The Bride in the Cultural Imagination: Screen, Stage, and Literary Productions [1 ed.] 1793616132, 9781793616135

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The Bride in the Cultural Imagination

The Bride in the Cultural Imagination Screen, Stage, and Literary Productions

Edited by Jo Parnell Foreword by Kevin Hall

LEXINGTON BOOKS

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www​.rowman​.com 6 Tinworth Street, London SE11 5AL, United Kingdom Copyright © 2021 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available ISBN 978-1-7936-1613-5 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-7936-1614-2 (electronic) ∞ ™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Contents

Foreword vii Kevin Hall Acknowledgments ix Introduction xiii Jo Parnell and Josephine May 1 Plautus, and Public Depictions of the Bride in Rome Jane Bellemore

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2 In Grey and Pink: The Image of the Bride through the Spanish Postwar Novela Rosa Rosana Murias

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3 Sex and the Bride: Citra Mudgal’s Hindi Short Story Dulhin as a Mirror of Changing Family Relations in Contemporary India Alessandra Consolaro

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4 Here Comes the (Bollywood) Bride: Gender, Power, Family, and Patriarchy in Millennial India Andrew Howe

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5 Ideological and Cultural Manifestations in Bridal Narrative and the Image of the Bride in Modern Egyptian Visual Culture Azza Harras

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6 The Image of a Bride in Tajik Cinema Sharofat Arabova

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Contents

7 The “Economics” of Bride-Price in Nigerian Women’s Literature 113 Shalini Nadaswaran 8 The Bride’s Agency: East Africa Novelistic and Dramatic Imaginaries 131 Wafula Yenjela 9 Advertising the Bride in Southeastern Indian Ocean Islands Zoly Rakotoniera and Gladys Abdoul

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Index 169 About the Contributors

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Foreword Kevin Hall

Jo Parnell has single-handedly curated a high-quality collection of innovative articles that challenge our understanding of the Bride. The editor has taken us on an incredible journey from the Spanish post–Civil War to Bollywood and further, from Africa to Europe, to Egypt, to the Southeastern Indian Ocean Islands and Southeast Asia’s most well-known iconic cultural places and cities. This collection of deeply insightful, passionately researched, and beautifully written articles takes the reader behind the scenes to critically examine the concept of the Bride. With everything from the Bride’s public depiction, cultural images, and relationship with family, the editor has provided a smorgasbord of opportunities for the reader to think of the Bride in ways they have never done before. The stories ably depict the complexity of the Bride. She all at once personifies power and subservience, transition and negotiation, freedom and ownership. There are few concepts that convey such dualism as the Bride. The writers featured in the book, all with deeply respected credentials built from a wide variety of careers, should be commended for bringing their stories to life and challenging our imaginations. The backdrop of screen, stage, and literary productions will challenge the reader’s imagination—this is innovation at its best.

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Acknowledgments

I wish to thank my dear children and my close family, my friends, my colleagues, and others who encouraged me in writing this book. Many thanks also to the contributors who appear in this book, and who battled on through the trying times of 2020 when the world was/is in the terrible grip of the Covid-19 pandemic to make this book happen; and likewise, the team at Lexington Books who pushed on with getting this book published on schedule and out on the shelves. The many struggles that the contributors and the publishers faced on both a professional and a personal level during this strange 2020 year of the pandemic, and their determination to help bring this book to fruition, are both a credit to them and a testimony to their professionalism. I also owe a debt of gratitude to the University of Newcastle, Australia, and the School of Humanities and Social Science for their support and encouragement, and for welcoming me into their community and making it possible to present my work both at the University at symposiums and on a national and international scale at major conferences, a thing that I had never even dared to dream. In the course of my studies, I have been extremely fortunate and very privileged and honored to have had fine teachers and exemplary supervisors who willingly passed on their knowledge and modeled excellent research skills. A special thank you to the academics who co-supervised me at various stages of my higher research studies, Dr Keri Glastonbury and Associate Professor Josephine (Jo) May, and also to my principal (and for the most time my sole) supervisor Professor Hugh Craig FAHA. These people showed me the way and helped me to grow. I am particularly indebted to Vice-Chancellor Alex Zelinsky for his friendship and support and encouragement from the time he came to the University, and to Professor John Fischetti, Pro-Vice Chancellor, Faculty of Education and the Arts, for the same. I also thank ix

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Professor Catharine Coleborne, Head of School of Humanities and Social Science, Faculty of Education and Arts, for the same, and for her assistance in welcoming me and for promoting the project for this book. In particular, I give a very special thank you to Professor Kevin Hall, Senior Deputy ViceChancellor and Vice-President Global Engagement and Partnerships, Global Engagement and Partnerships Division at the University of Newcastle, Australia, for his interest and support and encouragement of, and indeed his enthusiasm for, my projects, and for doing me the great honor of writing the Foreword to this book. In particular also, I give a very special thank you to (now Conjoint) Associate Professor Jo May of the University of Newcastle, for her continued support for and interest in my projects, for being enthusiastic about my research studies and for doing me the great honor of cowriting with me the Introduction for this book. I also thank Professor Craig Howes, Director for the Center for Biographical Research, of the University of Hawai’i, and manager of the International Auto/Biography Association list-serv, for his interest in and encouragement of my work, and for promoting my books worldwide. In especial, I am indebted to Emeritus Professor Hugh Craig FAHA, formerly my principal supervisor—and for most of the time my sole supervisor—for all my higher research studies, and now my dear mentor, for modeling excellent research skills and fine teaching, and for all his care in helping me to evolve as a scholar and a writer and making the continuing journey so enjoyable, and for always being reachable whenever I need advice for my work, and also for being a good friend. In addition, I must also thank Professor Hugh Craig for inadvertently introducing me to Research Professor History Julie Anne Taddeo of the University of Maryland in the United States. At Hugh Craig’s urging, while I was still only an RHD candidate in the MPhil, and a year before I was enrolled in the PhD program at the University, I forwarded Julie one of my essays on Catharine Cookson. As a result, Julie invited me to write a central chapter for her Ashgate book, a world-first academic work on Cookson as a serious writer, and I gained an excellent long-time friend, via email, who follows my progress and promotes my work, and who urges me to continue with my plans to write books. I have known Julie Taddeo for many years, via email; then, purely by happy coincidence, we met face to face a few years ago, in London. Whenever an idea for a book comes to mind, I run it past Hugh and we discuss its viability as a potential project that invites development. I also give a special thank you to the Lexington team for their guidance, and for always answering my questions so promptly, and I owe a large debt of gratitude for their continual support and encouragement in bringing this project to fruition. On a more personal basis, I wish to thank Dr. John Goswell and his wife Felicity Goswell for all their care and support, and their willingness to listen, and in particular, Dr. John for his advice on handling my life during

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the writing of my books. Last, but not least, I thank my beloved husband, Bob, for his understanding of my need to work, and for my love of writing, for his tolerance and his caring, and his unfailing love, and for keeping me well supplied with the necessary bottomless cups of tea when I am holed up in my writing cave.

Introduction Jo Parnell and Josephine May

“From little things, big things grow”: so goes the popular Australian song mentioned in my preface to the Lexington book I edited in 2018 entitled Representations of the Mother-in-Law in Literature, Film, Drama, and Television. This book, The Bride in the Cultural Imagination: Screen, Stage, and Literary Productions, grew out of that project. The idea to put together an edited scholarly collection on the bride in literary, filmic, and stage productions, and pop-culture narratives, from a variety of international perspectives in a range of media and literary texts, occurred to me because, in research, the bride, like the mother-in-law, was largely an overlooked female figure who is central to society the world over. As with the mother-in-law, the bride was and is a figure surrounded by tradition and culture, one that is central to the family and to society as well as one that is viewed as necessary to the continuance of both culture and humanity. The bride persists across the ages, despite the effects of widespread processes of globalization and modernization where cultures and traditions are undergoing enormous change and are being stretched, altered, blended, or even lost. Indeed, as the previous book showed, the figure of the bride is potentially both a precursor to and subject to the power of the mother-in-law. Like mothers-in-law, brides have long been familiar figures in the jokes, witticisms, puns, and stories that exist in all cultures. Different to the motherin-law figure though, these sorts of expressions used in relation to the bride are usually humorous, light, intended to be non-abrasive and harmless and are sometimes a tad, or even more, risqué. Mostly they are told at weddings, at the celebrations following the nuptials, and more often than not include the groom, and sometimes other family members, to bring a laugh in tune with the party mood of marriage celebrations. Of course, these things may not

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apply to all weddings, especially in some cultures and religions where longtrusted tradition, solemnity, and formality are keys to nuptial ceremonies. The institution of marriage is a cultural universal, whether it is undertaken as a religious, civil, or customary ceremony. The figure of the bride is also a cultural universal. However, as the chapters in this collection demonstrate, the bride is defined in different ways across the globe. In the West, the bride is explained as a girl or woman who has just married or is about to be married (Merriam-Webster’s 2014, 154; Oxford English 2014, 213). In some cultures, however, a girl or woman achieves the status of “bride” on the day she is either betrothed or promised to man, and this can happen months, or years even, before the actual wedding day (see, for example, Arabova chapter 6, this book). Some other cultures recognize that a woman is bride for up to a year or more after the wedding ceremony (see, for example, Arabova chapter 6, this book; and Nadaswaran chapter 8, this book). Regardless, the bride is most often regarded as a positive figure, one representing joyful beginnings and new life. Nevertheless, as the various contributors to this work show, there are significant points of dissonance in the figure of the bride, for example, around age and agency: while brides can come in all ages, from the nubile to the elderly, in some cultures they can also be children—and while some brides are willing, and some are not, having little or no agency in the proposed marriage. Research, and archaeological discoveries of ancient hieroglyphics and writings from ancient societies and cultures (e.g., the Ancient Egyptians and the Ancient Hebrews), reveal that the figure of the bride was always in evidence (see Bloch and Bloch, 1995; Exum, 2012; Keel, 1994; Hunt, 2018). Possibly the earliest recorded mention of the bride is in the very early Sumerian culture. Markham J Geller (1977, 139–48) notes that in among a collection of documents in the Elephantine Papyri, which date back to the fifth century BC, there is evidence of recorded marriages about 2350 BC, and that it is possible that these types of contracts existed long before this, right back to at least 4000 BC at the start of the Sumerian culture. The Week Staff writers (2007) maintain that originally, marriage was not a ceremony and that ceremonies were only created along with the first civil rights laws of 2207 BC (see also Mark, 2014; Markham, 1977); “the first recorded evidence of marriage ceremonies uniting one man with one woman dates from about 2350 B.C., in Mesopotamia,” and then in the next several hundred years after that, marriage “evolved into a widespread practice embraced by” the ancient Hebrews, Greeks, and Romans (The Week Staff, 2007; see also Mark, 2014; Markham, 1977). In centuries prior to that, marriage was merely a promise of loyal sex with no ceremony, no written record, no appointing officer or contract, nothing more than the two people involved agreeing, and only on the death of her husband was a woman allowed to be taken again as someone

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else’s bride (see The Week Staff, 2007; Markham, 1977; Keyser, 2018; Yesterday Channel, 2020). Further, parents did not start selecting their children’s marriage partners until about 2207 BC, and that ordained marriages began in the Israelite nation in 2127 BC. The bride became a central and universal figure in the establishment of familial forms through marriage (The Week Staff, 2007; Markham, 1977; Keyser, 2018; Yesterday Channel, 2020). Intended for use in higher education, this scholarly book is aimed at students (undergraduate and graduate), academics, scholars, and professionals alike. The work would also suit the more general reader who is interested in the subject of the bride, and in other cultures and their traditions. The critical essays in this edited collection are thematically driven and include global perspectives of the portrayals of the bride in the literary, filmic, stage productions, and pop-culture narratives of various cultures around the world from Nigeria; Kenya; Spain; Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome; Tajikistan; India; Egypt; Tanzania and Uganda; and the Southeastern Indian Ocean Islands. The Bride in the Cultural Imagination: Screen, Stage, and Literary Productions, a comprehensive study of the portrayals of the bride, is the first in its field. This book is the first to offer a serious study of the subject and provides a different approach to the popularly held views of bride through various textual types referred to in the title. It further addresses these works as popular culture, and as texts, as works that demonstrate the abilities of the Humanities to interconnect and interrelate with other disciplines across the higher education studies. Taken in their entirety, the essays in this book create a multidisciplinary area for further study that arises from the humanities. Thus, this book, The Bride in the Cultural Imagination: Screen, Stage, and Literary Productions, provides a multi-faceted and multidisciplinary international approach to the figure of the bride in various cultures throughout the world. As well, this work takes in the bride’s realities—the cultural and societal expectations and perceived duties of the bride, and her personal expectations, outlook and feelings and situation. While the contributing authors do all this through the lens of the popular entertainment works common to the particular culture and society, these essays also look beyond what seems to be, to the reasons behind why the bride is presented in certain ways and to a host of issues pertinent to women—and men—worldwide. This collection of ideas penetrates the everyday life of the society and interrogates the common stereotyping of the bride figure. It is hoped that analysis of cultural stereotypes can help foster understanding. Such analysis shows how popular culture—specifically the pop-culture entertainment-arts categories—is one of the main explainers as well as harbingers of social and cultural change. My hope for the readers is that they will get as much enjoyment from the book as I had from putting it together, and from working with the

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contributors. It is my belief that through reading and learning about representations from a diverse range of cultures, societies, and countries, we can gain a deeper understanding of how concepts of the bride permeate and shape the ways in which we live, and perhaps help us to change those ways that have for so long located and circumscribed women’s experience within the family. Jo Parnell, Editor Some time ago I accepted with pleasure Dr Jo Parnell’s invitation to add some introductory remarks about this timely volume centered on analyses of the cross-cultural figure of the bride. The chapters for The Bride in the Cultural Imagination: Screen, Stage, and Literary Productions were written just before and all during the time the world was engulfed in an unprecedented and historic global pandemic. As I write, whole populations are battling the unseen threat of the coronavirus (COVID-19). Yet amid the pandemic’s catastrophic outcomes for so many, this threat has disclosed inter alia the vibrancy and tenacity of social institutions enacted in culture and ceremonies that underscore the fundamental importance to societies of the nurturance of new life. To this vital end betrothals and marriages continue to be planned or performed during the pandemic in new, albeit often severely contracted forms and mediated by new digital media (a Google search of “brides of the pandemic” yielded an astonishing 6,240,000 results). In such dire circumstances the very concept of the bride gains extra poignancy, especially in its futureoriented, regenerative, and optimistic guises. This book’s wide range of chapters from authors located in African, Indian, Asian, Middle-Eastern, and European societies show how certain ideas like these positive facets about the image of the bride, and many others more worrying and less affirming, resonate across temporal, national, and cultural boundaries. The image of the bride is thus the thematic thread for the nine chapters that binds this unique and groundbreaking volume. The bride emerges in a diversity of cultures, perspectives, and temporalities, and across a range of literary and filmic texts. The first three chapters examine complex representations of the bride in, respectively: a classical Roman play from the second century BC; Spanish literature aimed at women, especially brides, and films from the post–Civil War period (i.e., after 1939); and Chapter 3 covers a range of Indian stories published from 1984 through to 2001, then focusing on Citra Mudgal’s 1994 short story, Dulhin (The Bride). Chapters 4–6 turn to the medium of film to explore cinematic representations of the bride from India, Egypt, and Tajikistan. The next two studies, in Chapters 7 and 8, one from Nigeria and the other covering three countries in East Africa, namely Kenya, Tanzania, and Uganda, deal with a range of literary works, including novels and short stories. The volume brings us up almost to the present day

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in Chapter 9 with an innovative analysis of video advertisements by wedding planning businesses in the Southeastern Indian Ocean Islands of Madagascar and Mauritius, produced between 2011 and 2019. In Chapter 1, “Plautus, and Public Depictions of the Bride in Rome,” Dr Jane Bellemore reveals many of the aspects established in Ancient Rome around the bride that have proved remarkably resilient to the vagaries of history, including its situatedness within a patriarchal framework, its character as a community event, and its unique ceremonial forms. She shows that Roman women, while technically citizens, were almost always under the authority of men; were sequestered within the private sphere of the family; and had little agency as brides. With marriage and children, however, the Roman matron could gain power and influence, and marriage was thus a desirable way for females to achieve upward status mobility. Further, ancient Roman bridal traditions outlined by Bellemore would sound very familiar today in the somewhat feverish and elaborate bridal cultures of late modernity: the importance of the bridal regalia, including veils and a special dress, a nuptial ceremony within the community with processions, speeches, and music, as well as witnesses to the nuptial contract. In her extended discussion of the domestic comedy about a “bride” (in reality a cross-dressing male), Casina (ca. 185 BCE), Bellemore details how the bride, the young slave Casina, is at the center of the sexual machinations of high-ranking and slave men who plan to rape her before she is married. Bellemore concludes that, in second century BC Rome, Plautus’s play reflects not only the norms of Roman marriages as a family affair (rather than a state or religious undertaking) but also that underscores the message that the bride is a serious figure in the culture, one who must be respected and protected. In the next chapter, Chapter 2, Associate Professor Rosana Murias examines the figure of the bride in Franco’s Spain during and after the conclusion of the Spanish Civil War in 1939. Her chapter shows that centuries after the fall of Rome, this time in Franco’s Spain, women were confined within the domestic sphere of the family in especially rigid ways (they lost the previously attained right to vote, for example, that even Roman women possessed in antiquity) and that the authority of men with regard to brides was underwritten by the Catholic dictatorship’s decree and practice. Becoming a bride, whether of a man or of Christ, was the approved destiny for a woman. At the same time, in the 1940s, a romantic literature aimed at and often written by women, called novelas rosa, flourished. In contrast to the generalized poverty of the period and the reality of most women’s lives, the novels’ settings were always rich, the bride submissive, beautiful, and/or exceptionally virtuous (usually all three), and the groom older, wiser, handsome, and redeemed by the girl in marriage. Her role is simply to achieve marriage; he will take care of all else for the future. This trope was taken by the authors of the novelas

