Anne of Green Gables.
May. 29th, 2002 04:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaIn the down time between clients and subjects, I've been reading through the Anne of Green Gables series on my Palm Pilot. I only ever read the first one as a child, so the rest - Anne of Avonlea, Anne of the Island, Anne of Windy Poplars, Anne's House of Dreams - have been completely new to me. I don't think any of them are as good as the first, but they're still enjoyable to read.
The latest one that I'm reading starts with Anne's wedding to Gilbert Blythe. I found myself wondering what Anne would have thought of her wedding night. How did her ethereal, romantic, spiritual nature come to terms with the earthy embodied messiness of sex? Did she even know what to expect when the time came? Would Mrs. Rachel Lynde have sat her down to explain the nuts and bolts of it, or would she have whispered questions to Diana in that last night in the gable room? Was she frightened or disappointed, or did she enjoy it?
As a feminist child of the modern age, it's hard for me to imagine that leap across the threshold from sexual ignorance to sexual initiation, from sexual contact (and probably even the discussion of sexual contact) being forbidden to sexual intercourse being required. Before I lost my virginity, I'd read about sex and seen pictures of naked bodies and had conversations with more- and less-experienced friends and tried - and enjoyed - lots and lots of the intermediate steps. My mind doesn't quite wrap itself around how it would have been for Anne, who had only ever shared chaste kisses with Gilbert Blythe.
Alas, I suspect that the very differences that make it impossible for me to imagine her perspective on her wedding night would also render her unlikely to speak or write about it. It just... I knew how she felt when she dyed her hair green, and when she turned down Roy whatever-his-name-was, and even when Ruby Gillis lay dying. It's only here that I feel myself on the other side of a gulf.
The latest one that I'm reading starts with Anne's wedding to Gilbert Blythe. I found myself wondering what Anne would have thought of her wedding night. How did her ethereal, romantic, spiritual nature come to terms with the earthy embodied messiness of sex? Did she even know what to expect when the time came? Would Mrs. Rachel Lynde have sat her down to explain the nuts and bolts of it, or would she have whispered questions to Diana in that last night in the gable room? Was she frightened or disappointed, or did she enjoy it?
As a feminist child of the modern age, it's hard for me to imagine that leap across the threshold from sexual ignorance to sexual initiation, from sexual contact (and probably even the discussion of sexual contact) being forbidden to sexual intercourse being required. Before I lost my virginity, I'd read about sex and seen pictures of naked bodies and had conversations with more- and less-experienced friends and tried - and enjoyed - lots and lots of the intermediate steps. My mind doesn't quite wrap itself around how it would have been for Anne, who had only ever shared chaste kisses with Gilbert Blythe.
Alas, I suspect that the very differences that make it impossible for me to imagine her perspective on her wedding night would also render her unlikely to speak or write about it. It just... I knew how she felt when she dyed her hair green, and when she turned down Roy whatever-his-name-was, and even when Ruby Gillis lay dying. It's only here that I feel myself on the other side of a gulf.
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Date: 2002-05-29 04:34 pm (UTC)I was probably 16 before I grokked that "that funny feeling" not only wasn't some strange, semi-embarrassing phenomenon that happened only to me, but had a name.
It another year or so later before I met a man who not only knew that women had orgasms, but had some clue how to help them achieve one. (Need I add that I liked him a *lot*?)
OK, I'm older than you, but not *that* much older ... and at the time I was living in urban California. And I was a pretty voracious reader.
One person's life is another's ancient history. (-: