Canadian Woman Studies / les cahiers de la femme (E-Journal, York University)

Societal ideologies teach us that fatness is not a desirable quality in dating. We learn the rules to be sexually successful through our social environment and interactions. In exam-ining dating app profiles of non-heterosexual women, we illustrate the fatphobic language that is being used by daters. We categorized three types of daters: the Lifestyle Dater; the I’m Fat, but…Dater; and the Body Positive Dater. Our dating world is guided too much by image and not enough by the person themselves

Clark, Jenn

Round Body into a Square Hole: Non-Heterosexual Women's Fatphobic Language in Dating App Profiles

Bracuk, Diane

VOLUME 35, NUMBER 1,2 77IntroGayle, a 50-something freelance healthcare writer is facing ageism for the first time in her career. So, when she gets a contract at a gastric band clinic writing weight-loss advice for a patient chatline after a particularly scary dry spell, she is thrilled, believing herself ideal for the job. After all, her father, an Olympic-calibre boxer, was an unapologetically fatphobic Adonis and an early advocate of fitness and health foods decades before they became mainstream. As she pens her posts, her father’s voice (“Put down that goddam fork!”) is always at the back of her mind. But she learns to cast aside her smug, clichéd assumptions about weight loss when the “bandsters” mockingly nickname her The Slim Friend, a name that represents the well-meaning but patronizing pal many overweight people must put up with. In this scene we meet Gayle (as ‘Freddy the Fork’) on the chatline encouraging the clinic’s clients to try their new weight loss product: an electronic fork designed to control the pace of eating.    The BandToronto, July 2012 They all seemed lightweight, their potential clients. At least Gayle rarely heard them as they glided by her office to the patient waiting room down the hall.  Most were women in their mid-thirties carrying an extra hundred pounds—women who had tried every diet in the book and who were now considering a gastric band. Maybe it was because the weight of a very difficult—and expensive—decision had finally been lifted, but there was a lightness to their step, as if they were plumped like a duvet, with the finest, freshest downy feathers. Just zip them open and all those excess pounds would fly out like fluff.That wasn’t the case, of course. Gastric band surgery wasn’t a magic bullet. Unlike other bariatric weight loss clinics that promised dramatic weight loss, this one prided itself on being scrupulously honest with clients. To lose thirty percent of their body weight in the first year, they would have to make significant changes to the way they ate. They would be limited to three-and-a-half cups of food a day after surgery, and would have to chew each and every bite of their meager fare slowly. Painstakingly slowly. At least twenty times to induce satiety, that much-sought-after and ever-elusive feeling of being full.To help them, the clinic provided coaches, dieticians, and diet and weight loss tools. The latest was an electronic fork designed to control a person’s pace of eating. Embedded in its handle was a built-in sensor that could detect small changes in the intervals between mouthfuls. If a person ate too fast, the fork vibrated, giving the user what was termed an “aversive stimulus.” The idea was that after a few weeks of using it, rapid eaters would learn uncon-sciously to avoid the vibration. Anyone who bought the fork would be automatically enrolled in an email program that featured a cartoon fork named Freddy.Gayle was ‘Freddy’, or at least the voice of ‘Freddy’, hired on a three-month contract to provide content on healthy eating and encourage conversation on the chatline. Two months after she started, the number of people on the chatline had almost doubled. In a meeting last week, they had deliberated about the possibility of animating The Slim Friend DIANE BRACUKNovel ExcerptCWS_35_12_a_Section_1_80_02_6th_pages.indd   77 2023-02-06   7:49 PM78 CANADIAN WOMAN STUDIES/LES CAHIERS DE LA FEMME‘Freddy’ and giving him a speaking voice. But what tone would motivate clients? “How about we use my father’s voice?” Gayle had jokingly suggested. “‘Put down that goddam fork! You’re GOBBLING your food! You wanna get fat?’” Everyone laughed, including the clinic’s new CEO Donald, who Gayle hoped would renew her contract. But on the subway home, she wondered whether it had been uneasy laughter, whether some kind of raw emotion in her voice revealed an unintended harshness that touched a nerve and made them feel badly for her. A message came up on ‘Connect with Freddy’! It was from one of Gayle’s regular commenters, a woman she had christened ‘Teeny Tiny’ because of the way she used diminutives when discussing her negative emotions.Today, Teeny Tiny was a teeny bit angry with herself because she had gotten up in the middle of the night and had eaten an entire jar of peanut butter. “You told me to get rid of the cookies in the cupboard and I did,” she wrote. “And DON’T tell me to stop keeping peanut butter in the cupboards because I need it for my kids.” It took Gayle a moment to understand what she was talking about. Ah yes, the “Too Sweet on Sweets?” post, in which ‘Freddy’ had urged people to “ditch the doughnuts and can the cookies—get rid of anything in your cupboards that might sabotage your weight-loss efforts!” Before she could think of an appropriate response, a message from Miss Vicky, another regular commenter (whose moniker came from her ability to inhale a jumbo bag of Miss Vicky’s potato chips in two seconds) popped up on the screen: “Don’t feel bad. One time I was craving something sweet and the only thing around was frozen hot dog buns and maple syrup. So, I nuked the buns and ate them with the syrup. I was SO disgusted with myself.”Teeny Tiny replied instantly. “I’m a wee bit disgusted with myself as well. Yesterday was bad. I didn’t feel like chew, chew, chewing with a vibrating fork. Something deep and primal took over, and I just bolted my food down. I had to have that comforting full feeling in my belly.”‘Freddy’s’ icon flickered on the screen. He looked a bit like Gumby, his left thumb cocked up in a “you can do it!” gesture. How my father would have loved a fork like this when he became concerned about my weight gain at thirteen, Gayle thought.  He would have made it mandatory at every meal, meticulously recording how many bites she took, the intervals between them, and her eating speeds over the course of a week. Her progress (or lack of it) would then be discussed during one of those solemn conversations that always began with her mother announcing, “Your father wants to talk to you.”“Don’t beat yourself up,” she now wrote as ‘Freddy’. “It takes six months to change habitual eating behaviours, and it’s perfectly normal to hit a few bumps now and then. Re-member—studies show that most gastric band patients lose at least two-thirds of their excess weight in a year and keep it off.”A recent participant to the chat line, whose moniker was Polly Wolly Doodle, piped in. “You can do it. I’ve been keeping track of my data and I’ve definitely slowed my chews down.”“Did it result in weight loss?” Teeny Tiny wanted to know. “Yes,” Polly Wolly Doodle instantly wrote back. “This month I lost six pounds!”“I am so tired of feeling different,” Teeny Tiny went on. “Mealtimes are the one time we can get together as a family to discuss the day, and I can’t contribute anything. All I can hear in my head is chewing, and I feel so isolated from my family. I just want to know if I can make it through a meal without a fork vibrating between my fingers.” “I felt the same way at first. It feels really weird. But then you do start slowing down and the fork doesn’t vibrate as much.”A long pause ensued. Gayle imagined Teeny Tiny at her computer, could sense her frustration and self-pity, the suppressed rage of a big woman who had likely spent her whole life telling herself she was “a wee bit miffed” when she actually wanted to throttle someone. In one of the “Freddy’s Corner” conversations, which had garnered over 1,200 comments, Teeny Tiny had revealed that she had—no surprise—a slim, narcissistic mother whom she could never please, who had given her a girdle at her thir-teenth birthday party. “I had to hide my feelings in front of all my guests,” she wrote. “I just stood there, smiling.”Gayle knew that kind of anger. Rage boiling over like a pot of porridge on the stove, oat flakes sticking to the elements, hardening to a crust you could never quite scrub off. With a different father, she might have stuffed herself to dilute that rage and make her feel like “a sweet little girl,” every cookie, every cupcake, every chocolate bar sending a soothing surge of neurochemicals to the pleasure centres of her brain, wiring them to crave more.Come on, Teeny Tiny, she thought. Don’t give up now. Your brain circuits aren’t permanently messed up. You can change the wiring. You’ve lost twenty pounds already and can lose more. At this point in the process, if it seemed as though the client was getting too discouraged, Gayle would consult one of the clinic’s dieticians for advice. She stared stupidly at ‘Freddy’s’ upturned thumb, as if that would help. To her relief, Teeny Tiny’s message popped up.“Thank you. I’ve been in a lot of obesity chat rooms, but this is the first time I’ve ever felt HEARD.”It was quiet in Gayle’s office and she realized it was almost closing time at the clinic.She was still fiddling over ‘Freddy’s’ regular Friday CWS_35_12_a_Section_1_80_02_6th_pages.indd   78 2023-02-06   7:49 PMVOLUME 35, NUMBER 1,2 79post, entitled “YES YOU CAN!” which gave people permission to (sensibly) indulge their weekend cravings. Lately, the post was provoking derisive comments, and when she half-jokingly suggested that we “can ‘YES YOU CAN!,” at the clinic’s Monday status meeting, everyone had laughed. But again, Gayle had sensed an uneasy undercurrent, because she had been hired to engage people as ‘Freddy’, not annoy them.The old anxiety returned. Before getting this contract, she had had the longest, most frightening dry spell of her freelance career. For the first time in her life, she had to cash in an RSP. Healthcare writing had changed dramat-ically since she started; content was king and could be accessed cheaply from the dreaded content mills or the hordes of ambitious 25-year-olds who were desperate to be in the business. Her contract had to be renewed. She couldn’t face the prospect of looking for work again at her age—the carefully crafted resumés disappearing into black holes, the feeling that she was just a speck of dust in a digital universe.Money aside, she loved this job. With a father like hers, who could be more qualified to write about losing weight? Who cared as much as she did? Who excruciated over every word, trying to convince someone like Teeny Tiny that it wasn’t just about the physical, that having a sense of discipline over food could be deeply fulfilling, even pleasurable?The janitor came into her office to empty her recycling box, reminding her that the clinic would be closed, and locked, in fifteen minutes. Clicking into the textbox under the ‘Freddy’ icon, she hastily wrote:“When a weekend craving for a snack strikes, can you indulge it without sabotaging your weight-loss goals? YES YOU CAN! Just remember to eat smart! Have your treat in the morning so you can burn off the extra calories during the day. Nuts such as almonds are a good option because they contain fibre and heart-healthy fats. Just don’t go too nuts! A handful will do.”Just as she was about to turn off her laptop, her email pinged with a new message. Who could it be? Teeny Tiny again? So quickly? But no, a new name came up. One she had never seen before, someone called Real Scientist.“NEUROBOLLOCKS! Before anybody gets too excited about the gastric band, take a look at the science part of their website. There is no SOLID sci-entific evidence supporting the hypothesis that it can restrict food intake. This is based purely on anecdotal evidence and a collection of studies that have not been peer-reviewed. A new study shows that it does not re-strict food intake at all.  Like most diet aids that prey on the millions of desperate people like you who are trying to lose weight, it’s just a SCAM!!” BANDING TOGETHER  (This scene takes place a couple of weeks after the previous chapter, showing how the gastric band clients have ‘banded’ together online forming friendships and sharing thoughts and feelings. In this scene we also see how Gayle/aka ‘Freddy’ got her moniker “The Slim Friend.”)THREE WEEKS LATEREAT SMART! Four steps to healthier nutrition habits We all have bad habits that we wish we could instantly change to healthier ones.  But unfortunately, changing those deeply engrained habits can take time. But no need to turn your life upside down! Try these 4 steps to eating smarter: Step 1: Take a good look at your food habitsLet’s say you automatically reach for a sugary doughnut on your coffee break. Picture all the empty calories and potential weight gain associated with that choice.  Step 2: Decide on a replacement nutrition habit. Instead of reaching for that doughnut, why not try a healthier option that can satisfy your sweet tooth, such as crisp, juicy apple slices spread with protein-rich peanut butter? Step 3: Be prepared!  