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rosa and reworked often in ambivalent ways. For example, Murias shows how one author, Carlota O’Neill, as “Laura De Noves,” wrote gently subversive novelas that foregrounded women’s innate dignity. In her examination of three films from the 1950s and early 1960s, however, Murias shows how a new disruptive discussion about the bride and marriage was enacted, more in touch with the harsh realities of Franco’s Spain for those who would marry. The patrilocal Hindu joint family system in contemporary India, where multiple generations share a single household, thus accommodating both tradition and modernity, forms the backdrop for Associate Professor Alessandra Consolaro’s discussion of the bride in Chapter 3. Traditionally middle-class Hindu brides have been viewed as auspicious “gifts” to the husbands-to-be; marriages are most often arranged rather than based on love matches; and once the bride has left her natal family, she loses all authority becoming a “daughter-in-law,” subject to family rule and at the bottom of the family hierarchy even after she produces a male child. The literature explored in this chapter charts how in the contradictory literary representations the “bride” in contemporary India becomes a locus for gender struggle. In one story discussed, Premchand’s “The daughter of an important household” (2007), humility, submission, and self-sacrifice are the hallmarks of a satisfactory bride. In another “Gulki, the Bride” (1981), the bride can be a doleful figure, abused and disfigured by her husband and abandoned, the story ending with her return to the marriage household as a slave to his new wife. Yet another story features Mitro, a sexually liberated and troublesome bride assailing traditional patriarchal double standards by her behavior. In the longer exploration of “The Bride” (1994), a subtle discussion centers on first, the anomalous position of a highly educated young bride without children, and second, on the seemliness of her middle-aged mother-in-law’s sexuality and fertility. Overall, Consolaro’s chapter shows how the contradictory image of the bride within the middle-class patriarchal joint family system in contemporary India becomes even more complicated as modernity challenges traditional norms and values. This ambivalent terrain occupied by the Indian bride, mediating tradition and modernity, is also canvassed in the next chapter, Chapter 4, by Professor Andrew Howe, but this time she comes to us through the medium of cinema. “Here Comes the (Bollywood) Bride” features an examination of three films: Humraaz (2002), Daman: A Victim of Marital Violence (2001), and Monsoon Wedding (2001). The first film, while on the surface displaying the traditional rituals and values of marriage as a “union of families,” also affirms the bride’s individual “choice.” This is because the marriage of Raj and Priya was actually a sting, “arranged” not by the couple’s families but by Priya’s boyfriend Karan, in an attempt to swindle Raj out of millions. However, in the end, Priya chooses Raj over Karan, emphasizing personal choice of a

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liberated woman as well as class mobility in marrying the rich and handsome Raj. The second film Daman presents the bride Durga in peril; her marriage to an abusive man highlights her lack of choice and her domination by him. Eventually, she gathers up the courage, and taking her daughter, she runs away. The final film, the critically acclaimed Monsoon Wedding, summons up the postmodern, globalized context of the Indian diaspora where the wedding at the center of the action provides the context for a nuanced portrait of an India no longer so shackled by tradition or national boundaries. The bride Aditi is a modern woman, not a virgin, undergoing a traditional ceremony where she joins her future to a man she does not know. This blending of old and new in gender norms, especially for women, promises an uncertain future for India and for the bride. In Chapter 5 the cinematic representation of the bride over time continues in modern Egypt where patriarchal familial norms once again condition a girl’s life and make marriage not only her “ultimate goal” but also that of her family. An Egyptian family with daughters has one main task: to get them married. As Assistant Professor Dr Azza Harras relates, to be worthy of this “ultimate goal,” however, requires that girls conform to narrow moral, sexual, and physical strictures. As a range of films discussed demonstrate, if these constraints which constitute the “worthy bride”—virginity, beauty, age, morality, and wealth—are not sufficiently met, the outcomes can be dire. While the intrinsic “worth” of a bride has over time become re-configured in a more nuanced way (her desirable level of education as a case in point), however, the fact that the bride is an economic burden and moral challenge to her family has not changed. In cinema narratives around the so-called “honor killing” and “virginity” as the preeminent criteria of bride-worth, gender is shown to intersect powerfully with class. In unofficial “Orfi” marriages, those who would seek thereby to move beyond the constraints of traditional marriage are shown to be punished by their actions. Interestingly, Harras also examines cinema about the bride’s shadow figure, the spinster, moving over time from an outright object of humor to later cinema as a vehicle used to satirize and dramatize the complications of late modernity for young unmarried women about to reach the cut-off age for marriage-worth of thirty. In a wide-ranging analysis Harras shows how the vast societal and economic changes in Egypt are reflected in the filmic bridal narratives which in turn hint at gradual changes in gender roles. While the representation of the bride in texts from other societies has thus pointed to perceptible changes to traditional forms in the era of globalization and industrialization, Dr Sharofat Arabova argues in Chapter 6 that the cinema of Tajikistan tells a different story. After explaining the nature of Tajik marriage traditions, which are patriarchal, but diversified mainly by region, environment (e.g., people of the plains or of the mountains), and kinship

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structure, the discussion looks at a range of Tajik films over a broad sweep of time from 1934 to 2020 where the figure of the bride is ubiquitous and central to political and historical arguments about the nature of Tajik society and culture. From various portrayals of the bride that affirm the progressive nature of the Soviet hegemony, and the concomitant regressive nature of traditional marriage practices, later cinematic brides after the dissolution of the Soviet Union have shown the “modern” Russified girl returning to the old ways, reinvigorating the old culture of the new nation. The journey of the rich, city girl Sabrina to win the love of a village boy in the 2015 and 2016 hit films, Arusi Zamonavi (A Modern Bride) Parts 1 and 2 illustrates this trajectory albeit with some reworking of the traditional marriage customs. Two other films from 2019 and 2020 explore the consequences of recent work-related migration patterns which have challenged the marriage customs, leaving abandoned or divorced women outside of the respectability of having a husband, and in the most recent film, how marriage for love initiated by the girl challenges traditional notions of the place of women in Tajik society. The next chapter moves us to the West African country of Nigeria, where Dr Shalini Nadaswaran focuses her discussion on the “economics” of brideprice in three Nigerian women writers’ works by Emecheta (1976), Okoye (1993), and Azuah (2005). Nadaswaran notes that bride-price is prevalent in most African societies, and is defined as payment from the groom to the bride’s family for the loss of their family member and is required for the marriage to be socially recognized as valid. As in previous chapters, through such practices, patriarchy and tradition are posited as oppressive to women, leading to their precarity and subordination and establishing the husband-to-be’s dominant position in the relationship. Each of the three literary works examined in Chapter 7 explores challenges to the injustice of the “bride-price” that would measure a woman’s worth by her submission. These assertions of women’s agency, while resulting in different outcomes, each point the way to necessary progressivist changes in this traditional practice and an insistence on the innate worth of women as self-determining subjects. Staying with Africa, this time in the East, Dr Wafula Yenjela looks at novels and plays from Kenya, Tanzania, and Uganda in Chapter 8 to offer an impressive array of bride representations, exploring the power of the bride at the intersection of locality, genre, and gender. In selected Kenyan novels all written by women, Yenjela examines the bride as a transformative and agentic figure, one who, through her behaviors in relation to her marriage, is able to uphold or challenge local tradition, as well as resist imposed colonial doctrines and practices, whether they be of gods of men. The following discussion on the veiled Swahili bride exemplifies the power of the bride to embody and/or to speak the truth within families whose histories are “veiled” in secrets and thereby are unnaturally distorted. Finally, in two plays

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depicting the Ugandan bride, Yenjela explores the representation of the bride in mythic and royal terrain wherein, through the brides’ agency, the moribund patriarchal custom is contested. Changing pace in the final chapter, Chapter 9, Dr Zoly Rakotoniera and Ms Gladys Abdoul lead us through their analysis of the bride figure in advertising videos from Mauritius (Hindu culture, ten videos) and Madagascar (Merina culture, fifteen videos) made between 2011 and 2019. In most of these bridal representations, the juxtaposition of modernity and tradition is played out in the figure of the bride. For example, despite the improvement in contemporary women’s position regarding education and employment, the approved destiny for women in both cultures is as a “beautiful” fairy-tale bride object, signaling her subordination to her family’s needs. Further traditional wedding rituals and practices, whether Hindu or Christian, are observed while dresses, hairstyles, and other trappings follow modern trends. Patriarchal ultra-femininity is privileged involving figure-revealing dress designs, rich fabrics, high heeled shoes, abundant delicate jewelry, and complex hairstyles and make-up. Tellingly both types of bride wear a veil, embodying layers of patriarchal symbolism. Rakotoniera and Abdoul conclude on a hopeful note regarding the possibilities in the videos of expanded agency for Malagasy Merina and Mauritian Hindu brides. The sum of these chapters constitutes an important and necessary discussion. The bride emerges as an ambivalent figure, poised somewhere between the demands of a new global order and age-old traditions at the heart of cultural identities. While the thematic thread centers on these ambivalent representations of the bride, there are other strong currents swirling around that figure. The first of these is the prevalence—and indeed, in some cases, virulence—of patriarchy as a conditioning factor for women’s experience of partnering in the countries examined. The second current is the challenge of late capitalism, globalization, and feminism to traditional patriarchal forms: the “bride” as a signifier of patriarchal control of women’s bodies has begun to empty out and forms of marriage are evolving as porous borders enable schematic and commercialized forms of marriage to challenge and shape behaviors once exclusively cultural. There is cause for both hope and despair in this: hope for the continued liberation and empowerment of women (and therefore men); despair that disruptions to traditional forms of patriarchal power can lead to symbolic and real violence against young girls and women. Congratulations to Dr Jo Parnell for initiating and editing this important international project, to the authors for their expertise and insights, and to the publisher for the wisdom to produce it. The representations of the bride in these chapters from different geographical regions and cultures often not foregrounded in the literature on representations together make a powerful contribution to a more fully informed and nuanced understanding of women’s

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roles as brides across the globe while at the same time addressing the dearth of literature about this seminal female role and more generally challenging the Eurocentrism of literary and filmic studies. Josephine May REFERENCES Bloch, Ariel, and Chana Bloch. 1995. The Song of Songs: A New Translation, With an Introduction and Commentary. New York: Random House. Exum, Cheryl J. 2012. “Song of Songs.” In Women’s Bible Contemporary, edited by Carol Ann Newsom and Jacqueline E. Lapsley, 247–54. Westminster John Knox Press. Geller, Markham J. 1977. “The Elephantine Papyri and Hosea 2, 3 Evidence for the form of Early Jewish Divorce Writ.” Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Period 8(2): 139–48. https​:/​/ww​​w​-jst​​or​-or​​g​.ezp​​ roxy.​​newca​​stle.​​edu​.a​​u​/sta​​​ble​/2​​46566​​12 Hunt, Patrick. 2008. Poetry in the Song of Songs. A Literary Analysis, series editor Hemchand Gossai. New York: Peter Lang. Keel, Othmar. 1994. The Song of Songs, A Continental Commentary. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Keyser, Amber J. 2017. Tying the Knot: A World History of Marriage. Minneapolis: Twenty-First Century Books. Mark, Joshua J. 2014. “Love, Sex, and marriage in Ancient Mesopotamia.” Ancient History Encyclopedia, May 16. https://www​.ancient​.eu​/article​/688/ . Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary. 2014. 11th edition, 154. Springfield, MA: Merriam-Webster Inc. Oxford English Dictionary. 2005. 2nd ed., revised, edited by Cathartine Soames, and Angus Stevenson, 213. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Various Authors. 2020. “Brides of the pandemic.” Google search, 6,240,000 results (accessed May 16, 2020). The Week Staff. 2007. “The origins of marriage.” The Week, January 1. https​:/​/th​​ eweek​​.com/​​artic​​les​/5​​28746​​/orig​​ins​​-m​​arria​​ge Yesterday Channel. 2020. “A Brief History of Marriage.” https​:/​/ye​​sterd​​ay​.uk​​tv​.co​​.uk​ /a​​rticl​​e​/bri​​ef​-hi​​​sory-​​marri​​age

Chapter 1

Plautus, and Public Depictions of the Bride in Rome Jane Bellemore

During the broad sweep of the history of Ancient Rome, comprising the Regal period (ca. 753 to 509 BC), the Republic (ca. 509 to 31 BC), and the Principate or Empire (which ended in the west ca. AD 476), women were generally excluded from public and political activity (Dixon 2001, 82; D’Ambra 2007, 142; Milnor 2012, 458–59, 473). While some women did exercise political influence, they did so only because they were wives or close relatives of powerful men, and their examples were viewed as anomalous.1 Many women, too, having become extremely rich through inheritance, necessarily enjoyed the power that wealth could bring, but, with very few exceptions, women in principle required a male guardian to authorize their decisions.2 Even when women were well educated, their learning could very rarely be put to any public purpose (D’Ambra 2007, 62–68, 135–37; Milnor 2012, 461–62). Thus, although women might be Roman citizens by birth and so enjoy protection and many privileges under the law, their sex denied them the capacity to be fully independent or to participate in the life of the state.3 Moreover, girls and women of reproductive age were under constant scrutiny to protect their sexual purity, which meant that they could not venture into public unattended; if they did, they might be verbally and physically harassed or even raped.4 Due to social conventions and even some legal strictures, most Roman girls remained cloistered with their families until they became nubile, after which they married men usually chosen for them by their family elders (Dixon 1992, 40–41, 62–66; D’Ambra 2007, 2, 10, 71–73; Bellemore and Ryan 2018, 77–78). Once married, they resided in the homes of their husbands, where they were expected to have children and to limit their ambitions to the confines of the household (Dixon 1992, 41; D’Ambra 2007, 18, 84; Milnor 2012, 458, 466). On the other hand, women gained status 1

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in society through marriage and childbearing (D’Ambra 2007, 10, 46). As mothers, they exercised a great deal of control over their children, and as wives in charge of domestic matters, they also were in charge of the household slaves, and, in wealthy families, matriarchs might even manage large estates or businesses (Dixon 2001, 95–100; D’Ambra 2007, 94–99, 106–7). So, although Roman women were propelled into marriage and motherhood by the norms of their society, which determined that these functions were the raison d’être of citizen-women, they too were eager to marry, as marriage offered the only means by which they might, over time, display their competence and enjoy a measure of autonomy (D’Ambra 2007, 10, 12–14, 17–22; Milnor 2012, 465). Because Roman women were relegated to the domestic sphere, this had an impact on the way that their roles were depicted in literature (Dixon 2001, 82; D’Ambra 2007, 2–7, 47–48). Since politics and warfare were considered the most important events affecting Rome, these came to dominate the historical record (Richlin 2017, 1–2). Necessarily women seldom featured. Those who did make it “onto the public record” were portrayed as examples of women out of control (Dixon 2001, 87; D’Ambra 2007, 6, 8), and so to be denounced, or they were presented as the passive victims of the predatory behavior of men and so to be pitied (Dixon 2001, 46). Roman historical texts in general make it clear that women should restrict themselves to traditional female roles and should allow men to take the lead in every situation (Dixon 2001, 47; D’Ambra 2007, 6). In the comedies of Plautus and his younger contemporary Terence, in contrast, larger historical issues play little part, and they instead focus on intimate details of ordinary family life (Anderson 1995, 171–80; Dutsch et al. 2015, 4). As such, they depict a range of domestic situations in which stereotypes, usually male, are challenged, mocked, and at times undermined, and, through this, they lay bare the (laughable) iniquities inherent in contemporary Roman society: Women are often presented sympathetically, and for the most part they obtain some satisfaction or positive outcome by the play’s end, usually after they have faced a trial arising from the conduct of their men (Anderson 1995, 180; D’Ambra 2007, 48; Fantham 2015, 92, 102–4; Feltovich 2015b, 147–49). In almost all these domestic farces, marriage lies at the heart of the relationships between men and women, whether this is a long-standing marriage or one in planning. Given the availability of the wealth of information about marriage contained within the pages of Roman comedies and their preoccupation with this topic, in this chapter I will examine what they may reveal about the minutiae of the nuptials themselves and about the appearance and role of the bride.

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OVERVIEW OF THE ROMAN BRIDE What typified the Roman bride, nova nupta, the “newly veiled woman,” on the day of her wedding was the veil itself, flammeum, which was deep yellow in color, but, as with modern counterparts, the bride might put much effort into her general appearance: her gown, cincture, shoes, and even her hairstyle (Treggiari, 1991, 163; Hersch 2010, 72–114). She might also wear jewelry and good-luck charms (Hersch 2010, 71–72, 172–73). An expected part of the wedding ceremony was the pompa, the parade of people who attended the bride as she walked from her childhood home to that of her intended husband, and a pompa usually accompanied the groom too (Treggiari 1991, 161, 166; Hersch 2010, 141–42, 162). During this time, friends and neighbors might offer marital advice and indulge in ribald songs, gestures, and dance, to the accompaniment of music (Treggiari 1991, 166; Hersch 2010, 150–56, 167). Torches lit the procession, often carried by the groom or by members of his entourage (Treggiari 1991, 163; Hersch 2010, 138–39, 164–75). At the groom’s house, auspicious signs might be invoked, after which the bride would be accepted by her husband and taken by him into his home (Treggiari 1991, 164–67; Hersch 2010, 115–22, 140–44). As the bride crossed the threshold, she symbolically stepped into a new life as a legally defined wife, uxor (Treggiari 1991, 166; Hersch 2010, 180–82, 187–90). Other activities are also attested. Some brides showed apprehension about what would befall them in the bedroom, and many offered prayers for a happy marriage in both their old and their new home (Hersch 2010, 144–48). In the groom’s house, there might be witnesses and documents attesting to financial arrangements, particularly if the participants were wealthy (Treggiari 1991, 165; Hersch 2010, 123–31). The nuptials might also be celebrated with food, drink, music, and merriment. Lastly, the marriage of the bride and groom might be consummated, with the expectation of children from the union (Treggiari 1991, 168–69; Hersch 2010, 212–21). Despite a range of nuptial trappings, what constituted a formal marriage were two actions: the acceptance of a bride by her groom (or his legal representative), and the bride being led into his house by the groom (Treggiari 1991, 166–67; Hersch 2010, 15–16, 142–43). PLAUTUS’S CASINA: A SOURCE FOR THE ROMAN BRIDE There is uncertainty about the identity of the playwright of the Casina since the name “Plautus” may have been used as a cover-all term to designate a

