would come up eventually and perhaps even that there would be hesitation about appointing a younger woman with no kids. But I can’t seem to fill out the shell of my work body. I am always one step behind… Good fit, I keep thinking. Good fit… “I’m just not sure about the fit,” Mark says again. “What is it you’re meaning by ‘good fit’, Mark?” I ask him, in the tone that can slice through skin, the tone that makes Mark shiver.
Here, Mark is using “coded” language - not really saying what he means, even though it’s clearly understood by everyone. Being completely qualified for a role, but being overlooked because of the possibility of pregnancy, is an issue that too many women unfortunately face. You could feel frustration ripple throughout the audience as Wallace read her passage.
"I get really ragey about evolutionary psychology and the ways in which it is applied rather simplistically," Beautrais said. The passage she chose details an experience she had whilst studying ecology and biodiversity at university. Her professor described Donald Trump as a "highly attractive man" because of his wealth, and his ex-wife Marla Maples as attractive because of her youth and blonde hair.
Blonde hair, the botanist surmised, was attractive because of youth. White people were often blonde as young children. Fuelled by righteous rage, my hand shot up as soon as it was discussion time. It was very clear to me, I argued, that human sexuality could not be explained by evolutionary biology alone. What about same-sex attraction? The botanist did not have a clear counter argument; however, he did acknowledge that gay people existed.
The botanist's comments were quite disgusting to Beautrais - not to mention narrow-minded and racist. Besides, going back thousands upon thousands of years, money wasn't a thing - so how could people's biological desires seek it, she argued? "It's not evolutionary at all, it's actually capitalist psychology." And the idea of Donald Trump being attractive, even back in The Apprentice era? "He wasn't hot!" Beautrais exclaimed. "Like, nobody had a poster of him on their wall."
Marshall's excerpt spoke of Ben, an unsavoury man in her life who is no longer with us - "He's dead!" Marshall exclaimed, then burst into a fit of giggles and apologised profusely for it - "I'm sorry, it makes me laugh because that's how my boy's aunty says it: "He's Dead" (in a very blunt tone)." Upon meeting Ben's mother in the airport after his death, Marshall had the following interaction:
I come up behind her with a sinister giggle, and she must have already seen me, because there is something guarded about her back. When she turns to face me, she pretends not to know me. When I say, "that's what you get, for calling my son an n-word", hinting with my venom at a curse I am not capable of. And she starts to laugh, my same insane giggle, as she walks away. I wish she had tried to scratch my eyes out. She is known for her own frightening, yet impotent rages. I judge her grief to be insufficient. I feel whakamā starting to rise pale under the red fury. But I also feel like I have done her a favour. What I have just done is so wrong, it might make her feel better later. But that wasn't my intention.
The passage continued further, detailing her friends' shock at her outburst, and her own personal fantasies of wanting to have shot Ben in the face ("I've just considered the possibility that maybe I am quite frightening!") But after she finished reading, Marshall shed some tears. "Ben used to call my son the n-word to me. And I wasn't even able to write that word out in full, because of its history. That word is so bad you can't even say it, and I let someone say it to me... about my son." The sorrow and anger was palpable in the room. Chiming in, Beautrais mentioned how hard it is as a parent to feel like you have let a partner or person hurt your children. She felt like she had stayed with a Mr. Wickham, instead of choosing a Mr. Darcy. The moment felt poignant - it's difficult, as women, to escape difficult relationships, or to even feel like a nice, comfortable relationship is something normal and deserved.
After a short Q&A, the session came to a close. While it was a carthartic rage release, it was also joyful, vulnerable, sorrowful, bridging. As Wallace so truthfully put it, rage is complicated, and it also involves love. There was a lot of love in the room that evening, and I am so honoured to have been able to experience these three brilliant women speak about their work and lives.
Watch this session on demand until 29 September.
More by the authors
This Is A Story About your Mother
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