Preparing healthy foods doesn’t have to eat into your time! Until your new nutrition habit becomes automatic, stock up on fruit or nutritious snacks so you won’t be caught empty-handed at home or on the go.  A long pause ensued. Gayle imagined Teeny Tiny at her computer, could sense her frustration and self-pity, the suppressed rage of a big woman who had likely spent her whole life telling herself she was “a wee bit miffed” when she actually wanted to throttle someone.CWS_35_12_a_Section_1_80_02_6th_pages.indd   79 2023-02-06   7:49 PM80 CANADIAN WOMAN STUDIES/LES CAHIERS DE LA FEMMEStep 4: Be patient.  Give yourself at least 6 weeks to make your new healthy habits part of your routine. By then, you should feel—and see—the benefits of eating smarter! The comments had rushed in immediately, led by Miss Vicky.“EAT SMART? Versus what? Eat stupid? No, I always eat stupid, ‘Freddy’. Eating stupid is what got me to this point where I spend hours talking to a fucking fork.” “Apple slices on a diet. How original!” Go Go wrote. “Who writes this crap?”  Elaine asked.“I bet it’s some narcissistic, slim woman who freaks out if she gains five pounds,” Miss Vicky posited.“Yes, like my slim friend,” Teeny Tiny chimed in. “The one that knows what’s best for you.”“Oh, the slim friend. I have one of those too! The one who believes that if a diet worked for her it should work for you too,” Go Go wrote.  “The one who only eats kale salads and tells you how much she LOVES them.” “The one who’s always telling you that you have such a pretty face. The one who says they’re only bugging you about your weight because they want you to be healthy.”“You have a friend like that?” Go Go asked.“I have three. Aren’t I lucky? Actually, four if I count my sister Little Miss Queen Perfect who lent me the money for my surgery,” Elaine replied. “Aren’t you lucky? I bet she goes around telling everyone how much weight you’ve lost and praising her own part in your success,” Go Go wrote.“And I bet she secretly thinks it’s the easy way out,” Miss Vicky wrote. “As if eating just three cups of food a day is so easy.” “I almost feel like gaining the weight back so my sister can stop congratulating herself on how much weight I’ve lost thanks to her incredible generosity.” “For me, it’s not so much about looks,” Go Go wrote. “I want to lose seventy-five pounds because I want to be able climb a flight of stairs without getting out of breath. But what annoys me are the backhanded compliments I get, like: ‘You look so much better now.’” “Hey, you want to know how to lose 120 pounds? Dump your slim friend.”“LOL.”“You know what makes me really unhappy? Being patronized and dictated to by someone who has no idea who I am. I want to tell this person that any unhappiness I have is not a result of being overweight. Being fat may be a symptom of my feelings. But it is the symptom and not the cause.” “I’m two hundred pounds which for me is a healthy weight,” Teeny Tiny wrote. “DON’T tell me what’s a healthy weight, I want to say to my precious slim friends.” “I hear you, sister. The slim friend will never understand that you can be fat and happy.”“I get so tired of reading the preachy, condescending crap on these posts,” Miss Vicky wrote. “Why don’t they hire someone who gets it?” Diane Bracuk is a Toronto writer whose short stories and essays on body dysmorphia, family dysfunction and aging have been widely published in Canada and abroad. Middle-Aged Boys & Girls, her short story collection published by Guernica Editions in 2016, was nominated for a 2017 Evergreen Award by the Ontario Library Association and short-listed for a ReLit Award. Her essay “Doughnut Eaters” about a young girl trying to live up to her father’s impossible standards of perfection, won the 2015 PRISM international prize for non-fiction and was listed as a notable essay in 2015 Best American Essays. Her flash fiction story “Pert Posterior” was published in Guernica Edition’s 2022 flash fiction anthology This Will Only Take a Minute. PENN KEMPGift for GrantedBig I swagger is more fun,finding comfort in my ownskin. I celebrate bellybutton, birthing, navel ofthe world, all the more toround this mound round.The glitch is a gift, part ofa total packet offered—toaccept the flair of fat, of fun,an immense and funny presence.CWS_35_12_a_Section_1_80_02_6th_pages.indd   80 2023-02-06   7:49 PM