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number authors of Roman comedies in the second century BC (Gunderson 2015, Chapter 2); there is also uncertainty about the date of the play since the surviving copy of the text indicates that two productions took place many years apart (Pl. Cas. 5–18, 71), the first ca. 185 BC (de Melo 2011, 7), and the second in the middle of the second century. Despite these difficulties, the Casina remains the earliest and most complete account in Latin literature of a bride on her wedding day.5 Although most works of Roman comedy do focus on domestic situations, especially on the love interests of young men of free birth (Packman 1998, 23–31), few of these are concerned with marriage itself, but in Plautus’s Casina the bride forms the mainspring of the plot (McCarthy 2000, 77–81). Nevertheless, it is not a straightforward source of information, as the playwright has constructed a plot in which a man takes the place of the eponymous bride,6 meaning that no genuine bride, nova nupta, appears on the stage. On the other hand, it was a convention of Roman comedy that unmarried women not be represented as major characters (Hunter 1985, 90; Fantham 2015, 103–4). By having a man play the betrothed, Plautus has not only obviated this staging prohibition but added a further layer of farce to the action, as the groom and his master are blissfully unaware of the suppositious bride and, after the ceremony, try to have sex with her. Since this substitute-bride completely deceives these men before, during, and for some time after the wedding, it should be assumed that Plautus’s depiction of the bride and her nuptials in the Casina is largely in conformity with the societal expectations of his audience (Marshall 2015, 123, 136). This raises a question about which society is being represented in the play. At first glance, the Casina appears to depict Athenian society (Pl. Cas. 82, 652), since it is claimed that the play has been adapted from an Athenian original (Pl. Cas. 31–34), and its characters have Greek names. Yet there is little that appears intrinsically Athenian or even Greek in the material, as throughout the play there are references to uniquely Roman institutions and to locations in Rome itself,7 and the speaker of the prologue even makes an explicit contrast between marriage customs in Greece and those “in our land,” which he clearly identifies as Italy (Pl. Cas. 71–72; Richlin 2017, 242–43, 377–78). In addition, since the members of the Roman audience have no understanding of Greek terms (Pl. Cas. 31–34), it seems unlikely that these same Romans would be expected to be familiar with Greek marital rites, and, more particularly, with those of a by-gone era (Pl. Cas. 11–14). So, despite the fact that Plautus has based the Casina on a Greek original, the society portrayed on the stage in Rome surely reflects that of its locality and audience (Richlin 2017, 378–87),8 and, as a corollary, the presentation of the bride and her nuptials reflects the mores of second-century Rome.9

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I will now explore what customs about brides and their nuptials are reported in the Casina and compare this information with what is known of Roman practices in general. I will also consider what attitudes Plautus attributes to his leading characters and what these elements reveal about the bride in second-century Rome. The Bride and Her Nuptials in the Casina Although betrothal is mentioned in the Casina,10 there are only a few details provided about its procedures (Treggiari 1991, 139–44). The slave Chalinus claims that Casina is his sponsa, betrothed (Pl. Cas. 102, 289, 294), and both the master of the house, Lysidamus and the slave Chalinus reveal that this connection has been sanctioned by Cleostrata, the mistress of the house (Pl. Cas. 55–56, 278, 289). Cleostrata reportedly raised Casina as if her own offspring (Pl. Cas. 44–46; Hersch 2010, 39–43, 48), and she claims to have power over the slave-women, ancillae (Pl. Cas. 260–61; Richlin 2017, 304). Although Lysidamus puts pressure on Cleostrata to change Casina’s betrothed (Pl. Cas. 252–54),11 it is clear that the mistress usually arranges the betrothal of the women of her household, including of any daughter she may have, an assumption that is in keeping with almost all other evidence.12 The play, however, provides further information about the sponsa, how the intended bride may feel about the arrangements made on her behalf. Pardalisca, a female slave, reports to Lysidamus that Casina, on the eve of her nuptials, is making a number of threats: that she will not let anyone near her and will kill the man who sleeps with her that night (Pl. Cas. 658, 662–63, 670–71); she blames Lysidamus for giving her as wife to Olympio, and threatens to kill both men and herself (Pl. Cas. 677–80, 692–95); and she will calm down only if the marriage to Olympio does not go ahead (Pl. Cas. 698–99). Although unnerved by this information, Lysidamus refuses to allow Casina to get her way and says that he will force her to marry against her will (Pl. Cas. 700), and the groom Olympio joins his master in seeming not entirely convinced of his bride’s intention to kill him (Pl. Cas. 750), although later, as he tries to have sex with his bride, he checks to see that she does not have a sword (Pl. Cas. 905–10). The generally dismissive responses by Lysidamus and Olympio reduce the bride’s threats to nothing more than pre-nuptial nerves,13 which are well-documented in the case of Roman brides (Hersch 2010, 61–65, 144–46). In terms of her appearance at the wedding in the Casina, the “bride” must be dressed entirely “in character,” since both Lysidamus and Olympio are unaware that Chalinus has assumed this role. We are told that Cleostrata and the neighboring women have dressed “the bride” in finery (Pl. Cas. 769–70;

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Hersch 2010, 31–32, 71–72), but the bride’s face and head must also be completely covered by a thick veil to hide Chalinus’s identity. Given that a yellow veil is the signature garment of a traditional Roman bride (Hersch 2010, 29, 69–114), it seems likely that Chalinus has donned this distinctive garment. For his part as groom, Olympio is said to be dressed for the occasion like a patrician (Pl. Cas. 723, 726). He is presented garbed all in white, sporting a garland, and is reported to have bathed and preened himself especially (Pl. Cas. 446, 767–68; Hersch 2010, 31, 137–38). Lysidamus notes that Olympio has also gathered a pompa (Pl. Cas. 719). He is also depicted carrying a torch (Pl. Cas. 796–97, 798–99, 840), which is emblematic of Roman weddings (Hersch 2010, 164–67). In addition, there is a flautist on hand to play for the groom, while the “bride” is being brought out of her house, and Olympio and other members of his party sing a wedding song, either to pass the time or to entice the “bride” from the house (Pl. Cas. 800, 806–8), in typical fashion (Hersch 2010, 31, 138–39, 239–61). In terms of positive signs for the nuptials, although the auspices are not formally taken for “Casina,” usually such signs are required (Pl. Cas. 84–86; Hersch 2010, 116, 140, 227). In the Casina, the proceedings begin in the house of Lysidamus and Cleostrata with a wedding feast, which Lysidamus has funded and Cleostrata has organized (Pl. Cas. 419, 491–93, 501–3, 586), and the neighbors have been invited to the house to help celebrate (Pl. Cas. 539–40, 542–43, 546, 579–80; Hersch 2010, 31–32, 212–19). As she leaves the house, the “bride” is advised to raise her foot above the threshold to signal that she is beginning her journey and to make no miss-step on the way (Pl. Cas. 815–17),14 as well as offered further advice about how to manage her husband (Pl. Cas. 820–24). Such activities by the master, mistress, and neighbors, as well as commentary, commonly accompany Roman weddings (Hersch 2010, 31–33). Even after “Casina” has emerged from her house to greet her intended groom, Olympio retains the power to withdraw from the upcoming marriage, as the “bride” has yet to be formally received by him, uxorem accipere (Pl. Cas. 827–28, 829–31, 839), but after the hand-over has occurred (Pl. Cas. 832–34), and Olympio leads the “bride” into his house, novam nuptam deducere (Pl. Cas. 854, 881–82), their marriage is confirmed (Pl. Cas. 807, 876, 884, 944).15 These formalities undertaken in public by a bride and groom legitimize their marriage, and so Plautus’s account conforms to Roman practice (Hersch 2010, 51–58, 141, 227–28).16 Since all aspects of the nuptials depicted in the Casina are presented without the need for explanation, the union described by Plautus must be typical of Roman weddings of the period, even though in this case no legal marriage, matrimonium, has occurred since the “bride” is a man (Hersch 2010, 33). The

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cultural practices reported in the Casina continued for many years, virtually unchanged (Hersch 2010, 227–30). Attitudes toward the Bride by Leading Characters Before analyzing the Casina further, it is necessary to consider whether Plautus has imbued his comedy with an inherent bias against Roman women, for whom the only honorable roles in life were to be brides, then wives. Superficially, the substitution of a man for a bride may be viewed as a mockery of women, but Plautus has deployed this substitute, first, to prevent degradation of the bride, particularly during the post-wedding scene when there is a plan afoot to rape her,17 and then to inflict condign punishment on the two would-be rapists (Hersch 2010, 34–35). So, although the Casina is a farce in which a cross-dressing male assumes the persona of a woman, the bride has been prevented from having enforced sex, and the play cannot be construed as an attack on women; rather the opposite.18 Similarly, there is need to consider any inherent bias against slaves. In the first part of the play, it is made clear that, after the slave-girl Casina is married off to one of her fellow-slaves, she will be forced to have sex either with the master of the house (Pl. Cas. 52–54), or with his son (Pl. Cas. 55–57). The master is supported in his plan by his neighbor, a senator, while the son’s case is promoted by his mother, the mistress of the house (58–59), and Casina’s groom will be either the master’s slave (Pl. Cas. 52) or that of the son and his mother (Pl. Cas. 55). Even though the plan to rape Casina emanates initially from the high-ranking Lysidamus and his son, their slaves are also eager participants in her proposed sexual exploitation. This is made clear by Olympio, who later attempts to force “Casina” to have sex with him (Pl. Cas. 887–88a, 922–26; Richlin 2017, 242). Although in reality Casina may be raped by her master at will,19 Plautus has ensured that Lysidamus is restricted in his sexual access to Casina by a set of artificially imposed circumstances: until after she has married his slave Olympio;20 without his wife’s knowledge;21 and only at his neighbor’s house (Pl. Cas. 477–79, 521, 533). These constraints not only keep Lysidamus at bay for much of the play but also allow the opportunity for Chalinus to take Casina’s place. Because of the substitution, Casina is removed entirely from the action and remains unsullied (Pl. Cas. 79–83). Later she is found to be of free status (Pl. Cas. 1013–14). In essence, Casina appears to be at the sexual mercy of her master, of the master’s son and his wife, of the master’s neighbors, as well as of her fellow-slaves because she is a lowly slave-woman, but Plautus’s aim throughout is to keep her out of harm’s way, and not to allow her status to be used against her. Any bias against women or slaves to be found in the Casina, therefore, does

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not reflect Plautus’s personal views, but what the playwright believed to be appropriate for his portrayal of different members of Roman society, be they upper class or slaves.22 Characterization of the High-Ranking Lysidamus At the start of the play, Lysidamus is presented as a free man of high status, wealthy, a land-holder, slave-owner, and a patron in judicial matters (Pl. Cas. 263–70), but he is also depicted as a libertine,23 since he is promoting a marriage between his two slaves, Olympio and Casina, solely to have the opportunity to have sex with the young girl, and nothing will deflect him from his lechery.24 In addition, Lysidamus is shown mistreating and abusing his wife (Pl. Cas. 174–75, 190, 193–94, 354–55).25 Seemingly only because of his status, he enjoys the support of his next-door neighbor, the senator Alcesimus,26 who even helps by deceiving his wife into vacating their house (Pl. Cas. 539–40, 551–52, 611–14, 864–66), so that Lysidamus may use the place to have access to Casina. Despite Lysidamus’s given position of dominance in the household,27 the situation changes after the lot-drawing scene (Pl. Cas. 353–423; O’Bryhim 1989, 97; Franko 1999, 2–4; McCarthy 2000, 92, 100–101, 107). From this time, the members of his household combine to embarrass Lysidamus (Pl. Cas. 505–14, 531–32, 558–62, 589–90; Richlin 2017, 305–6), and he himself stops deploying military terms to describe his campaign to deceive his wife and to rape Casina (MacCary and Willcock 1976, 28–29; Franko 1999, 13–14). Instead, Cleostrata and her slaves make use of such language.28 In addition, Lysidamus becomes a social pariah, as various characters report his increasingly malodorous presence and even compare him to animals.29 At the three-quarter mark of the play, Lysidamus himself acknowledges that he and his slave Olympio are on par (Pl. Cas. 735–42, 797; Gold 1998, 25), and at the end of the play he offers his back to his wife to be beaten, as if he were indeed a slave (Pl. Cas. 950, 1003) or worse (Forehand 1973, 242). Over the course of the play, Lysidamus has clearly suffered a reversal of status, from a master who may force sex on his slaves to the one who is vulnerable to rape by a slave (Gold 1998, 25–26, 27; Dutch 2015, 25), and this has occurred because of his unrestrained desire to have sex with Casina.30 Not only has Lysidamus lost authority in the household, but his wife now holds his former position of mastery (O’Bryhim 1989, 99–101; McCarthy 2000, 32–33, 106), and his reputation among family and neighbors has plunged to a nadir (O’Bryhim 1989, 99–100, 102; McCarthy 2000, 99–100; Franko 2004, 47). After his exposure, Lysidamus admits to being worried about his public disgrace, flagitium (Pl. Cas. 937), which appears linked to his attempt to have sex with a man (Pl. Cas. 963, 977–78, 987–89), given that Lysidamus knows that

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the “bride” is Chalinus, not Casina (Pl. Cas. 960–61, 967), and that Chalinus is publicizing the fact that Lysidamus wanted to have sex with him (Pl. Cas. 960, 963, 969). His first instinct is to avoid further unpleasantness by running away from home (Pl. Cas. 952–53, 959, 970). When he is prevented from this and confronted by Chalinus and Cleostrata, who want him to admit either to homosexuality or to adultery (Pl. Cas. 970–73), he tries to deny involvement in either (Pl. Cas. 969, 974–83, 991–96). Finally, after he is forced to confess to an attempt at adultery, he does so only conditionally, saying that, if he did as reported, he acted wrongly (Pl. Cas. 997). It is evident that Lysidamus regrets that his wife has discovered his plans, but he shows no remorse for having tried to rape Casina on her wedding night.31 In fact, he makes it clear that he intends to continue his career as a libertine and even to try again to have sex with Casina (Pl. Cas. 1001–03; Forehand 1973, 248–49). Despite his public disgrace, Lysidamus does not suffer disapproval from his peers for long (Gold 1998, 26; McCarthy 2000, 78, 86, 100, 109–113). He has no trouble in receiving absolution from his wife and forgiveness from Myrrhina, the wife of his neighbor Alcesimus (Pl. Cas. 938–62), and Cleostrata even ensures that he gets back from Chalinus the evidence of his fall from grace (Pl. Cas. 1009; O’Bryhim 1989, 101). In essence, Lysidamus himself and the others of high rank in the play, Cleostrata, Myrrhina, and Alcesimus, are presented as viewing his attempt to dishonor Casina as simply a peccadillo. Characterization of the Slave Olympio Olympio is depicted initially as obsequious to his master,32 while arrogant toward those of lesser status, in particular, to his fellow-slave Chalinus (Pl. Cas. 117–142, 359, 389–93, 398–408, 437–42; Richlin 2017, 94). His obedience to Lysidamus is so strong at this stage of the play that he will give his master sexual access to his bride on their wedding night, although she is his fellow-slave (Pl. Cas. 339, 449–51, 464–67, 481–87), and he holds to this agreement, with some reservation ((Pl. Cas. 328, 473), even in the face of pressure from Cleostrata (Pl. Cas. 310, 323–24; MacCary and Willcock 1976, 31). For his loyalty Olympio is offered manumission by Lysidamus (Pl. Cas. 473–74), which appears a promise of dubious worth (Richlin 2017, 432–33). Curiously, even though Olympio intends to “pimp” his bride, he is still planning to take her into the countryside on the day following the wedding (and following her debauching) to live as man and wife (Pl. Cas. 109–110). He even expects that she will love him (Pl. Cas. 134–38). Olympio’s way of dealing with the constraints imposed by his slavery, therefore, has been to accept that Casina is Lysidamus’s possession and that she will be forced to have sex with him, but that she, his prize (Pl. Cas. 113, 114), will soon belong to him alone, and they will “live happily ever after.”

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As soon as the nuptials have taken place, however, Olympio decides that he, not Lysidamus, will have sex with his bride first (Pl. Cas. 838–39, 884, 889–90, 920), and he even locks the master out of the bedroom (Pl. Cas. 891).33 After Olympio fails to penetrate his “bride” and even suffers a beating from “Casina,” however, he provides Lysidamus with unfettered access to the marriage chamber, but he fails to warn him that he will suffer rough treatment when he tries to have sex with the “bride” (Pl. Cas. 932–33a). Olympio’s actions after his nuptials reveal that he has lost loyalty to his master (Pl. Cas. 935, 990, 992–93), but his character has changed in other ways. Like Lysidamus, Olympio admits to suffering public disgrace, flagitium (Pl. Cas. 876), but he adds that the marriage itself brought him personal dishonor, dedecus (Pl. Cas. 875), and that he feels shame, pudor, both for his participation (Pl. Cas. 877, 878, 991–94), and because he tried to force his bride to have sex with him (Pl. Cas. 898, 900; Forehand 1973, 247). He adjudges that his savage beating at the hands of his bride was condign punishment for his involvement in the plot to mistreat Casina (Pl. Cas. 935–36; Forehand 1973, 247–49; McCarthy 2000, 112). His feelings of shame, he admits, are new to him (Pl. Cas. 878), but his remorse clearly differentiates him from his master. Olympio’s flagitium may be a product of the taint of homosexuality, as was his master’s, but, at the end of the play, his main regret is for his mistreatment of Casina.34 By his characterization and plot devices, Plautus has demonstrated that Lysidamus’s high status in Roman society is unwarranted, whereas the slave Olympio has risen above what should be expected of a man of servile status. In effect, because he is selfish and amoral, Lysidamus behaves like a typically “bad” slave, but Olympio acts like a free Roman, because he knows the difference between right and wrong (Forehand 1973, 249; McCarthy 2000, 112–13). CONCLUSION In this chapter I have argued that, in the Casina, Plautus has presented a historically valid depiction of the Roman bride on her wedding day, which changed little over hundreds of years. Plautus has focused on what is the essence of a Roman marriage, that a groom accepts a woman as his wife and takes her into his house. Plautus reveals that Roman nuptials are a familial concern, with no part played by the state or by religion, since family members and interested neighbors alone witnessed the new domestic arrangements. Plautus also shows that the bride is a passive participant in the proceedings. She does not say or do anything, nor does she even show her face, and, as such, all power and authority in the marriage resides in the groom. From the Casina too, one learns about contemporary Roman attitudes to brides.

