I don’t like the term woman writer or female writer, I prefer to simply be considered a writer. Nobody ever calls male writers men writers. They have the privilege of just being writers. Perceived gender is not a distinguishing factor for them. And this is a disparity I am acutely aware of, and take issue with.
However, for the purposes of this column, being a “femme” writer in SA for me means you’re held to a higher standard than male writers. You’re expected to address issues of patriarchy, gender-based violence, and gendered issues in general. You’re also expected to do this in a way that is not didactic or preachy. This is sometimes a challenge and can sometimes feel like a weight. While I strongly believe in its importance and practice it myself, it does feel like a disproportionate standard that we’re held to.
The books by South African women writers that have had the biggest influences on my literary work include The Girl Without a Sound by Buhle Ngaba — the magic realism and message in this extraordinary book is as important for children as it is for adults. Another book that has influenced my work since childhood is Marita van der Vyver’s Griet skryf ’n sprokie. The honesty and sometimes raw nihilism in this work informed my writing from a young age. Last, theatre-writer Reza de Wet’s Missing was hugely influential in terms of my education into darker forms of magic realism.
Reclaiming my power as a “femme” writer in SA means not shying away from violence — or what might be considered traditionally more masculine forms of writing. As I identify as gender fluid, my writing sometimes takes on a more masculine tone. Vacillating between the two comes naturally for me. It means becoming OK with the harder, less tender parts of myself — those parts I express most vividly in my writing, particularly in my debut novel Mermaid Fillet. Most importantly, it means not being reduced to the label of female writer, but to be considered a writer.