English

The Slim Friend

Greene, Elizabeth

26 CANADIAN WOMAN STUDIES/LES CAHIERS DE LA FEMMEVartanian, Lenny R., and Jacqueline G. Shaprow. “Effects of Weight Stigma on Exercise Motivation and Behavior: A Preliminary Investigation Among College-Aged Females.”  Journal of Health Psychology, vol. 13, no. 1, 2008, pp. 131–38, https://doi.org/10.1177/1359105307084318.Vartanian, Lenny R., and Joshua M. Smyth. “Primum Non Nocere: Obesity Stigma and Public Health [Paper in Special Issue: Symposium: Public Health Ethics and Non-Communicable Diseases. Richards, Bernadette and Stewart, Cameron (eds).].”  Journal of Bioethical Inquiry, vol. 10, no. 1, 2013, pp. 49–57, https://doi.org/10.1007/s11673-012-9412-9.Vartanian, Lenny R., and Keri M. Silverstein. “Obesity as a Status Cue: Perceived Social Status and the Stereotypes of Obese Individuals: Obesity as a Status Cue.” Journal of Applied Social Psychology, vol. 43, 2013, pp. E319–E328, https://doi.org/10.1111/jasp.12052. Stigma on Avoidance of Exercise.” Obesity (Silver Spring, Md.), vol. 19, no. 4, 2011, pp. 757–62, https://doi.org/10.1038/oby.2010.234.Zabinski, M. F., et al. “Overweight Children’s Barriers to and Support for Physical Activity.” Obesity Research, vol. 11, no. 2, 2003, pp. 238–46, https://doi.org/10.1038/oby.2003.37.ELIZABETH GREENEReturn of the NobodiesWe are the nobodiesoveraged, oversized,bulges in the wrong places,invisible to judgements’ eyes.Curves undisguised by flowing clothesbodies disjunct from strenuous souls.Unseen, we watch and we record.One by one we’re no one.Together we’re a force.iShow me an extra fat celland I’ll show you an unkindnessthat’s been absorbed and not passed on.What if Rapunzel had stayed another twenty years in her towerwith no company besides the ever-souring witch?If Beauty’s Beast had turned into an ogre, not a prince—She’d have to stay careful of the kids, and somethings give.Even when the story gets back on track, some changes stay,swelling the cells, filling out the skin.Or take my cat Shekinah, whose careless motherBinah was always dashing out to play—two kittens died at five and seven days,CWS_35_12_a_Section_1_80_02_6th_pages.indd   26 2023-02-06   7:49 PMVOLUME 35, NUMBER 1,2 27butterscotch and calico. First wandering in circles,finally twitching, sleeping, spent, in a desertof laundry room rug.Shekinah, grey silk, golden-eyed, with fringy tail,fucked by her visiting orange brother at 6 months,became a teenage mother of four small grey clouds,one tortoiseshell, lay nursing for a week.Didn’t get up. Ate and nursed.I’d buy roast chickens, feed her bits by hand,hold the saucer to her chin so she could drink.Shekinah’s large now, round grey rug,but she knows she’s gorgeous. No one’s told her she can’t wear gauzy flowered dresses,lavender bras. Or that she has to live on cottage cheese.She did what she had to do: survived.And all five kittens lived.iiSwallowing anger.I remember when I realized I was doing it.It must have been a Thursday,because I’d dropped my son at school,gone to market, bought six date squares,had a whole morning to myself,uncluttered except for the ten thousand thingsI had to do. Should I write a novel?Or essay questions? Prepare my next class?I wasn’t even thinking dust and vacuum.And I knew I’d end with swimming.The phone rang. I can’t pick Alan up.I’ve scheduled an extra meetingwith my graduate students.   But I was going swimming.You can go tomorrow.   But I’ve got class tomorrow.Next week then.   Okay, I say, I’ll get him.You can’t strand your kid at schoolespecially when he’s throwing tantrumsand you don’t know if he’ll get throughCWS_35_12_a_Section_1_80_02_6th_pages.indd   27 2023-02-06   7:49 PM28 CANADIAN WOMAN STUDIES/LES CAHIERS DE LA FEMMEkindergarten. If I were supposed to meetthe angel Gabriel, George would say,It doesn’t matter. I’ve got a tennis gameor conference or I’m going hunting.I eat a date square, and another.Drift around the house. Then another.I won’t write a novel this morning,not even a page. Thinking of that,I eat another date square.George thought we should put Alanin a school for hopeless kids.That way we’d each have eight hours a day.Or even better, in school in Ottawa.I eat another date