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By depicting the high-ranking Lysidamus as a contemptible and objectionable character, Plautus suggests that his plan to rape the bride Casina is also contemptible and objectionable. The negative portrait of the slave Olympio also points to the abhorrent nature of the intended sexual misuse of his bride. Through the extreme characterization of these two men, Plautus makes it clear that a bride, whatever her status, should be treated with respect and dignity and that men who seek to do otherwise should be punished, regardless of their status. During the second century BC, therefore, all members of society had a duty to keep brides from degradation, since these vulnerable women did not have the power to protect themselves. NOTES 1. Milnor (2012, 460, 461, 467–73) notes that Tacitus considered the powers of Livia and Agrippina the Younger, the mothers of the emperors Tiberius and Nero respectively, liabilities for their sons, and he is generally critical of all powerful women. 2. Dixon (2001, 74–82); exceptionally, women could be legally independent, so to have status sui iuris. Also, the powers of tutorship did gradually diminish after the advent of the Principate. 3. Dixon (2001, 86–88); D’Ambra (2007, 3, 16); but not uniform over time and status. 4. Dixon (2001, 47–48, 51) notes the existence of the legal categories of adsectatio, “harassment,” and of iniuria, “personal injury” (including rape). The case-law that arose under these headings indicates that girls and young women, and even some boys and youths, were subjected to unwanted attention by men whenever the victims were unattended. One defense of adsectatio and iniuria commonly employed by accused men was that the victims involved were believed to be prostitutes. 5. Weddings were of great interest in this period, as misbehavior in marriage was seen as a problem among Rome’s elite (Plut. Cato M. 16.1). 6. Actors in Roman comedies were men who wore masks that presented their characters as stereotypes, like that of the old man, the old wife/hag, the young male lover, the clever slave, etc. (MacCary and Willcock 1976, 22). In the Casina there is a male actor playing Chalinus, an armor-bearer with presumably a strong physique, who is pretending to be a fifteen-year-old girl (O’Bryhim 1989, 94). On the physique of Chalinus, see Anderson (1983, 11–21). 7. For example: Lysidamus uses a peculiarly Latin saying (Pl. Cas. 524), and he also notes that he has served as an advocate in the Forum (Pl. Cas. 563–67); the Forum too is mentioned several times, almost certainly placing the action in Rome (Pl. Cas. 24, 26, 526, 564, 591); and Alcesimus is a senator (Pl. Cas. 536), a Roman office. That all Plautus’s plays are set in Rome, see Richlin 2017, 379. 8. Plautus has taken pains to differentiate the world of the Casina from reality; for example, he repeatedly breaks the “fourth wall” of the play (Pl. Cas. 64–66, 79–86, 685–86, 759–79, 860, 1006), and he uses other techniques to suspend reality

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(Forehand 1973, 235–36, 246, 251; McCarthy 2000, 116). Since the play was taking place near the time of the Saturnalia (Pl. Cas. 25–26), when slaves and masters typically changed places, this might explain any unusual circumstances (MacCary 1974, 888; MacCary and Willcock 1976, 38; McCarthy 2000, 79; Hersch 2010, 30, 34–35). 9. Hersch (2010, 192) suggests that Plautus may be describing a Greek marriage with Roman elements, but many argue that the wedding is essentially Roman (O’Bryhim 1989, 89–90). 10. Hersch (2010, 16–18) argues that any literary wedding is imaginary, but she notes the common features repeated over centuries of depictions: the wedding veil, wedding torches and wedding bed. In the case of the Casina, Hersch (2010, 29–33) accepts that Plautus seems to have described a wedding in authentic terms. 11. Lysidamus argues that Olympio has the better prospects, being able to provide for his wife and children (Pl. Cas. 255–58, 268). On children, see Hersch 2010, 37, 61, 132–33. Cleostrata has to comply with his wish (Pl. Cas. 254–68, 295–96, 374–77). 12. On the role of the mistress/mother in the betrothal, see Hersch 2010, 39–40. For Romans of a later period, see also Bellemore and Ryan 2018, 77–80. 13. Forehand (1973, 245) considers this behavior “madness,” but others see it as the typical bride’s reluctance to get married (or to have sex). At the end of the play, paradoxically, it is not the “bride” but the groom/s who fear to share the marriage-bed (Pl. Cas. 967–68, 970–71). 14. Given the identification of the bride, nova nupta, and of the husband, vir, the threshold intended must be that of the groom after the marriage has been formalized. On the significance of the threshold, see Hersch 2010, 180–82. 15. For staging purposes, Olympio leads his bride to the neighbor’s house, not to his own home, as was usual (Hersch 2010, 139–226), but he says that he will take his bride to his home in the countryside on the day following the nuptials (Pl. Cas. 107–10, 420, 485–87, 781–82). The woman is nominated first a bride, nova nupta, then, after the groom has led her into the house, he calls her his wife, uxor (Pl. Cas. 844, 916). 16. Consummation was not necessary to formalize a marriage, but the terms “nuptials” and “marriage” are used as euphemisms for engaging in sex (Pl. Cas. 86, 365, 486, 702, 807, 1011). On this, see Richlin 2015, 50. If the bride signaled a positive attitude toward sex, this would be the first order of business, as the Casina confirms. Lysidamus affirms that the “bride” is eager for sex (Pl. Cas. 853–54), which is important to a groom (Pl. Cas. 882–90), but “Casina” soon lets Olympio know that she is unwilling (Pl. Cas. 888, 916–20). Although the bride is expected to be obedient to her husband (Pl. Cas. 897), the husband perhaps requests sex, rather than forces submission, as Olympio tried to do (Pl. Cas. 922–23, 929–30). 17. This is called “rape” by most commentators (for examples, see Forehand 1973, 247–48; MacCary 1974, 886; Marshall 2015, 223–24). 18. Plautus (Cas. 860–61) claims credit for the clever ploy of substituting Chalinus for Casina, a staging device that makes the two men, Olympio and Lysidamus appear ridiculous (Pl. Cas. 877, 880). 19. See, for example, Feltovich 2015a, 249–50, 251; Richlin 2017, 27–28, but note the impropriety (Marshall 2015, 123, 136; Feltovich 2015a, 250–51). Valerius

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Maximus (6.7.1; Bailey 2000) praises the wife of Scipio Africanus for ignoring her husband’s infatuation with a slave-girl and hiding the matter from the public gaze. Cato the Elder reportedly had a dalliance with a slave-girl when he was an old widower, but this caused shame to his son and daughter-in-law (Plut. Cato M. 24.1–2; see Perrin 1914), and so he married a free woman to satisfy the family’s desire for respectability (Plut. Cato M. 24.2–4). 20. In the prologue, it is stated that the intended bride and groom are both slaves, and so should be unable to enter into either a betrothal or a legal (Roman) marriage (Pl. Cas. 66–70). Any such union of slaves would be called contubernium, not matrimonium (Hersch 2010, 28); see also Richlin 2017, 243–44. 21. Pl. Cas. 54, 451, 468. Lysidamus also needed to act with discretion (Pl. Cas. 158–61, 242), but he makes numerous Freudian slips indicating his desire to have sex with Casina (Pl. Cas. 364–66, 672–74, 701–4). 22. Men treat women with disdain. Lysidamus tries to distract Cleostrata by feigning affection for her (Pl. Cas. 228, 232), but privately he reviles her (Pl. Cas. 227, 233, 326, 498, 971) and wishes her dead (Pl. Cas. 227, 233–34, 275, 279, 354; Lowe 2003, 180). Olympio makes equally disparaging remarks about her (Pl. Cas. 321, 327, 387), but hatred of the mistress is a common trope (Richlin 2017, 304–5). 23. He is presented as a bisexual predator, asking a number of slaves to oblige him sexually (MacCary 1974, 886), particularly any who wanted plum positions in the household (Pl. Cas. 460–62). 24. He maintains his interest in Casina even knowing that his son also desires her (Pl. Cas. 49, 60–61, 262–63), and despite his “paternal” relationship to her (Forehand 1973, 240–41, 242; O’Bryhim 1989, 95). Lysidamus even claims that he will commit suicide if he cannot have sex with Casina (Pl. Cas. 305–8). 25. Alcesimus deceives his wife Myrrhina, but the playwright reports men’s sexual misconduct in general (Pl. Cas. 1016). 26. Pl. Cas. 477–79, 521–22, 535–37, 549–51, 557, 610–14; Marshall 2015, 136. Alcesimus also notes the potential disgrace of Lysidamus’s action, flagitium, but he is unconcerned to prevent it (Pl. Cas. 549, 552). 27. His authority is not unalloyed, as he is challenged by his wife over the betrothal of Casina (Pl. Cas. 193–95, 261–62; 372), and he fails to convince the slave Chalinus to obey his will (Pl. Cas. 282–84) and step aside from the betrothal (Pl. Cas. 293, 301). Cleostrata also criticizes and reproaches him (Pl. Cas. 155–60, 239, 244, 259, 368, 370, 534, 558–62, 590, 863–65), and the slave Pardalisca uses passive resistance (Pl. Cas. 634, 683). Even his favored slave Olympio is disrespectful (Pl. Cas. 327–29) (see O’Bryhim 1989, 97; McCarthy 2000, 86). 28. Franko 1999, 4; Moore (2015, 68) notes the linguistic dominance of Cleostrata and her allies, in terms of the meter. 29. See Connors 1997, 305–9; O’Bryhim 1989, 93–95, 101; Franko 1999, 1–2, 7–9. For a complete list of olfactory references, see Franko 1999, 15–16. 30. Pl. Cas. 615–18, 795, 809–10, 960, 982–83. On this, see O’Bryhim 1989, 99–102; Franko 1999, 2; McCarthy 2000, 85, 97, 107; Fantham 2015, 102. 31. Early in the play, he acknowledges that his behavior is wrong, but he refuses to be reminded of his adultery (Pl. Cas. 517–19). After his actions become public, he

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admits that these were scandalous, probra (Pl. Cas. 939), and that he merits a beating at his wife’s hands (Pl. Cas. 957–58). 32. Olympio has little choice but to obey his master (McCarthy 2000, 96), but he rejects his caresses (Pl. Cas. 451–59, 475–76). Some see the latter as homosexual byplay (see for example, Forehand 1973, 244–45), but Olympio’s rejection makes it clear that this was not the case. 33. Note that Olympio has earlier stated that he would not cede Casina even to Jupiter (Pl. Cas. 323), a god with whom Lysidamus identifies (Pl. Cas. 230, 331, 334, 335, 406, 407). 34. Immediately after his escapades in the marriage chamber, Olympio still does not realize that the “bride” is a man, since he calls Chalinus “that woman,” illa (Pl. Cas. 936), as he describes the nature of his flagitium to Pardalisca (Pl. Cas. 902). Subconsciously, however, he recognized that the “bride” had a penis (Pl. Cas. 913) and other male characteristics (Pl. Cas. 930; Anderson 1983, 19–20). On his attempt to have sex (Pl. Cas. 916–29, 931; O’Bryhim 1989, 100).

REFERENCES Anderson, William S. 1983. “Chalinus armiger in Plautus’ Casina.” Illinois Classical Studies 8: 11–21. ———. 1995. “The Roman Transformation of Greek Domestic Comedy.” The Classical World 88: 171–80. Bailey, David Roy Shackleton, ed. trans. 2000. Valerius Maximus memorable doings and sayings, Volume II. Translated and edited by David Roy Shackleton Bailey. `Cambridge, MA; London, UK: Harvard University Press. Bellemore, Jane and Ryan, Terry. 2018. “Mothers–in–Law in Latin Literature and Romans society.” In Representation of the Mother–in–Law in Literature, Film, Drama, and Television, edited by Jo Parnell, 73–87. Lanham: Lexington Books. Connors, Catherine. 1997. “Scents and Sensibility in Plautus’ Casina.” Classical Quarterly 47: 305–9. D’Ambra, Eve. 2007. Roman Women. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. De Melo, Wolfgang. 2011. Plautus Volume II. Harvard: Harvard University Press. Dixon, Suzanne. 1992. The Roman Family. Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press. ———. 2001. Reading Roman Women. London: Duckworth. Dutsch, Dorota. 2015. “Feats of flesh. The female body on the Plautine stage.” In Women in Roman Republican drama, edited by Dorota Dutsch, Sharon, L. James and David Konstan, 17–36. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Dutsch, Dorota, Sharon, L. James, and David Konstan, eds. 2015. “Introduction.” In Women in Roman Republican drama, edited by Dorota Dutsch, Sharon, L. James and David Konstan, 3–13. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.

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Fantham, Elaine. 2015. “Women in control.” In Women in Roman Republican Drama, edited by Dorota Dutsch, Sharon L. James and David Konstan, 91–107. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Feltovich, Anne. 2015a. “In defense of Myrrhina: friendship between women in Plautus’s Casina.” Helios 42: 245–66. ———. 2015b. “The many shapes of sisterhood in Roman comedy.” In Women in Roman Republican Drama, edited by Dorota Dutsch, Sharon L. James and David Konstan, 128–54. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Forehand, Walter E. 1973. “Plautus’ Casina: an explication.” Arethusa 6: 233–56. Franko, George Fredric. 1999. “Imagery and names in Plautus’ Casina.” Classical Journal 95: 1–17. ———. 2004. “Ensemble scenes in Plautus.” American Journal of Philology, 125(1): 27–59. Gold, Barbara. 1998. “‘Vested interests’ in Plautus’ Casina: cross–dressing in Roman comedy.” Helios 25: 17–29. Gunderson, Erik. 2015. Laughing Awry: Plautus and Tragicomedy. Oxford Scholarship.​ h ttps:/ ​ / www ​ . oxfordscholarship ​ . com​ / acprof​ : oso​ / acprof​ - 97801​ 98729303. DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198729303.001.0001 Hersch, Karen Klaiber. 2010. The Roman Wedding. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Hunter, Richard L. 1985. The new comedy of Greece & Rome. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Lowe, J. Christopher B. 2003. “The lot–drawing scene of Plautus’ ‘Casina’.” Classical Quarterly 53: 175–83. MacCary, W. Thomas. 1974. “Patterns of myth, ritual and comedy in Plautus’ Casina.” Texas Studies in Literature and Language 15: 881–89. MacCary, W. Thomas, and Malcolm M. Willcock. 1976. “Introduction.” In Plautus Casina, edited by W. Thomas MacCary and Malcolm M. Willock, 1–37. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Marshall, C. W. 2015. “Domestic Sexual Labor in Plautus.” Helios 42: 123–41. McCarthy, Kathleen. 2000. Slaves, Masters and the Art of Authority in Plautine Comedy. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Milnor, Kristina. 2012. “Women and domesticity.” In The Companion to Tacitus, edited by Victoria Emma Pagán, 458–75. West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell. Moore, Timothy Joseph. 2015. “Music and gender in Terence’s Hecyra.” In Women in Roman Republican Drama, edited by Dorota Dutsch, and Sharon L. James, David Konstan, 68–87. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. O’Bryhim, Shawn. 1989. “The originality of Plautus’ Casina.” American Journal of Philology, 110: 81–103. Packman, Zola Marie. 1998. “The Plot of a “Typical” Roman Comedy: Ancient Scope and Modern Focus.” Akroterion 43: 23–31 Perrin, Bernadotte. 1914. Lives, Volume II. Themistocles and Camillus. Aristides and Cato Major, Cimon and Lucullus. Translated by Bernadette Perrin. Harvard: Harvard University Press.

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Richlin, Amy. 2015. “Slave–women Drag.” In Women in Roman Republican Drama, edited by Dorota Dutsch, Sharon L. James and David Konstan, 37–67. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. ———. 2017. Slave theatre in the Roman Republic. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Treggiari, Susan. 1991. Roman marriage: from the time of Cicero to Ulpian. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Chapter 2

In Grey and Pink The Image of the Bride through the Spanish Postwar Novela Rosa Rosana Murias

The Spanish Civil War (1936–1939) was, in part, an outcome of the oppression the Spanish people suffered throughout the 1920s under the dictatorship of General Miguel Primo de Rivera (Beevor 2006, 7–9, 16–18). Rivera did little to reform the country and alleviate the social and economic plight of the working class and the rural poor. Tensions in the country increased and Rivera lost the support of the army, and was forced to resign in January 1930 (16–18, 21). On April 14, 1931, the Spanish monarch King Alfonso XIII, who was never popular with the people and had also lost the support of the army, was forced to leave Spain (19–20). Immediately after the deposition of the king, the Second Spanish Republic was proclaimed (21–24). Tensions between conservative forces, supported by economic elites, the Church, and a substantial part of the army, and the new Republican–Socialist government (Preston 2006, 8) would increase over the years, culminating in the military uprising, led by General Francisco Franco, that occurred on July 18, 1936, in the Spanish city of Melilla in North Africa (102–35). For the next three years (the period known as the Spanish Civil War), the conflict divided both the army and the country as a whole that fought on two sides, the Nationalist (the blues) and the Republican (the reds), until April 1939 when the Nationalist Army ultimately won the war (401). Under the dictatorship established by Franco, Spain’s Catholic Church, the Nationalist Army, and Spain’s rightwing parties were fused into the structure of the authoritarian regime (Payne 1987, 107–19, 207–8, 231–430). During Franco’s rule, almost the entire Spanish population suffered in one way or another (252–53). Those who held Republican sympathies were especially punished (Beevor 2006, 408, 410–13; Morcillo 2007, 737–38; Hannant 2017). While this situation affected all 17

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levels of Spanish life, it perhaps most profoundly altered the status of women (Ibáñez Domingo 2014, 302). During the Francoist era, various unions and employers’ organizations were set up across all levels and sections of the community as extensions of the state bureaucracy; membership was mandatory (Beevor 2006, 408). In 1939 the Falangist trade union, the Organización Sindical of Nationalist Spain, for instance, was set up to ensure that Spain’s labor force “ran on almost military lines in the service of the state” (408). Married women, meanwhile, “were expected to remain at home, unless they were involved in the Feminine Section,” the primary role of which “was to train women in their household tasks and obedience to their husbands” (408). Similarly, young unmarried women “had to work for Auxilio Social for six months, either looking after the children in its institutions or serving in the equivalent of soup kitchens” (408). The post–Civil War years did not see an improvement in the status of women, and gender equality did not exist (Gracia 2001, 142–43). In this social context, a new sort of novel, the novela rosa, specifically aimed at women, emerged with great success (Amorós 1968, 56, 73). In this chapter I propose the analysis of the image of the bride in postwar romantic novels (novelas rosa) and other popular literary products explicitly geared toward a female audience. To observe how such works contributed to shaping female patterns of the time, I will first study the phenomenon in a wider perspective. Next, I will focus on the texts of Carlota O’Neill, those published under a pseudonym of Laura de Noves during the 1940s. In relation to the representation of the bride, two of O’Neill/Noves’s works are especially interesting: ¿Quiere usted ser mi marido? (“Do you want to be my husband?”) (1943b) and Chiquita se casa (“Chiquita is getting married”) (1947b). The latter of these books, a guide for young brides, offers a remarkable contrast between the politically imposed requirements of the genre and the particular ideological point of view of the author, a progressive and independent woman at the antipodes of the Francoist model. Lastly, I will discuss some cinematographic proposals that radically differ from the image of the bride that the romance novels provide, offering a discarnate vision of both the reality of postwar Spain in general and the brides in particular: Calle Mayor (Main Street) (1956), El Pisito (The Little Apartment) (1958), and El Verdugo (The Executioner) (1963). HOW TO BE A BRIDE IN POSTWAR SPAIN The 1940s represent an exceptionally critical period in the recent history of Spain (Richards 1998, 8, 102, 128, 174) that signified a costly setback