square.My jeans hang reproachfully in the closet.Too late. I eat the last square, feel sick.The more my jeans don’t fit, the more I close my heart.iiiZippers fly open, buttons burst. Comedy unredeemed.I feel invisible, but not at meals. Then my mother’sdisapproving eagle eye revives,I hear her saying if I eat pancakes or a second ear of cornor even too much salad or apples in publicI’ll deserve all the miseries of the world:Heart disease, arthritis, fallen arches, strokes,not to mention cancer. I’ll have brought them all on myself.Don’t even think of good bathing suits or romantic love.I still eat like an addict, trying to cram inPleasure and sustenance before they’reruined by a look or a remark.Okay, so I’m not one of the chosen,but being other, I can stand with trees,lakes, deer, and spotted owls, againstguzzlers of gas and oil, profligate wasters,with the earth on the other sideof the great chain of being.ivAfter the speeches, poems and champagnewhen Caroline retired,CWS_35_12_a_Section_1_80_02_6th_pages.indd   28 2023-02-06   7:49 PMVOLUME 35, NUMBER 1,2 29after flambéed shrimp and fireworks, Leslie says, Let’s go skinnydipping!Yes! says Brenda. Yes! says Martine.All right, says Caroline, to my surprise.Okay, says Annie. Yes! says Lyn.I guess, says Barb, but not too late.I’ve got to work tomorrow.I balance on a knife-edge,weigh the heat of August, full moon,thought of cooling water,against the shame. I hesitate.I’m scared the earth will crackat the sight of me, even at night,without my clothes. I’m worriedeven the moon will turn away her face.Come on! says Leslie.Come on! says Martine.It’ll be fun. I won’t take photographs,I promise. Lyn drapes a towel on my arm.You’ll need this when you get out.It’s not far to the lake, a few blocksthrough friendly streets in summer-scented air.Arrived, Leslie strips and plunges, wine bottle in her hand.She does that. Once, in Rwanda,she was stuck in traffic, right near a lake.She left the car, stripped and swam,was back before the traffic moved.It’s freezing! she says. It’s gorgeous!I wish I had her nerve—or her good body.Come on! calls Leslie. Viens, says Martine, it’s magnifique. Caroline, head and shoulders visibleas she treads water, says in her brisk English accent,Once you’re in, it’s lovely.I turn and take my clothes off quickly, feel the night. The earth doesn’t crack.The moon keeps shining. The broad brightRoad across the water ripples undisturbed.At first it’s freezing, but I don’t want to standnaked at the end of Maitland Street, so I plunge in.The lake doesn’t recoil, doesn’t say I’m dressed wrong.My skin, moonlit, waterkissed, breasts, belly, hips.Water lifts me. Moon dusts me.Pass the wine, says Leslie. Red wine, eight womenCWS_35_12_a_Section_1_80_02_6th_pages.indd   29 2023-02-06   7:49 PM30 CANADIAN WOMAN STUDIES/LES CAHIERS DE LA FEMMES. Kasaei. Oil on Canvas 38 x 80 cmS. Kasaei. Oil on Canvas 100 x 120 cm S. Kasaei. Mixed media on canvas 80 x 80 cmnaked in Lake Ontario, laughing, swimming.We’re only quiet when the cops drive up and stopat the street’s end. We’re drinking without a licence, after all,and navigating in public less than sober.When we get out, I’ve lost some shame,a wall between me and the world,It’s midnight, but who cares?We walk home singing.Elizabeth Greene has published three collections of poetry, The Iron Shoes (Hidden Brook, 2007), Moving (Inanna, 2010), Understories (Inanna, 2014). She has also published a novel with Inanna, A Season Among Psychics (2018), and has selected and introduced The Dowager Empress: Poems by Adele Wiseman (Inanna, 2019). Her most recent publications are “Land of No Shadow” in Poems from the Pandemic, edited by George Melnyk (Bayeux Arts, 2021) and “Perfect Purple Rose” in You Look Good for Your Age, edited by Rona Altrows (University of Alberta Press, 2021). She taught English at Queen’s University for many years, served as Ontario Representative to the League of Canadian Poets, and has edited/co-edited six books, including the award-winning We Who Can Fly: Poems, Essays and Memories in Honour of Adele Wiseman (Cormorant, 1997). She lives in Kingston, Ontario.CWS_35_12_a_Section_1_80_02_6th_pages.indd   30 2023-02-06   7:49 PM

Return of the Nobodies

Wane, Dr. Njoki

Arndt, Laura

O'Neil Green, Dr. Denise

Irfan Khan, Anushay

Mather, Dr. Meera

McPherson, Dr. Kisha

Tyagi, Dr. Purnima

Editorial/Éditorial

Gammel, Irene

Marcus, Jaclyn

The Missing List: A Memoir by Clare Best: Reviwed by Irene Gammel and Jaclyn Marcus

Stanley, Angela

Being Fat: Women, Weight and Feminist Activism in Canada by Jenny Ellison: Reviewed by Angela Stanley

Side, Katherine

In the Shadow of the Eighth by Peter Boylan, and It's A Yes! by Gráinne Griffin et al.: Reviewed by Katherine Side

Marques, Irene

12 CANADIAN WOMAN STUDIES/LES CAHIERS DE LA FEMMEIRENE MARQUESThree PoemsThe evening country She inhabited a country always on evening There were always lunar and solar eclipses and no matter how much she prayed to the gods to get a handle on the deeds of men, the gods stayed immobile and would or could do nothing, and so, the men continued the ravaging of the country and it was always, always night She took so much in, and nothing ever came out,except the prayers to the gods that never brought any solace,any change to the stoned hearts of menAnd then, one day, she could take no more and flew with the birds, attached to their tiny tails ends of beings that can transport you very far away,set that they are on knowing more that their present condition  The men raged even more and said, “What now, what will be of us now that she is gone? No one to call us out and call the gods in, we are forever doomed, forever in evening country, our will has no return.”Let this be a parable for the brute, a low voice sung from above in the voice of a willing tenorShe moves She moves between light like a dancer in the dark, a character of many talents who can only revel in the pleasure of others She leaves traces of her body everywhere she goes and she goes to many places, constantly somersaulting between here and now, between her desires and our needs—a character of many talents that never finds solace in the suffering of others, only their satiated laughter can cause her to restCWS_35_3_a_Section_1_96_6th_pages.indd   12 2023-05-10   4:48 PMVOLUME 36, NUMBER 1,2 13In the kitchen, she creates marvelous and clean meals that steam our insides melting us into loveour bodies and souls growing to extreme conditions(unless we are ungrateful and have been unmindful to her dancing light) In the bedroom, she feeds my brothers and sisters and myself, her chest against our sorry, sorrowful mouths and we take and take from herIn the night, when we dream a bad dream, she comes walking between light, picking us up from the terror we were in and taking us with her to the bottom of a sparkling, clear, clean river, where cicadas sing and butterflies are blue with rings on their noses She moves between light, savvy and dexterous that she is, or only because that is what is needed, and she is called to do her best Gods are those who do on earth where everything dies and everything hurtsMy SelfMy Self is not a mute stone: it arcs toward the language that the other speaksthat sweet tongue that will extend my bones and its marrow making me everlasting. The satiated lioness of the prairies at the altar of everything. A flying bird, transparent, transposing, transposed.Irene Marques is a bilingual writer (writing in English and Portuguese) and Lecturer at Toronto Metropolitan University in the Department of English, where she teaches literature and creative writing. She holds a PhD in Comparative Literature, Masters in French Literature and Comparative Literature and a BA (Hon.) in French Language and Literature from the University of Toronto, as well as a Bachelor of Social Work from Toronto Metropolitan University. Her creative writing publications include the poetry collections Wearing Glasses of Water (Mawenzi House, 2007), The Perfect Unravelling of the Spirit (Mawenzi House, 2012), and The Circular Incantation: An Exercise in Loss and Findings (Guernica Editions, 2013), and the novels My House is a Mansion (Leaping Lion Books, 2015), Uma Casa no Mundo (Imprensa Nacional, 2021), and Daria (Inanna Publications, 2021). Uma casa no mundo won the Imprensa Nacional/Ferreira de Castro Prize (Portugal). Her academic publications include the manuscript Transnational Discourses on Class, Gender and Cultural Identity (Purdue University Press, 2011) and numerous articles in international journals or scholarly collectives. http://www.irenemarques.net/   CWS_35_3_a_Section_1_96_6th_pages.indd   13 2023-05-10   4:48 PM