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in terms of the rights and freedoms of citizens in general, and women in particular (Alted Vigil, 1991). After the victory of the Nationalist forces led by Franco in 1939 and the subsequent establishment of the dictatorship, a new stage began that was regarded by the winners as the triumphant years (Hernández Burgos 2016, 125–26, 128, 132, 141). This new time, characterized by an all-pervading rhetoric focused on the victory and the idea of the uniqueness of Spain (Del Arco Blanco 2008, 252, 268), called to become an example for Christianity and a bastion of the conservative values of the Catholic religion, family, and State (Fusi 2015, 13–14, 15–16). However, those years of triumph were actually years of great economic hardship and famine and unemployment as well the decline of basic services and a shortage of housing (Payne 1987, 252–53, 361, 363–65). This discord, almost schizophrenic, between what was said to happen and what actually happened is one of the key elements to understanding the Spanish postwar society, where the replacement of reality by a kind of collective delusion shaped all levels of life, including personal relationships (Gracia 2001, 144). In this way, love and marriage became ideas perfectly modeled by the public discourse of the time into such unrealistic terms as those employed to describe political and social issues (140, 142–43, 147–48). Following the Spanish Civil War, all the achievements that women had acquired during the Second Republic, such as the right to vote, divorce, or civil marriage, were revoked, and measures to reach juridical and legal equality were also discarded (Pardell, 1997). Spanish women came to be considered as under-age citizens in need of the tutelage of a father or husband (Ruiz Franco 2007, 31–48). In Francoist Spain, women’s individual rights were reduced to such an extent that a woman could not open a bank account or apply for a passport without the express permission of her husband (Morcillo 2010, 143). Agnès Pardell (1997) notes that “the Catholic national state which came into power after the defeat of the Republicans was eager to restrict women to the home and confine them to the private sphere. The Catholic Church ethics and its influence upon education and society at large worked with the same objective . . . . During this period, the law served that purpose.” Most of the task of defining the new social role of women and educating them under the principles of the regime was assumed by the Sección Femenina de la Falange (Women’s Section of Falange), founded in 1934, and led for thirty-four years by Pilar Primo de Rivera, the sister of the founder of Falange (Richmond 2014, 41, 137, 144, 158). After the Nationalist regime came to power, this organization continued indoctrinating women in Francoist precepts until 1977, playing a huge educational and social role throughout the dictatorship (4–5). The heart of the Sección Femenina was

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the Escuela Municipal del Hogar (Municipal School of the Home), where girls studied subjects such as religion, cooking, family and social education, dressmaking and sewing, domestic science, childcare, singing, and home economics (Morcillo 2010, 163). Nevertheless, the real power of the institution was exercised through the Servicio Social (Social Service), which was an indispensable requirement to get a job; and all unmarried women or widows without children, between the ages of seventeen and thirty-five, needed to obtain the Social Service certificate to get public employment or to take an official exam (Rebollo Mesas 2001, 299). The process lasted six months (six hours daily for six days a week) and was destined to turn young women into perfect wives (301). The official propaganda of the Sección Femenina promoted an image of women based on reactionary Catholic and fascist ideology (Callahan 1987, 499, 500–501; Rina Simón 2015); this official propaganda was intended to erase all traces of those other free and rebellious Republican women who had fought for their rights and a more active role in society. The portrait of this “ideal woman” was designed by means of a public discourse primarily sustained by two important institutions, the Church and the Sección Femenina (Morcillo 2007, 737, 739–43). Cardinal Isidro Gomá y Tomás (1938), a representative figure of the time, described the attributes of this “new woman”: she “must be woman in every sense of the word; namely, she must be modest, sweet, affable, gentle and humble. She must be strong only in the spirit of self-denial and sacrifice, since a woman’s heart has good mettle for these . . . virtues” (186). This was the official image of the Spanish woman that can be found everywhere, with a range of examples in all the various different contexts, including the arts (Peinado Rodríguez and Anta Félez 2013, 36–37; Prieto Borrego 2016, 291; Torres Martín 2016, 237–75). The rhetoric of the regime and media advocated for a dependent, submissive woman who would (assumedly) be eager to act in such a way. Woman was conceived as a passive subject that must devote her life to the service of her husband (Beevor 2006, 408). Salaried work outside the home was something provisional resulting from economic necessity never from a personal decision and should be abandoned once married (Pinilla García 2006, 160–61, 175). The education of a woman should lead to her becoming a good wife, while yet considering her a fragile being whose innocence must be maintained (Morcillo 2010, 132–84). In order to do so, women must be kept away from direct contact with reality through what Carmen Martín Gaite (1987, 182–83) called the “greenhouse teachings.” These “teachings” sought to keep unmarried women in total ignorance so that when she became a bride, she would therefore be a virgin not only in a sexual sense but also intellectually and emotionally:

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The “greenhouse teachings” . . . strove to blur the outlines of the real world. The influence of their anesthetic was expected to turn off the woman’s curiosity to delve in any delicate or “scabrous” . . . issue. Worrying about maintaining their youth was a way of distracting her attention . . . and kept the future women of the Spanish state out of history, politics and geography. (182)

SPINSTERHOOD Becoming a bride was the only desire of women of that time (Morcillo 2010, 81–82). Singleness, which was never conceived as something voluntary on the part of women (740), deprived a woman of the only social success to which she could aspire: to become the mistress of her own home. Unmarried women were forced to live in the parental home or with a sister or an aunt, who were often also single (172). Even so, for women, there were few alternatives to marriage, and staying single was considered the biggest failure in a woman’s life: the tag “solterona” (“spinster”), one of the worst insults that could be issued to a woman, was pronounced with a mixture of contempt and pity (Laforet 2014, 120–21; Martín Gaite 1987, 39–60). For a young girl of the 1940s, beyond marriage, the only other socially respected option to marriage was to become a nun (Gracia 2001, 149). Taking holy orders was seen as a prestigious decision, while implying some independence on the part of the girl: in principle, those who entered a convent did it because they wanted to (138, 149). The goal of “catching a good husband” should be achieved using very specific strategies that were perfectly outlined by society (Martín Gaite 1987, 60). However, being a bride was considered just the prelude to true success, becoming a wife. Engagement was understood as a “marriage school” (Pinilla García 2006, 168) which, although not conceived as a pleasant learning experience, was considered to be a kind of self-improvement test based primarily on patience. Postwar engagements were often long and subjected to external circumstances such as the completion of studies, the preparation of public examinations (by the man), or the attainment of adequate housing (171). During the endless years of waiting, two external agents complicated the picture: (a) total sexual abstinence and (b) families (both hers and his). a) Sex before marriage was out of the question for women, “brides-to-be must reach marriage in a virgin state,” and are “warned against kissing” during courtship “as the door to falling into sin” (Morcillo 2010, 18, 162–63, 244–45). Female virginity was an unquestionable value: no “decent” woman would give it away before the wedding night (Gracia 2001, 145–47). Any physical contact beyond a kiss or hug in public

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was considered immoral (Regueillet 2004, 1038). Young women were urged to keep their boyfriends at a safe distance since it was common ground that men have sexual needs (Gracia 2001, 147–48). The absolute chastity required of young women who aspired to be brides was not in the slightest so strict in the case of men. Men could take certain liberties before the wedding: it was quite common for engaged men of good social status to have “girlfriends” from the lower classes or contacts with prostitutes (Morcillo 2007, 753–54). In fact, the ideal couple of the time comprised a young girl, between eighteen and twenty-two years of age, virgin, and innocent, and an experienced man of around thirty/thirty-five years. b) Engagements were considered an issue that involved not only the couple but also their parents, who should approve each and every one of the decisions that were made. In this sense, the future mothers-in-law played an essential role (Díaz Silva 2013, 688–93): the mother of the bride could demand of the fiancé conditions that would guarantee the future social ascent of her daughter; and the fiancé’s mother imposed a very clear model on her son, that of a woman who must resemble herself (Noves 1947a, 87). Seemingly, the satisfaction and approval of the family was the primary importance in engagement; what does seem clear is that in those relationships there was no room for the flourishing of trust and the mutual knowledge required to base a happy marriage. Novelas Rosa: A Rosy Way Out In contrast to the tight public space that Franco’s regime had reserved for women, the decade of the 1940s were also years of development of women’s literature (Montejo Gurruchaga, 2013): a phenomenon that “must not only be understood as the appearance of numerous new feminine authors, but also as renewed interest in women as narrative objects and targets of literary products” (Servén Diez 1996, 91–92). In most cases, this new offer of books and magazines (often written by women for women) took the form of as the so-called novelas rosa (romantic novels), which perform a particular task in the consolidation of the image of women (potential brides) of that period. It was a genre well defined that followed rigid outlines: Among other components, the novela rosa has certain fixed elements. The characters: a very beautiful young woman and a man, who is older than her, experienced, handsome, gentle, “a man of the world.” The story line involves the young lady (who can optionally be plain rather than good-looking, but then she must be very virtuous) falling in love with the gentleman, who was on the point of falling into a dangerous affair with a sinful woman . . . and ends by

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acknowledging the beauty, goodness and attractiveness of the girl. In the end, the lovers get engaged, get married and are happy. (Sobejano 2003, 152)

This was the basic premise of the novelas rosa from which different plots were fabricated. In contrast with Spanish reality during the 1940s, a country of ration cards, starvation, overcrowded prisons, and daily executions, the novelas rosa always develop in lavish and luxurious backgrounds. Characters divide their time between a golf club and the terrace of the Ritz Hotel, travel in convertibles, and always dress in the latest fashions. The site of the action was commonly located outside Spain, preferably in the United States or England, because “it was probably easier for the censor to allow certain facts or frames within a foreign setting, which in no way would have been allowed if the protagonists had been presented as Spaniards” (Carmona González 2002, 91). Realistic references cannot be found in these kinds of texts, which instead offer an ideal recreation through “a distortion of reality to the pleasant” (Nora 1973, 426), which is one of the main features of the genre. Characters also appeared idealized, and were usually classified into two well-defined categories, “good” and “bad,” in most cases through an explicit indication of the author. A single notion prevails in all these stories: love, an idyllic and powerful love that consciously avoids any kind of depth or actual conflict beyond anecdotal or fictional situations (Anta Félez 2009). The thrust of these texts seems to be always the same, that women should only concern themselves with finding someone to love and to entrusting all their hopes for the future to that person. Andrés Amorós (1968) notes: This kind of love leads, of course, to private hyper-individualism. Dedicated to their kisses and embraces, the protagonists are removed from social organization and possible injustice, the State and its interventions, the participation of citizens in public life, etc. This eroticization has entailed the alternative to a potential politicization. In brief, this love is not far from the “opium.” (56)

This estrangement from reality that implied the absence of any link with historical, political, or social conditions was not just due to a certain editorial policy, but also a requirement of Censorship, an organization that exerted a great power in this period. In fact, when a female author got away from the premises of the romance novels and approached realism or the expression of personal experiences closer to her social environment, “censors not only apply the same restrictions as to men, but their reports reflect a greater punishment when judging the moral opinions that women express” (Montejo Gurruchaga 2006, 118). In this way, presented as sweetened and frivolous, novelas rosa can be regarded as texts without ideological content, even though they played

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an important role in the definition of the image of women, brides, and potential brides, of the time. Such works presented an image that “could be synthesized as the submission to a feminine archetype apparently compliant and obedient to the rules of patriarchal society behavior” (Núñez Puente 2007, 10). The female compliancy promoted by the novelas rosa was based on the idea that “romantic fiction promises a safe world; it promises safety with dependence, power with subordination” (Jenkins 1992, 171). That is, a woman must entrust all her expectations of happiness to the assumption of a passive role that will eventually bring her a comfortable and safe status through the love of a man. The heroes of these novels are uncomplicated beings inhabiting a world without any complexity. The sole function of these texts was entertainment and, in this sense, they could be considered harmless. However, the emptiness of the protagonist of novelas rosa was not so innocuous because “in essence (and this is their most disturbing feature) what triumphs in these novels is something that means the perpetuation of the bourgeois world: the most rigorous and complete absence of problems” (Amorós 1968, 73). Likewise, this effort to avoid referring to any intricacy responds to a policy of educating women as unthinking subjects, potential brides incapable of understanding or judging reality. These novels conflicted in many respects with the image of a woman always willing to deny and sacrifice herself promoted by the regime. In that sense, the discourse of the novela rosa maintains a delicate balance between the mechanisms of persuasion used by the Falange’s Sección Femenina, the propaganda apparatus of the first period of Franco’s regime and the subversion of the strict boundaries of the popular culture canon. On the one hand, the novela rosa conforms to the parameters that define and, on the other hand, it subverts the discourse and undermines the pillars of patriarchal society by what might be called the subversive power of the exalted imagination. (Núñez Puente 2007, 11)

Martín Gaite (1987) proposes the role of the exaltation of imagination in the romance novels within the general discourse of that time thus: “its rhetoric was opposed to that of sacrifice and virtue, but it was equally as treacherous. And both together contributed to accentuate the ignorance of things as they were. One, by way of delusion and refuge in dreams; the second, by the abandoning of those dreams in the name of rules which did not conform to reality in a flexible way” (159). CARLOTA O’NEILL (1905–2000): BECOMING LAURA DE NOVES O’Neill was imprisoned from 1936 to 1940 on flimsy political charges.1 After her release she was eventually reunited with her children and moved

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to Barcelona with them and her mother, and it was then that she began publishing novelas rosa and newspaper articles under the pseudonym of Laura de Noves (O’Leary 2012, 157–58). O’Neill’s life and works show ideological leanings that are entirely opposed to fascist thought (Murias 2011). In her memoirs Los muertos también hablan (The Dead also Speak) (1973), O’Neill states that her choice of the romance genre was entirely motivated by economic reasons: “I could not choose, I just wrote those novels called rosas” (114). Although her novels essentially respect the forms of the genre, her writings explicitly manage to avoid sexist speech while yet preserving a minimum commitment to her position as a progressive woman (Falcón 1989, 71–72).2 O’Neill’s case was not so exceptional. Even though the statistical numbers are not known, it is fact that many progressive women writers hid behind the numerous pseudonyms of the editorial markets of the 1940s and more than likely contributed to the existence of a feminist subtext in romance novels (Montejo Gurruchaga 2013, 69–79). How to Treat a Bride Respectfully in Postwar Spain Among the almost twenty titles published by O’Neill as Laura de Noves (most of them novelas rosa) during the 1940s are two books that I consider especially useful in examining the female model proposed by the author. These two manuals of behavior for girls, Chiquita en Sociedad (Chiquita in Society) (1947a) and Chiquita se casa (Chiquita Is Getting Married, 1947b), together with Chiquita Modista (Petite Dressmaker) (1947c), and a later book Chiquita Cocinera (The Art of Stewing within the Reach of Girls) (1955) (written by Elvira Illán), form a collection of works intended to guide unmarried women and girls, aspiring brides, to make them the perfect wife. O’Neill/Noves’s Chiquita en Sociedad (1947a) addresses every detail of the life of “chiquita” with the intention of directing her behavior in each one of the situations in which she may find herself: from her relationships with her family and friends to how to dress or how to deal with issues such as tobacco, gifts, or invitations. The book comprises three parts: one aimed at the upperclass girls, another at the working-class girls, and the last consisting of general advice on different topics. When addressing the upper-class girls O’Neill/Noves seems to adopt the prevailing discourse, focusing on banal topics. She is portraying a milieu that she knew well because of her work as a society journalist, but a milieu that she did not respect. O’Neill says in her memoirs Los muertos también hablan (1973): “What a joke! From jail to a chronicler of high society. They ignored it, but for me it was very funny” (324). The image of the bourgeois “chiquita” in Chiquita en Sociedad (1947a) is the one promoted by the authorities: she

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is discreet, attentive, quiet, and conformist, with no greater concerns than those of behaving properly in society and preparing to become a worthy bride of a worthy man. The tone adopted by O’Neill/Noves when talking to the upper-class “chiquita” in Chiquita en Sociedad (1947a) is almost a parody of the rhetoric of the time: “Why should we lie? Now that we are speaking in confidence, I can tell you that each woman, from the very moment she dresses for her first ball, has only one concern, a milestone, an idea: to reach a good marriage, a bond of love but one that isn’t exempt from financial advantages” (86–87). Conversely, the author talks to the working-class “chiquita” in a completely different way. There is no place there for sarcasm. O’Neill/Noves takes very seriously her task to advise young Spanish women who had to make a living in a country that was devastated by war. In this case, when addressing her readers, she talks to them lovingly and, above all, respectfully, understanding their circumstances and demonstrating support and commitment to them. She considers them strong, intelligent, and realistic women: A woman cannot simply remain idle while waiting for a troubled husband to feed and dress her. In this wait, the woman of our days has understood that she must be useful to herself and to those around her. This decision has given her a splendid common sense . . . that made her consider that she no longer has to depend exclusively on the male, she can also afford to choose . . . and even reject! (103)

In Chiquita se casa (1947b), O’Neill/Noves warns her readers, women, brides-to-be, who are planning their weddings, about the empty reveries that can lead to naive and illusory romantic attitudes. Sincerity in love is perhaps the biggest victim of the morals of the time, which promoted behaviors in girls that prevented a real understanding of men: an insidious rhetoric that encouraged young women to enter into marriage through tricks, cheating, and false pretenses that made it impossible to establish honest relations. O’Neill/ Noves insists at all times on the idea that marriage must be based on mutual respect, sincerity, and love. A stance that today is simply common sense, but that in postwar Spain was an almost revolutionary point of view. The following extract from the book will serve as an example of how the author combines the conservative ideas of the time with her own thoughts: “You will not be just the self-sacrificing, faithful and good wife who receives him in the cheerful and comfortable home with a smile on the lips; this is a lot, but not all. You must become his friend and comrade. This is more difficult, maybe for many of you too complicated, but everything can be achieved with love, because love works miracles” (O’Neill/Noves 1947b, 164).

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This pattern is also the one that prevails in the fiction stories of O’Neill/ Noves’s novelas rosa. Accordingly, all the female protagonists of her novels are women with resources and ambitions. The gallery of female characters that shape the universe of O’Neill/Noves differs somewhat from the regime’s concept of women as merely mothers and wives. Nevertheless, the romantic component is, as required by the genre, very much present in all the stories. However, the wedding scene is not necessarily the ideal conclusion most often chosen by the author. All the same, two of O’Neill/Noves’s novelas rosa in particular, focus on the topic of the wedding and, therefore, the image of the bride: Beso a usted la mano, señora (I Kiss Your Hand, Madam) (1943a) and ¿Quiere usted ser mi marido? (Do You Want to Be My Husband?) (1943b). Beso a usted la mano, señora (1943a) describes a small revenge planned by the protagonist against a man who regards all women as equal (in the worst sense). Through the trick of pretending to be a married woman, she makes him fall hopelessly in love with her. She wants him to suffer the same pain he has caused the women who fell in love with him. The plot is set in motion by the protagonist who is outraged when she chances to overhear him say, You already know my opinion about women; in love, they seek only marriage, and what is marriage for them? . . . The economic and social solution of their lives! Some of them want a husband to stop working, some to shine in society since, being single, they cannot afford certain ostentation in dress and jewels. And all of them . . . seek marriage so as not to become a spinster . . . . But only a few think about love as a true ideal, full of tenderness and emotion! I promise you, dear friends, I will never feel real passion for any woman that likes me just to “not remain single.” (28–29)

¿Quiere usted ser mi marido? (1943b) also proposes a game that leads to a misunderstanding that will only be solved at the end of the book. The characters, Pearl and Robert, agree to a marriage of convenience that they both need for economic reasons; she to receive an inheritance that requires being married, he to pay off his debts. During the false marriage, of course, they fall in love. Although the plot is quite conventional, it draws attention to the phrase that gives the book its title: “Do you want to be my husband?”—an expression explicitly forbidden both from the official discourse and from all the forums where young single women used to seek advice (in journals and radio programs). A decent woman should never take the initiative. In that sense, the innocent game suggested in the novel acquires a political hint. Certainly, the women who have the leading role in O’Neill/ Noves’s works do not fall into the stereotypes of the romantic genre. They do not look for a husband or show themselves as fragile beings that need to be saved. At the

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same time, the author avoids showing any female attitude of submission or dependence on a man. Rather, O’Neill/Noves’s heroes always remain independent and, in many cases, are the ones that support the male characters. O’Neill/Noves never proposed plots that denigrated her female characters: there are no quarrels between women to get the attention of a man, no feminine strategies to take him to the altar using tricks, and no silly brides eager to devote themselves, body-and-soul, to a husband that gives meaning to their life. The essential question for O’Neill was women’s dignity, something that in the Spain of the 1940s meant an ideological and political positioning. A SLOW SHIFT TOWARD REALISM The first decade of Franco’s dictatorship was dominated by a triumphant rhetoric that sought to impose a new way of living and seeing reality (Sueiro Seoane 2007, 14–15, 26). Obsessed with the idea of erasing the memory of the revolutionary years before the Civil War, the regime’s propaganda occupied the entire public space following a single ideological guidance. Above all, Spain should be identified as a traditionalist Catholic country (Mateo Gambarte 1994, 170). In that sense, its morals opposed the liberal and materialistic values represented by Western Europe and the United States (Fernández de Miguel 2012, 370–72). American culture, which reached Spanish society through cinema, was labeled as immoral and pernicious. Many of the Hollywood movies were censored (Miguel González 2000, 65), and all were severely disapproved by the media. Critics placed special emphasis on the role of women pictured in American cinema, which were, in many cases, the antithesis of the devoted, submissive, and selfless Spanish woman extolled by the Church and the regime (Cánovas Ortega 2015, 162–63). However, the 1950s gave way to a new time that substantially changed the external relations of Spain (Portero 2005, 150). In 1953 Spain signed a commercial agreement with the United States that proved to be a crucial step in Spain emerging from international isolation (Balfour and Preston 2004, 188). Gradually, ration cards began to disappear, the stability of the regime gave rise to a new urban middle class that showed increasingly materialistic aspirations, and tourism started to develop, becoming a key sector in economic recovery (Pack 2007, 47–66). Although rights and freedoms remained completely restricted, new voices arose in both film and literature (Velázquez García 2002, 167–68; Fernández Fernández 1990, 80) to address social and political issues from a more critical point of view. To do so, however, such works had to avoid strict censorship controls (Añover Díaz 1994, 14–16; Sinova Trigo 2006, 124–35). In relation to the image of the bride, I found some very interesting proposals that played an important role in the cultural

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scene of the time. Precisely, I focus on three films that are considered to be milestones in the history of Spanish cinema (Caparrós Lera et al. 2007, 109, 96–99, 136–39; Schwartz 2008, 1–31): Calle Mayor (Main Street) (1956), El Pisito (The Little Apartment) (1958), and El Verdugo (The Executioner) (1963). Calle Mayor (1956) poses a drama placed in a provincial town. The protagonist in the movie, Isabel, the ever-hopeful-bride-to-be, is a woman already in her thirties, a spinster without any chance of getting married and with little experience in life, will become the victim of a cruel joke. Juan, an acquaintance of Isabel, is persuaded by his friends to make her believe that he is going to marry her. The story complicates because of the innocence of Isabel, who immediately convinces herself of Juan’s sincerity and begins to make plans for her upcoming wedding. Juan, overwhelmed by the situation, is unable to tell the truth. Finally, he asks a friend to explain the deception to Isabel and flees the city. Needless to say, the intending bride-to-be, Isabel, will never recover from such a blow. Clearly, the filmic Isabel is a social comment on the single woman of her times. Importantly, one of the main demands of the Censorship was that in movies, and likewise in novels, any reference to Spain should be erased. For that purpose, at the beginning of the film Calle Mayor (1956), a voiceover indicates that the story that is going to be told may have happened in any small town in any country. In this way, Calle Mayor (1956) avoided Censorship. Unlike Calle Mayor (1956), El Verdugo (1963), caused one of the greatest scandals in cinema during Franco’s regime. The film showed two of the issues that the regime wanted to keep hidden from foreign public opinion: the terrible conditions of accessing a home and the persistence of the garrote vil as a method of execution of those sentenced to death; all in a context in which Spain had proclaimed itself as the new resort in Europe. Despite its efforts, though, the government could not prevent the participation of the film in the Festival of Venice of 1963 since it was an Italian–Spanish production (Sojo Gil 2014, 252). The movie went on to win the Festival Critics Award. However, the director of this film, José Luis Garcia Berlanga, was banned from filming in Spain until 1967 (Iraeta 2006). Both the 1958 movie El Pisito (1958) and the 1963 movie El Verdugo resort to comedy to harshly criticize Spanish society, and in this way avoided Censorship (Ríos Carratalá 2007, 226). In both these movies, the central characters are an engaged couple whose economic problems do not allow them to marry. The main difficulty is finding a home to live independently.

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After many years of engagement, during which she has lost her youth, and tired of waiting for an improvement that seems more and more unlikely, the bride in each of these movies encourages her partner to take a drastic decision. In El Pisito (1958) that decision will be for him to marry a sick old woman with the intention of inheriting her apartment when she dies. In El Verdugo (1963) the fiancé is asked to accept the work of his father-inlaw, who has just retired after years of being an executioner. Although the intended groom is very apprehensive (in both cases), the economic benefits and the possibility of accessing decent housing will overcome his ethical principles. In both films, comedy hides a latent drama that overflows at the end of the story. In Franco’s Spain, material independence requires the death of the soul.

CONCLUSION The three films discussed in this chapter, Calle Mayor (Main Street) (1956), El Pisito (The Little Apartment) (1958), and El Verdugo (The Executioner) (1963), all of which show women caught in a desperate situation whose only way out is marriage, reveal a very different point of view from any other films that feature the culture of the 1940s’ Spain (Gil Gascó and Gómez García 2010, 460–63). In writing this chapter I found that these films show completely opposite stories both to the image of the submissive bride proposed by the Francoist regime, and to that of the bride’s dream-wedding pictured in the novelas rosa, romances which were written according to demand by the regime; these three films address in all their harshness real problems of social and ethical nature. The Spain of the producers of these three films is a cruel, bitter, and ruthless country, which drags down any good intentions. The brides depicted in these films are exhausted women sick of the role assigned to them in society. Despite the fact that by the 1950s the political situation in Spain had not actually improved in relation to previous years (Chueca Rodríguez 1989, 42), at least critical voices begin to be heard. Certainly, something essential to change the way of understanding what it meant to be a woman and a bride in Franco’s Spain.

NOTES 1. For a more comprehensive study of the figure of Carlota O’Neill and her work, see Murias (2016a). 2. In 1945 O’Neill tried to publish a novel that escaped the canon established of the romantic genre. It was titled Tres hombres y una mujer (Three Men and One Woman)

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and its publication was banned by Censorship. For more extensive information on the subject, see Murias (2016b).

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———. 2010. The Seduction of Modern Spain: The Female Body and the Francoist Body Politic. Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press. Murias, Rosana. 2011. “Carlota O’Neill: La escritura como acto.” In Ecos de la memoria, edited by Margarita Almela Boix, María Magdalena García Lorenzo, Helena Guzmán García and Marina Sanfilippo, 223–42. Madrid: UNED. ———. 2016a. Carlota O’Neill. El impulso autobiográfico. Madrid: Visor Libros. ———. 2016b. “Carlota O’Neill censurada: la novela inédita Tres hombres y una mujer (1945).” Signa, 25: 783–802. Nora, Eugenio. 1973. La novela española contemporánea, 1. Madrid: Gredos. Noves, Laura de (Carlota O’Neill pseudonym). 1943a. Beso a usted la mano, señora. Barcelona: Hymsa. ———. 1943b. ¿Quiere usted ser mi marido? Barcelona: Betis. ———. 1947a. Chiquita en sociedad. Barcelona: Ameller. ———. 1947b. Chiquita se casa. Barcelona: Ameller. ———. 1947c. Chiquita modista. Barcelona: Ameller. Núñez Puente, Sonia. 2007. “Novela rosa y cultura popular: Carmen Icaza y Concha Linares Becerra.” Sincronía, 1. http:​/​/sin​​croni​​a​.cuc​​sh​.ud​​g​.mx/​​nunez​​spr​ in​​g07​.h​​tm O’Leary, Catherine. 2012. “Bearing Witness: Carlota O’Neill’s Una mujer en la Guerra de España” (“Bearing Witness: Carlota O’Neill’s A Woman in the Spanish Civil War”). Bulletin of Spanish Studies, 89(7-8): 161–68. O’Neill, Carlota. 1973. Los muertos también hablan. México: Populibros-La Prensa. Pack, Sasha D. 2007. “Tourism and Political Change in Franco’s Spain.” In Spain Transformed, edited by N. Townson, 47–66. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Pardell, Agnès. 1997. “Women and Politics in Spain”—Helsinki University. SJFE: Women and Law in Europe. http:​/​/www​​.hels​​inki.​​fi​/sc​​ience​​/xant​​ippa/​​wle​/w​​​le15.​​ html Payne, Stanley G. 1987. The Franco Regime 1936-1975. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press. Peinado Rodríguez, Matilde, and José Luis Anta Félez. 2013. “Educar para el matrimonio en femenino: modelos y prácticas en la literatura de posguerra.” Athenea Digital: revista de pensamiento e investigación social, 13(2): 34–46. Pinilla García, Alfonso. 2006. “La mujer en la posguerra franquista a través de la Revista Medina (1940-1945).” Arenal: Revista de Historia de Mujeres, 13(1): 153–79. Portero, Florentino. 2005. “El Régimen Franquista y los Estados Unidos, de enemigos a aliados.” In España y Estados Unidos en el siglo XX, edited by Lorenzo Delgado Gómez-Escalonilla and María Dolores Elizalde Pérez-Grueso, 141–57. Madrid: CSIC Press. Preston, Paul. 2006. The Spanish Civil War: Reaction, Revolution and Revenge. London: Harper Perennial. Rebollo Mesas, Pilar. 2001. “El Servicio Social de la mujer de Sección Femenina de Falange: su implantación en el medio rural.” In Nuevas tendencias historiográficas e historia local en España: actas del II Congreso de Historia Local de Aragón,

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edited by Miguel Angel Ruiz Carnicer and Carmen Frías Corredor, 297–316. Zaragoza: University of Zaragoza. Regueillet, Anne-Gaelle. 2004. “Norma sexual y comportamientos cotidianos en los diez primeros años del Franquismo: noviazgo y sexualidad.” Hispania: Revista española de historia, 64(218): 1027–42. Richards, Michael. 1998. A Time of Silence: Civil War and the Culture of Repression in Franco’s Spain, 1939-1945. 1st ed. New York: Cambridge University Press. Richmond, Kathleen J.L. 2014. Women and Spanish Fascism: The Women’s Section of the Falange 1934-1959. London: Routledge. Rina Simón, César. 2015. “La construcción de los imaginarios franquistas y la religiosidad ‘popular,’ 1931-1945.” Pasado y Memoria, 14: 179–96. Ríos Carratalá, Juan A. 2007. “El verdugo (1964) y la tragedia grotesca.” Anales de literatura española, 19: 219–36. Ruiz Franco, Rosario. 2007. ¿Eternas menores? Las mujeres en el franquismo. Madrid: Biblioteca Nueva. Schwartz, Ronald. 2008. Great Spanish Films since 1950. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press. Servén Diez, Carmen. 1996. “Novela rosa, novela blanca y escritura femenina en los años cuarenta: le evolución de Carmen de Icaza.” Asparkía. Investigación feminista, 7: 91–102. Sinova Trigo, Justino. 2006. La censura de prensa durante el franquismo. Barcelona: Debolsillo. Sobejano, Gonzalo. 2003. Novela española contemporánea. Madrid: Mare Nostrum. Sojo Gil, Kepa. 2014. “El cine de Berlanga y su proyección international.” Brocar: Cuadernos de investigación histórica, 38: 241–54. Sueiro Seoane, Susana. 2007. Posguerra: publicidad y propaganda (1939-1959). Madrid: Ministerio de Cultura. Torres Martín, José Luis. 2016. El nacionalcatolicismo en el cine. El reflejo fílmico de la construcción identitaria femenina en la dictadura franquista. PhD. diss. Universidad de Málaga. http://hdl​.handle​.net​/10630​/14030 Velázquez García, Sara. 2012. “El neorrealismo italiano. Influencia en el cine español de los años cincuenta.” Transfer: revista electrónica sobre traducción e interculturalidad, 7(1-2): 160–71.

Chapter 3

Sex and the Bride Citra Mudgal’s Hindi Short Story Dulhin as a Mirror of Changing Family Relations in Contemporary India Alessandra Consolaro

India is an incredibly culturally diverse country. Due to the complexity of the Indian society, it is impossible to examine the customs regarding the bride in simple and neat terms. Therefore, in this chapter I will focus on the context of the Hindu family system, with the caveat that there are locally relevant differences in kinship and marriage practices between North and South India, with radically diverging kinship regions and differences also according to caste and class status (Karve, 1965; Scheffler, 1980; Trautmann, 1981). Indian kinship is mostly informed by patrilineal principles, even if a number of matrilineal communities exist in the southwest and northeast (Karve, 1965; Trautmann, 1981). While there are large variations, the normative Indian household follows a patrilocal and joint system, where parents, any married sons, their wives—the bahū-s or daughtersin-law—and their families and unmarried children, often live under the same roof and share daily activities, but with strong gender segregation (Karve, 1965; Trautmann, 1981; Roy, 1992). Generally, authority resides with senior males of the family or lineage; descent, succession, and inheritance are in the male line and post-marital residence is with the husband’s patrilineal kin group (Karve, 1965; Roy, 1992). Every member of the family has a defined role that is acculturated and socialized into the community (Karve, 1965; Trautmann, 1981). In this chapter I will address the topos of the bride in Hindi literature in the following works: a) Munshi Premchand’s Baṛe ghar kī beṭī (“The daughter of an important household”), first published in Urdu and then in Hindi, and after that published in 1984, and 2007; 35

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b) Dharamvir Bharati’s Gulkī Banno (“Gulki, the Bride”) (1979), which was translated in 1981; c.1) Krishna Sobti’s Mitro marjānī which published in 1991 and then translated as Mitro marjānī (Tohellwithyou Mitro) in 2007; c.2) Samay Sargam (“The Music of Solitude”) (2013), also by Sobti, and which was previously published as Samay Sargam in 2001, before being translated; and d) in the main, through an examination of Citra Mudgal’s 1994 short story Dulhin (The Bride), which was subsequently translated in 2005. BACKGROUND TO THE STUDY In the modern period there has been increasing pressure for the homogenization of marital practices through law and social reform (Basu 2001; Uberoi 1996; 2006). There has also been the gradual development of a new, classbased, “glocal” culture of Indian kinship and marriage that polarizes contemporary India between “dual” cultures—that is, the urban middle class, the richer members of the dominant rural castes and the top layers of the minority groups, on one hand, and the poor, on the other hand (Uberoi 2008, 245). Recently, the supposed nuclearization of the Indian joint family has become an object of scrutiny (Uberoi 2003, 1061–63, 1073). The effects of urbanization, industrialization, and modernization on the traditions and culture of the Indian society, together with new opportunities for education and the employment of women, have resulted in structural changes within families and villages (Uberoi, 2006; Ghosh, 2017). A consequence of such changes was a large-scale migration to urban areas and the conversion of joint families to nuclear (Uberoi 2003; 2006). The children migrate to the towns and cities in search of jobs, with their families, leaving behind the parents and returning to visit from time to time (Uberoi, 1998). Yet, many sociologists have claimed that changes in family composition are more complex, limited to some social segments, and also balanced by opposite trends (Uberoi, 2003). According to the government (Census of India 2011–2020), although the overall number of nuclear families increased from 135 million in 2001 to 172 million in 2011, it was at a slower pace than the overall population growth (see Office 2011, updated 2020). Families are increasingly fragmenting in rural areas, but more people in cities are choosing to live in extended families (see Office 2011, updated 2020). A combination of factors is at play here, such as economic migration to urban areas followed by migration of dependents, and the economic pressure of urban life with its lack of affordable housing (see Uberoi, 2003). Moreover, the ideology or “moral economy” at the core of the joint family remains quite solidly in place, reinforced by

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the modern mass media and by the nationalist discourse (Uberoi 2006, 23). The joint family is projected in popular culture as the prototypical element of a changing nation, and in the contemporary world it becomes the custodian both of heritage and of modernity (Uberoi 2006, 64). THE BRIDE IN TWENTY-FIRST-CENTURY INDIA Even in earlier times, weddings have been “key stages of conspicuous consumption and thereby the production of a cycle of symbolic capital” (Brosius 2009, 275). With the economic liberalization that started in the 1900s, weddings “have become a sign of recognition of two individual’s sexual relations as well as their effort to be accepted as members of the social category of the new middle class, or even social elite” (269). Weddings are a global key life-cycle ritual; nonetheless, the idea that this is the biggest celebration of an individual person’s life is rather recent, and a “traditional” Hindu wedding does not acknowledge the individual. The wedding marks the contract between two families, or, better, between two clans, whereby they marry together two of their members; though it creates a somewhat asymmetrical alliance, ratified by the ritual of kanyadān—the gift of the virgin—where the bride herself is understood as the purest and pre-eminent of all gifts that are “donated” to the groom (Fruzzetti,1990; Trautmann, 1981; Raheja, 1988). If the bride is married quite young, she will stay in her parents’ home for some time before moving to her husband’s house and consummating the marriage (see Uberoi 2006). The bride’s parting from her natal family marks the real beginning of married life: from this point on she becomes the possession of her husband and his family (Lamb 2000, 209). In the past—and in the conservative setting this is still the case—the bride’s visits to her natal family were rare and limited to special occasions such as childbirth, an event that positions her clearly as someone else’s wife and mother (Roy 1992, xi; Dasgupta and Lal 2007, 75, 101). The new bride’s role in a joint family is often more that of a subservient daughter-in-law than a wife, and when she enters her in-law’s home she can count on very few supporters (Lamb 2000, 71–72, 208–11; Roy 1992, xiii, xiv, 1, 134). Young women often have a hard time in asserting themselves in traditional joint households, and sometimes experience an overwhelming sense of alienation and lack of support from the natal household after marriage (Lamb 2000, 208, 209, 211; see also Ray, 1992). As young brides, women’s significance within the marital household is almost non-existent, unless they bring dowry to ease their passage into the marital home (Gangoli and Rew 2011, 422). The absence of privacy can hinder the development of a close relationship between the couple, yet this serves to protect the interests of the larger joint family: therefore, at least in