Three Poems

Deux étudiant.e.s Métis avec des identités compliquées discutent de leurs expériences comme leaders au doctorat en anglais et en français. Elizabeth et Rebecca plaident plus de soutien départemental et institutionnel aux étudiants et professeurs du BIPOC. Cet article aborde de difficiles questions traitant de l’identité, des alliés et des gardiens des normes en éducation et en histoire

Best, C. Elizabeth

Lazarenko, Rebecca

We Were Warned: A Conversation about Identity in Education and History

Ashby, Kathy

VOLUME 36, NUMBER 1,2 87ways as has been shown in this paper. The four women, however, were determined; they had purpose, and had their eyes on the finishing line. They were also aware of the fact that these institutions were not created to serve the needs of their communities, but that of mainstream society. However, they were very conscious of their history; the sacrifices that their ancestors made for them, and that they were standing on the shoulders of mighty men and women of the past. They were also aware of the presence of their ancestors in their midst.The narratives of Black women’s leadership experiences in the academy have provided a deeper understanding of what happens in boardrooms, in the corridors as well as in their homes. What is very clear from these narratives is that these women know who they are; they know their strengths and their resilience. They know that they are standing on the shoulders of great Black women leaders from antiquity to the present. The women leaders may not have taught at all in Canadian schools, but their spiritual strength has been passed on from generation to generation. Despite the fact that the few women in leadership position in the academy feel isolated, invisible, silenced, and at the same time keep a smile on their faces; they know they are not alone in their invisibility. Additionally, Holder et al. con-firm the invisibility; the disregard of credibility that Black women face, and the onslaught of cruel perceptions and stereotypes are real. Mainah’s study also confirms the notion for the disregard for Black women who held educational leadership positions in academia in the U.S. The narratives in this paper show the hostility that Black women face in a variety of contexts. Racism plays out in multilayered ways that have major consequences. The racism that the women faced was expressed as covert, indirect, and more ambiguous, thus creating challenges in identifying and ac-knowledging its occurrence (Dovidio and Gaertner), while still impacting and oppressing individuals in profound ways (Sue et al.183–90). For instance, all the participants from my study confirmed microaggressions, and these were also confirmed in the literature review by Holder et al.The findings in this study corroborates with the literature that was done that delved into Black women in leadership positions in terms of Corporate America, Schooling, the Academy, and the responsibilities around family that Black women uphold. In addition, we examined Black women in leadership positions in the United States, South Afri-ca, and Britain. It is my hope that this work will provide useful frameworks, findings, and insights into the need for further research on the topic of Black women in leadership positions, not only in the academy but other organizations.Dr. Njoki Wane, a professor at the University of Toronto, is currently serving as Chair in the Department of Social Justice Education at the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education (OISE). An accomplished educator, researcher and educational leader, Professor Wane headed the Office of Teaching Support at OISE from 2009 to 2012 establishing its priorities and activities while recognizing equity as a central dimension of good teaching.KATHY ASHBYSong of Whitman and the Black ManYou may have read Walt Whitman’s poem all the way through, songs about himself. You may often go back and re-read the part where he comes upon a Negro man, a run-away, sitting on his woodpile.  Your heart breezes balmy, as he assures him and leads him all limpsy into the house,loosens, as he fills a tub to wash away sweat and awkwardness warms, as he slaves to heal his bruised feet and the galls of his neck and ankles  warms further through, as he clothes him and welcomes him to sit at the table  Your heart glows at his recuperation then accepts it is his time to pass on north. You may be determined to master this noble manner, hope you have the courage remembering that this whole week, the gun, fire-locked, leaned in the corner,  the only prisoner, held captive by kindness. CWS_35_3_a_Section_1_96_6th_pages.indd   87 2023-05-10   4:49 PM

Song of Whitman and the Black Man

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