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the early years of marriage, the family members carefully monitor and discourage signs of developing attachment and tenderness between husband and wife (Kakar 1978, 73–79). Love marriage is usually reputed to turn out to be unhappy, and the common saying is that loves grows within the marriage (Kakar 1978, 55–65; Mody, 2008). Even today, when urban middle classes put a stronger emphasis on personal choice, fulfillment, and companionship, the arranged marriage is the favored solution for most Indian youth (Uberoi 2006, 43), and love is not necessarily a prerequisite for marriage (Levine et al. 1995). Earlier arranged-marriage narratives, such as the popular Bengali love story by Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay, Devdas (1917), which was remade several times in film, focused on affirming arranged marriage through a discourse based on duty. Contrary to these earlier narratives, the new narratives incorporate elements from a romantic discourse (Brosius, 2009; Roy, 1992). In recent literary phenomena, such as “ladkilit” (South Asian women’s marriage fiction), arranged-marriage narratives are projected as a blend of South Asian and European/American romance genres, wherein the protagonists are constructed as transnational, upwardly mobile, and becoming culturally authentic through the practice of arranged marriage (Aguiar, 2018). In any case, when the bride enters her new household she has no authority; rather, she is expected to honor and care for her husband and his family, serve and obey them without resistance, and forgive their faults without question or hesitation (Lamb 2000, 56–58, 6–61). The bride is considered auspicious and a potential bearer of good fortune, but at the same time she poses multiple threats to the smooth functioning of the household, to the relations between the members of the joint family, as well as to the family’s hard-earned reputation in the community (Roy 1992, x, 13; Uberoi, 2006). Normally, the bahū’s (daughter-in-law’s) place is at the bottom of the family hierarchy, and the bride is regularly reminded that she is the instrument of relations of alliance between two families, and not an independent actor shaping her own destiny (Uberoi 1998, 333). The mothers-in-law are the most commonly projected source of oppression of Indian daughters-in-law; whereas sons are highly prized by their mothers, the daughters-in-law are often viewed as threats to the strong maternal-son relationship (Derné 1994, 213–14; Sonpar 2005). Daughters-in-law are often the unwitting cause of fear in mothers-in-law, that the son of the marital family will transfer his loyalty and affection to his bride rather than remaining truly a son of the house (Roy 1992, 133–34, 167–68). Even legislative debates often shift the focus on the possibility of young women using their sexuality against their mothers-in-law, thus trivializing women’s powerlessness: while this argument grants some agency to women, it erases the power dynamics in the household (Gangoli and Rew 2011, 424). By sexualizing

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the problem of the bahū-s’ discrimination, the oppressive social reality and the mechanisms of male control are ignored, and the plight of a bahū is constructed as a women’s problem, thus absolving men from guilt or responsibility for the status quo (Roy 1992, 121). THE BRIDE IN HINDI LITERATURE The complexity of the family group has often been represented in folksongs and literature (Lamb, 2000; Roy 1992, 166). The rivalry between a motherin-law and a daughter-in-law about “sharing” the son of the family, who is also the husband of the bride, is one of the commonest topoi that appear in popular culture and literature (Lamb, 2000; Roy, 1992). Anthropological and sociological data can help in tracing the origin and growth of the Indian family, but their discourse does not focus on the micro-politics of interpersonal relationships (Dasgupta and Lal 2007, 18–19). On the contrary, literary and cultural representations can portray with sensitive fidelity and offer better insight into the architecture and the emotional tensions that are indispensable elements of the family (19). Three relations appear as most important within the Indian family system: (a) the relations within the ghar—the household meant as one’s home; (b) the relation with the sasūral, the natal family of the groom; and (c) the relation with the maikā o māykā, the natal family of the bride (287). These have generated some topoi, such as the nurturing and self-sacrificing mother, the stern but loving father, the quarreling sisters-in-law, and so on (Tyagi Singh and Uberoi 1994, 93–120). Family is generally projected as a natural unit rather than a social one, with the household constituting the ideological ground on which gender difference and women’s oppression are constructed, and where the cost of preserving the family is paid by the women (Lamb 2000, 208–9). Within the marital household, the condition of the bride depends on her position with reference to the head of the family, and on her producing sons (207–8). A bride has no blood relations with anybody in the household, and she is generally not a fully accepted member of her husband’s family until she gives birth to a child and becomes a mother (208–11). A woman can feel safe only if she has a son and her husband is alive, but, in any case, she remains paraye ghar kī beṭī (the daughter of an alien household)—almost a lifelong position (47–8, 181, 208–12). Daughters are considered to be “guests” in their natal families, as they are going to be married-off outside the family, and they pose the problem of honor and dowry (Raheja 1995, 27; Lamb 2000, 208–9). After the wedding, the daughter becomes a possession of the husband’s family, and it is not considered good for the members of her maikā to visit her too often, as this

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would be an interference with the sasūral (Karve 1965, 183). The attachment of a daughter with her natal relations is often portrayed in popular culture, continually reasserting on an emotional and practical level her family ties that have been ritually severed (Lamb 2000, 55–56, 208–11). This can be understood as a “strategy of resistance” to patrilineal authority in her conjugal home, asserting that she is not entirely dependent on her husband’s family but can rely on support, love, and protection from her maikā, and therefore should not be mistreated or taken for granted (Raheja 1995, 25, 26). The wife of the head of the family and mother of a son belongs to the main power circle of the family and, even if she is not a full member can identify with the family of which she has become a part (Lamb 2000, 209–11). The wife of a younger or youngest brother is just a bahū, a person who is part of the ghar only insofar she has blood relation with her children: in fact, the treatment of a pregnant daughter-in-law improves, and her status in her conjugal home changes, making the sasūral a less foreign environment (Kakar 1978, 81; Roy 1992, 166). As a result, the mother’s relationship to her young children is generally extremely close (Kakar 1978, 81; Roy 1992, 126). As the young bride moves into adulthood, giving birth to children and raising them, she gains more control over her immediate habitat (Roy 1992, 126). Her relationship with her husband, too, becomes closer with the passing of time, and the nuclear family develops as an entity in its own right (164–65). Sometimes a couple splits off from the joint family, but even if they remain in the conjugal household, the wife will eventually begin to take the place of her aging mother-in-law, who will relinquish her authority and assume the role of an elder in need of care (Kakar 1978, 118). The elder matron of a joint family, while continuing publicly to play the role of the obedient wife, is often the most powerful member of the household in the domestic sphere (Kakar 1978, 118; Roy 1992, 125–26). Many female characters in Hindi literature narrate the difficult situation in which a bride and daughter-in-law is placed. In his short stories and novels, the early twentieth-century Hindi writer Munshi Premchand, projects women as totally oblative individuals for whom service is ideal and self-satisfaction is a flaw, and constructs the urban, educated, middleclass, independent, career woman—the Western-oriented woman—as evil (Gupta, 1991; Gaeffke 1966, 1–64). This ideal of womanhood is very often reflected in the character of a newly wedded woman, as can be seen in one of Premchand’s most popular stories, Baṛe ghar kī beṭī (The daughter of an important household) (2007). The story is a simple, empathetic appreciation of the compassionate nature of Anandi, the educated daughter of a well-to-do family who is married-off into an ordinary, financially much less affluent, zamindar household. Anandi quickly adapts, but one day she sparks tension between her husband, Shrikanth, and his younger brother,

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Lai Behari, when she reports the latter’s rude remarks about her parents to her husband. A major family crisis threatens, and a break-up is imminent when Anandi, behaving like a “true” daughter-in-law, swallows her pride, forgives her brother-in-law, and prevents the family from disintegrating. Everyone praises her: she is, after all, a well-bred girl and baṛe ghar kī beṭīyāṁ aisī hī hotī haiṃ (daughters of highborn families are just like this) (see Premchand 1946, 1984, 2007). A different notable short story, Gulkī Banno (Gulki, the Bride), written by Dharamvir Bharati, and published in 1979, then translated in 1981, presents a less lucky character (Sarla 2003, 71–88; Bharati and Hansen 1981). Gulki is an abandoned bride, an outcast. She is twenty-five years of age, but her body is deformed as she developed a severe hunchback after her husband pushed her down the stairs to punish her for giving birth to a stillborn child. The unhappy, downtrodden woman finds shelter in her father’s ruined house, but some of her distant kin are desirous of acquiring her meager possessions, and the whole neighborhood is disturbed by her presence: she is rejected and ridiculed, and all her efforts to live independently by selling vegetables meet with the hostility of the community. Gulki’s perturbing disability makes her appear to the community’s gaze as a subhuman creature that inspires revulsion and awe. In a comic and ironic mode, the narrative shows Gulki’s trials and tribulations through the eyes of the village children, who have imbibed all the stereotypes and the fears of the villagers. The only allies she finds are two orphaned children, poor and suffering from leprosy, who are themselves treated as social pariahs. In the end, Gulki returns to her violent and abusive husband, who reclaims her in order to help raise his newborn child, and as slave/domestic help for his new wife. In a grotesque conclusion, as she leaves the village with her husband, one of the children salutes her incongruous bridal appearance, by singing a folksong that celebrates the bride’s conjugal life and her send-off from the maikā to her sasūral. Women’s fiction has often articulated the stereotyped role of woman as wife within the confines of the institution of marriage. In the second half of the twentieth century, when women writers started to become more visible in the Hindi literary field, they increasingly focused on women as active agents who strove to exert control over their own lives, or who, together with other women, mounted a challenge to the patriarchal order. A primary example here would be the eminent Hindi author and essayist Krishna Sobti, who created some of the most extraordinary female characters in Hindi fiction. Some of Sobti’s fictional brides compel the reader to look at the social scenario, especially at the female predicament, in a different and informed perspective. In the works of earlier Hindi writers, some female (bride) characters did have self-esteem and tried to chart an independent existence. Yet, they somewhat lacked resistance and the will and courage to speak out or rebel, adhering

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instead to an idealized vision of women. In her books, Sobti launched an assault on the misogyny of ages and turned women into real creatures with verve and grit—as was the case, for example, with the protagonist Mitro, of Sobti’s novel Mitro marjānī (Tohellwithyou Mitro.), which was published in 1991 and then translated in 2007, is an unapologetic portrayal of a young married woman’s sexuality where the social myths of female asexuality, of her innate passivity, of her spontaneous self-control, and of chastity are demolished. In an age in which Hindi literature was still full of conventions, Mitro is probably the first woman who does not shy from expressing her sexual desires in an iconoclastic vein, and perhaps shocking the complacent public with her bold sexual ideology. The setting of the narrative is so typical that the average Indian reader would no doubt readily relate to its every nuance: perennial quarrels between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law; rivalry between brothers; the game of power politics between the male family members; and the helpless father; and the covetous daughters-in-law. Undoubtedly one of the most fascinating characters in Hindi literature, Mitro is a hell-raiser: clearly, the vampish bahū-s (daughters-in-law) of television soap operas are nothing but inferior versions of this character, Mitro. In a closed society where a woman traditionally refrains from displaying her sexuality, Mitro flaunts it and does not hesitate to reveal her husband’s incapacity to satisfy her sexually. Mitro exposes—without embarrassment and with bold tones—the double standards of patriarchy, that deem sexual behavior inappropriate in a woman, showing social disapproval of her, while at the same time considering it as appropriate and praiseworthy in a man. The brutality, even crudity, of the narration corresponds to the personal challenge of a rebellious daughter-in-law, presented to the reader in a mixture of slang, Punjabism, and oralized style. There is a thin line between Mitro and one of the protagonists of a later novel by Sobti, Samay Sargam (The Music of Solitude) (2013). Whereas Mitro seeks an uncertain and aggressively sexual love, the aged protagonist of Samay Sargam seeks the unique ease of friendship where the relationship between voice and body, so minutely crafted in other works by Sobti, reaches a culmination. Samay Sargam narrates the story of a beautiful romance that thrives on companionship in a keenly private mode, but at the same time it is an aggressively collective portrait of changing times about sharing solitudes and growing old in a megalopolis. Aranya, an elderly unmarried woman, follows the rhythm and the melody of life and faces the troubles of old age with efficiency, without self-pity, without regrets—except, perhaps, for the loss of physical prowess. She is impulsive, anarchic, and fiercely feminist, being single by choice, after spending an independent life outside any family pressure. The novel winds through Aranya’s relationship with Ishaan, a gentle, sensitive, orderly man who believes in the institution of family, even though

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he has no one to call his own. Ishaan is a friend who becomes her companion, proving that even at the end of life, feelings are real and strong. Citra Mudgal’s Dulhin (The Bride) (1994) Citra Mudgal is regarded as an established Hindi writer. She positions herself in the line of progressive literature; her literary productions have constantly mirrored changes in contemporary India. The short story Dulhin (The Bride), which was first published in 1980 under the title Zahar ṭhahrā huā (Poised Poison) in the eponymous collection, was later revised and appeared in many anthologies with the title Dulhin (Mudgal, 1994), and later translated by myself into Italian in 2005.1 The narrative revolves around a joint family where four generations live under the same roof, presenting the complexity of family relations trying to negotiate a balance between conditioning social conventions and new expectations deriving from the family’s changing lifestyle. The text not only prompts a literary analysis but also invites a sociological and psychological reading. The story is set in a middle-class family in northern India in an era preceding the overt adoption of neoliberal policies. It was in the 1980s, in a rapidly changing global political economy, that the decline of the Nehruvian state became apparent and the Rajiv Gandhi government started economic reforms accelerating the speed of economic growth and fostered the information technology and telecom revolutions in the country (Kohli, 2006). This period also witnesses a paradigm shift in the discourses on the Indian middle class: the “new” middle class begins to be increasingly defined and discussed in terms of its consumption behavior, constituting the social base of market-led capitalist economy (see Kohli, 2006; Roy 1992, 10). Dulhin contraposes the characters of two brides: one is Dulhin, “the” bride of the household, who has turned into a middle-aged woman; the other one is Ani, the youngest bride in the household and the wife of the youngest son, Chotu. She, Ani, must negotiate her position in relation to her mother-in-law, the elder sisters-in-law, and other female relatives living in the house. Even if the focalization is on a male character, Chotu, the true protagonists of the story are the family women, whose lives are affected and shaped by patriarchal values. Chotu was the youngest of six children until the birth of his baby sibling, Shanno, three years before the narrative present, deprived him of this privilege (Mudgal, 1994, 128). At the time of Shanno’s birth, Chotu’s eldest sister was already the mother of four, and her eldest daughter had already been married-off four years before; Chotu’s eldest and middle brothers’ children were already attending college; and two of his other sisters were already mothers of, respectively, one and two children (128). He himself had been married to his wife Ani for four years; they had no children, but only because he and Ani “did not want any for the time being” (128): “On the first wedding

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night they had decided that they would not think about this issue until he would complete his thesis and become professor in some degree college. If, by mistake, an accident occurred, they would have a ‘cleaning’ done” (128). Ani’s position is ambivalent: she pursues her studies for her BA on one side, and on the other compensates her unfulfilled desire for children by taking care of Shanno, despite Chotu’s disapproval. Ani is portrayed as a modern young woman, and she and her husband, Chotu, express a growing materialist and consumerist attitude. Yet, the power balance in the couple’s relationship is uneven: Ani’s domestic behavior is quite conservative and she constantly acquiesces to her husband’s will. He, Chotu, is a staunch supporter of patriarchal values, even when he defends his wife’s “modernity”: he instrumentalizes her desire to study in order to reach his own goals and does not really care about her empowerment. The story points out that the younger generation is vocal in claiming that children should be put in a secondary position with respect to career and personal achievement. Yet, interestingly, instead of adopting some method of birth control, the young couple decides to resort to abortion instead. Using methods of contraception would be an explicit affirmation of one’s will not to have children; therefore, there is a hypocritical acceptability of abortion. Thus, the storyline in Dulhin raises complex issues such as pregnancy, abortion, and the control of female bodies, that must be negotiated both at a private, individual, and family level, and at a wider social level. The complex mother-son relationship, as investigated in the Hindu context by Sudhir Kakar (1978, 1993) and Stanley Kurtz (1993), is clearly represented in Mudgal’s Dulhin (1994). Chotu introduces himself as a modern, independent, and strong man, yet he reveals himself as a very pampered son, suffering from “momism.” Even after his marriage, he would accept tea only from Amma’s (mother’s) hands, he would have lunch in the kitchen with her as small children do, and he would lie in her embrace on the swing. His wife Ani would tease him, and Amma herself would scold him: “Go to your wife. . . . Why are you clinging to my saree?” (129) Chotu cannot accept losing such a special relationship when his mother is pregnant again, even if he himself is a grown man who has been married for four years. After Shanno’s birth he expresses his anger by adopting a detached behavior, confining himself in his terrace room on the upper floor of the building, and avoiding even to talk to Amma. Chotu is very concerned about his mother’s pregnancy because it witnesses her sexual activity: What will they think when they found out about that? Hey, here their children’s kids are born and there the aged mother acts as a young bride! . . . Puah! She’d better have a “cleaning” made. It just takes a day, and it’s not too expensive. I’ll pay for that! There will be no problem and nobody will even have the slightest notion of it. (131)

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Amma’s reaction to this suggestion—that Chotu does not make himself, but through his elder sister—is of rage and fury. She roars at Chotu’s address: “If he can stay properly in this house that’s fine, he can stay. Otherwise he’d better move to some other place taking his lady [Ani] with him” (132). At this point, Chotu remembers the troubles his wife had to suffer at the beginning of their marriage. Ani is an educated city girl and she experienced many problems in adapting to the lifestyle of a conservative household where no toilet was available and no privacy was allowed. For a moment, he had contemplated moving to a separate flat, closer to his college. This would have been a convenient solution for both, but then he could not tolerate being separated from Amma. On the other hand, he rationalizes that women’s problems should not affect serious choices, and that in the end everything would be alright. Yet, when a colleague makes a sexist joke while he is offering his congratulations for Shanno’s birth, Chotu becomes aggressive and realizes that, notwithstanding his rationalization, he is emotionally fragile. Hey yaar, send my respect to your father! I guess at that age we will have to takesome pill . . . tell me the truth, yaar . . . it must be a real fun over there. On the upper floor you two must be constantly on the go, and downstairs the elderlies. (132)

The narration develops with no other male character but Chotu. Chotu’s father, the pater familias, carries little weight on domestic life and is completely aloof. Father’s old mother, Aji, functions as the real head of the family. She is portrayed as a bedridden, dependent woman who is nevertheless very attached to life and very vocal in the domestic environment. Her devoted bahū (daughter-in-law), Amma, takes care of her day and night. She blesses her Dulhin (Amma), for being a fertile defender of the lineage, and claims she cannot die until Ani, the youngest of the daughters-in-law in the joint residency, will beget a child. As previously explained in this chapter, adult womanhood is triggered by the onset of menarche, but it is marriage and motherhood that mark it in a woman’s life cycle. Marriage marks the transition into womanhood, then motherhood solidifies it (Roy, 1992). In India most women marry young, and an evolving and emergent womanhood culminates with the birth of the first child. Womanhood is thus heralded more by the status of motherhood rather than marriage, even though both are social statuses that also entail social responsibilities and rights (x, 132–33). Marriage and motherhood are tightly connected; a bride who does not bear children is inauspicious (x–xi). The husband is generally the principal protagonist of family choices linked to sexuality (Lamb 2000, 181–205). Nevertheless, other family members can be at least, or even more, influential as he is, especially in the case of

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joint-family structures. In such a frame, pressures on a woman to carry on or interrupt a pregnancy can become very strong. The character of Dulhin/Amma in Mudgal’s Dulhin is crucial in addressing the negation of aged people’s sexuality and the fact that the definition of “elder person” does not depend on her age, but rather on her social role. The story emphasizes that gender bias is active also at this level, as nobody criticizes the fact that the father is sexually active, and the stigma is on the woman. In fact, Amma, who is forty-two years of age, cannot think of herself as an aged woman until she loses her status of “bride” inside the household, when her mother-in-law passes away. Only at that point does she consciously take over her role of mater familias, discarding the one of bride: Overwhelmed by sobs, Amma muttered . . . : “She is no more, Chotu . . . . Who’s going to call me a bride now? . . . . She was the one who kept count of festivities and celebrations . . . made rituals gifts for weddings . . . oh . . . today I have become old, Chotu . . . . While she was alive . . . it seemed to me that I would be a bride forever. . . . O dear, now I have young children and grandchildren!” Amma is right, he thought. . . . A forty-two years old bride. Today she is nothing but Amma, aunt, paternal grandmother, maternal grandmother, sister-in-law, mother-in-law . . . she had never been able to realize it before. (136)

This change in self-perception again brings in the theme of pregnancy and abortion. The older generation is represented as the guardian of established values: as long as Aji, the old mother-in-law, is alive, the character of the protagonist’s mother insists on giving birth to the child she is pregnant with, because she considers it as a divine gift. Her pregnancy appears to her as socially acceptable insofar as she is still the bride in the household, no matter how many younger women have come to live there after marrying her sons. Yet, when she takes over the role of “elder,” the interruption of a pregnancy that witnesses her sexual activity becomes an acceptable solution; even more, it is desirable, as she does not want to appear socially improper, being now the matriarch of the household. In fact, middle-aged women’s sexuality-related needs are in general discarded in India more than are those of middle-aged men (Vatuk 1975, 1992, 1995; Roy 1992; Lamb 2000, 181–205). Notwithstanding modernization, in the Hindu dominant culture of India the female body is often considered not as the site of pride and pleasure but as a receptacle of impurity and sin (Lamb 2000, 181–205). Female sexuality is perceived as threatening, and this creates a polarization—which is not, of course, an exclusive feature of India—of the feminine ideal between mother and whore (Kakar 1989, 13, 17). The social context determines whether a woman is considered as a goddess, mother, partner in a liturgical ritual, or else as a “public woman” (13–17). In the

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ritual context, the woman is sacred, honored, and respected; as an—effective or potential—mother, she deserves the utmost reverence (13–17). But when she is perceived merely as a female being, the patriarchal culture dumps its entire horror and despise on her, and women themselves have imbibed this frame of mind (13–17). The concluding paragraph of Mudgal’s short story Dulhin reads: .

Amma . . . was in her third month of pregnancy. She said that she wanted to have a “cleaning” done in some clinic over there. She said that at that time Chotu’s suggestion had sounded unseemly because when “she” [Aji] was alive she did not feel old. But now . . . it would be quite odd to move around with a swollen belly in front of innocent little children. (Mudgal 1994, 137)

MANIFOLD BRIDES: NEW FORMS OF MARRIAGE As noted previously, the process of economic growth is fundamentally changing the social structure of India: the middle classes face a multi-faceted, often confusing clash over values, and have to negotiate new positionings between traditions and norms, the law and the institutions, old lifestyles, and the spreading of consumerism. This, of course, also affects the structure of the family and the relationships within it. Theoretically, in the Hindu social system the bride is a positive and revered figure (Roy, 1992), but this requires her to adhere to the patriarchal project of the Hindu family, as is shown in Premchand’s Baṛe ghar kī beṭī. As cinema, media, and popular culture often represent (Lamb 2000, 10–12), even in the second decade of the twenty-first century, regardless of how many degrees she may hold, a girl is considered to be worth marrying only if she is a virgin, a non-smoker, and a teetotaler; she has only female friends; her idea of entertainment is watching television or knitting and sewing after she has finished all her household chores; and the only parties she ever attends are the family functions. The perfect bahū should be an expert housewife, start her day with pūjā and love to fast for the well-being of her family and, most importantly, her pati parameśvar (husband who is her supreme God) (see Roy, 1992; Lamb, 2000). The weak position of the bride in the family system depends on the widespread patriarchal culture that justifies the exertion of control on women’s bodies and domestic violence, both physical and psychological (Gangoli and Rew, 2011). Domestic violence is mostly perpetuated by men on women and creates the typical scenario of the lone man battering the lone woman (Derné, 1994). Other family members and kin contribute to the violence perpetrated by husbands against wives (see Craig 2013, 188; Sudha and Irudaya Rajan 1999, 2003); women’s violence against women is notoriously often perpetrated by

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their mothers-in-law in domestic violence and dowry-related cases (Jeffery and Jeffery 1996, 156–57). While older women in Hindu families are subject to the authority of men, the supervision of younger daughters-in-law is delegated to them by the men in the family (see Nadaswaran 2018, 37–39, 41–42, 49). Due to patrilocality, mothers- and daughters-in-law are both dependent on the attention and support of their respective husband and son, and this may lead them to act as competitors: mothers-in-law, having finally obtained a relative position of power, often have a vested interest in perpetuating practices of control and power over their daughters-in-law (Nadaswaran, 2018; Gangoli and Rew, 2011). Of course, there are also instances of affectionate, high-quality relationships (Jeffery and Jeffery 1996, 156–57). In Dulhin there is no manifest conflict between mothers- and daughters-inlaw. The main focus is on the self-perception of women within the household hierarchy, alerting the reader to the process by which male discourse representation becomes naturalized and ultimately coercive in structuring women’s selfrepresentation. The character of Ani, the younger bride in the household, points to the emergence of a discourse on the “new Indian woman”; “a construction which serves not only to reconcile in her subjectivity the conflicts between tradition and modernity in Indian society but works also to deny the actual conflict that women existentially register as an aspect of their lives” (Rajeswari 1993, 123). The character of the elder bride in Dulhin introjects a patriarchal gaze and this influences her behavior and the choices she makes about her own body. In a different scenario, as represented in Sobti’s Samay Sargam, there is an instance of an independent and self-assured woman who chooses marriage at an age when romance and marriage is not quite what society approves. According to the Census of India 2011 (updated 2020) more than ten million Indians are sixty and more years of age, and over the last two decades the occurrence of marriage among the elderly has become more frequent than before (Office 2011, updated 2020; see also The World Bank 1960–2017). Many are single, divorced, or have lost their spouses, and are looking for a companion (Lamb 2000). In this case too, gender discrimination is important, since remarriage of women is marked with a series of restrictions in the name of honor of the family, while remarriage of men has been accepted by all segments of the society (Lamb, 2000). Therefore, many senior citizens prefer getting married in private, and, often, due to the fear of being ostracized by society, refrain from making their marriages public (222). CONCLUSION In this chapter my focus has been on the changes that are happening in the middle classes in contemporary India, where, due to globalization and

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modernization, cultural, social, and religious values have changed. Old stereotypes and prejudices have been challenged. The age of marriage has risen, there have been changes in patterns of mate selection, divorce and separation rates have increased, and a new trend of live-in relationships is emerging in urban Indian society. Nevertheless, the institution of marriage remains a site of social production and reproduction, including the production and reproduction of economic and power inequalities, all of which are factors that are increasingly undergoing the process of change. Even so, I found that in contemporary India, the patriarchal order remains strong, and similarly to a chameleon, it is a continuing issue that merely changes shape to fit the current times.

NOTE 1. All English translations are mine. I have previously published an Italian translation of this short story (Mudgal 2005).

REFERENCES Aguiar, Marian. 2018. Arranging Marriage: Conjugal Agency in the South Asian Diaspora. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Basu, Monamayee. 2001. Hindu Women and Marriage Law: From Sacrament to Contract. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Bharati, Dharmavir. 1979. Gulkī Banno (Gulki, the Bride). In Band galī kā ākhitī makān tathā anya kahāhiyāṁ, edited by Dharmavir Bharati, 3–23. Nayī Dillī: Bhārtīy Jñānpīṭh. Bharati, Dharmavir, and Kathryn Hansen, trans. 1981. “Gulki the Bride.” Journal of South Asian Literature 16 (1, I): 165–77. https://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​/40873634 Brosius, Christiane. 2009. “The Multiple Bodies of the Bride: Ritualising ‘World Class’ at Elite Weddings in Urban India.” Paragrana, 18(1): 267–83. Chattopadhyay, Sarat Chandra. 1917. Devdas. Scotts Valley, CA: Createspace Independent Publishing. Craig, Hugh. 2018. “Afterword.” In Representations of the Mother-in-Law in literature, film, drama, and television, edited by Jo Parnell, 187–91. Lanham: Lexington Books. Dasgupta, Sanjukta, and Malashri Lal, eds. 2007. The Indian Family in Transition: Reading Literary and Cultural Texts. New Delhi: Sage Publications India. Derné, Steve. 1994. “Hindu Men Talk about Controlling Women: Cultural Ideas as a Tool of the Powerful.” Sociological Perspectives, 37(2): 203–27. Fruzzetti, Lina M. 1990. The Gift of a Virgin: Women, Marriage, and Ritual in a Bengali Society. New Delhi: Oxford University Press.

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Gaeffke, Peter. 1966. Hindiromane in der erste Hälfte des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts (Hindi Novels in the First half of the twentieth century). Leiden Köln: E. J. Brill. Gamberi, Valentina. 2014. “Escaping from Rama: Portraits of Indian women.” Culture and Religion 15(3): 354–72. Gangoli, Geetanjali, and Rew, Martin. 2011. “Mothers-in-law against Daughtersin-law: Domestic Violence and Legal Discourses around Mother-in-law Violence against Daughters-in-law in India.” Women’s Studies International Forum 34: 420–29. Ghosh, Banhishikha. 2017. “Marriage Migration in Contemporary India: A Critical Analysis.” Indian Journal of Development Research and Social Action 13(2): 147–58. Gupta, Charu. 1991. “Portrayal of Women in Premchand’s Stories: A Critique.” Social Scientist 19(5/6): 88–11. https://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​/3517875 Jeffery, Patricia, and Jeffery, Roger. 1996. Don’t Marry Me to a Plowman! Women’s Everyday Lives in Rural North India. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Kakar, Sudhir. 1978. The Inner World: A Psycho-analytic Study of Childhood and Society in India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 1989. Intimate Relations. Exploring Indian Sexuality. New Delhi: Penguin Books India. ———. ed. 1993. Identity and Adulthood. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Karve, Iravati. 1965. Kinship Organization in India. 2nd rev. ed. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Kohli, Atful. 2006. “Politics of Economic Growth in India, 1980-2005, Part 1: The 1980s.”Economic and Political Weekly, 41(13): 1251–59. https://www​.jstor​.org​/ stable​/4418028 Kurtz, Stanley. 1993. All the Mothers are One. Hindu India and the Cultural Reshaping of Psychoanalysis. Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press. Lamb, Sarah. 2000. White Saris and Sweet Mangoes. Aging, Gender, and Body in North India. Berkeley: University of California Press. http://ark​ .cdlib​ .org​ /ark:​ /13030​/ft458006c0/ Levine, Robert V., Suguru Sato, Tsukasa Hashimoto, and Jyoti Verma. 1995. “Love and Marriage in Eleven Cultures.” Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology 26(5): 554–71. Mody, Perveez. 2008. The Intimate State: Love-Marriage and the Law in Delhi. New Delhi: Routledge. Mudgal, Citrā. 1994. Dulhin (The Bride). In Carcit kahāniyāṁ, 126–37. Dillī: Satsāhitya Prakāśan. Mudgal, Citra. Consolaro Alessandra, ed., transl. 2005. Dulhin/La sposina, bilingual edition (Hindi/Italian). Milano: A Oriente!. Nadaswaran, Shalini. 2018. “Oppressor or Oppressed: The M(other)-in-Law in Nigerian Women’s Literature.” In Representations of the Mother-in-Law in literature, film, drama, and television, edited by Jo Parnell, 37–51. Lanham: Lexington Books. Office of the Registrar General & Census Commissioner, India. Census of India. 2011, updated 2020. Ministry of Home Affairs, Government of India. http:​/​/cen​​ susin​​dia​.g​​ov​.in​​/2011​​-Comm​​on​/Ce​​nsusD​​a​ta20​​11​.ht​​ml

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Premchand, Munshi. 1946. “The Daughter-in-law.” In Short Stories of Premchand translated by Gurdial Mallik. Bombay: Nalanda Publications. https​:/​/ar​​chive​​.org/​​ strea​​m​/in.​​ernet​​.dli.​​2015.​​20749​​/2015​​.2074​​9​.Sho​​rt​-St​​ories​​-Of​-P​​​remch​​and​_d​​jvu​.t​x ———. 1984. Baṛe ghar kī beṭī. In Mānsarovar. Ilāhābād, 142–51. Sarasvatī Pres vol 7. https​:/​/ar​​chive​​.org/​​detai​​ls​/Ma​​nsaro​​varPa​​rt7​-H​​indi-​​Munsh​​​iPrem​​chand​. ———. 2007. Baṛe ghar kī beṭī (The daughter of an important household). In Premcand kī sampūrṇ kahānīyāṁ, khaṇḍ 2, 475–81. Ilāhābād: Sumitr Prakāśan, Raheja, Gloria. 1988. The Poison in the Gift: Ritual, Prestation, and the Dominant Caste in a North Indian Village. Chicago: Chicago University Press. ———. 1995. ‘“Crying When She’s Born and Crying When She Goes Away’: Marriage and the Idiom of the Gift in Pahansu Song Performance.” In From the Margins of Hindu Marriage: Essays on Gender, Religion, and Culture, edited by Lindsay Harlan and Paul B. Courtright, 19–59. New York: Oxford University Press. Rajeswari, Sunder Rajan. 1993. Real and Imagined Women: Gender, Culture, and Postcolonialism. London: Routledge. Roy, Manisha. 1992. Bengali Women. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Sarla, Jagmohan. 2003. “Gulki Banno.” In Selected Hindi Short Stories: An Anthology, edited by Rajendra Awasthi, 71–88. New Delhi: Diamond Pocket Books. Scheffler, H.W. 1980. “Kin Classification and Social Structure in North India.” Contributions to Indian Sociology 14(2): 131–64. https​:/​/do​​i​.org​​/10​.1​​177​/0​​06996​​ 678​00​​14002​0 Sobti, Krishna. 1991. Mitro marjānī. Nayī Dillī: Rājakamal prakāśan. ———. 2001. Samay sargam. Nayī Dillī: Rājakamal prakāśan ———. 2007. Mitro marjānī (Tohellwithyou Mitro). Translated by Gita Rajan and Raji Narasimhan. New Delhi: Katha. ———. 2013. Samay sargam (The Music of Solitude). Translated by Vasudha Dalmia. New York: Harper Perennial. Sonpar, Sona. 2005. “Marriage in India: Clinical Issues.” Contemporary Family Therapy, 27(3): 301–13. Sudha, S., and Irudaya S. Rajan. 1999. “Female Demographic Disadvantage in India 1981-1991: Sex-Selective Abortion and Female Infanticide.” Development and Change: Special Issue on Gender, Poverty and Well- Being 30(3): 585–618. ———. 2003. “Persistent Daughter Disadvantage: What Do Estimated Sex Ratios at Birth and Sex Ratios of Child Mortality Risk Reveal?” Economic and Political Weekly 38(41): 4361–69. Trautmann, Thomas R. 1981. Dravidian Kinship. Berkeley: University of California Press. Tyagi Singh, Amita, and Patricia Uberoi. 1994. “Learning to ‘Adjust’: Conjugal Relations in Indian Popular Fiction.” Indian Journal of Gender Studies, Centre for Women’s Development Studies, 1(1): 93–120. Uberoi, Patricia, ed. 1996. Social Reform, Sexuality and the State. New Delhi: Sage Publications.

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———. 1998. “The Diaspora Comes Home: Disciplining Desire in DDLJ.” Contributions to Indian Sociology 32(2): 305–36. ———. 2003. “The Family in India: Beyond the Nuclear versus Joint Debate.” In Oxford India Companion to Sociology and Social Anthropology, edited by Veena Das, 1061–103. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 2006. Freedom and Destiny: Gender, Family, and Popular Culture in India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 2008. Aspirational Weddings: The Bridal Magazine and the Canons of “Decent Marriage.” In Patterns of Middle Class Consumption in India and China, edited by Christophe Jaffrelot and Peter Van der Veer, 230–62. New Delhi: Sage. Vatuk, Sylvia. 1975. “The Aging Woman in India. Self-perceptions and Changing Roles.” In Women in Contemporary India and South Asia, edited by A. de Souza, 142–63. New Delhi: Manohar Publications. ———. 1992. “Sexuality and the Middle-aged Woman in South Asia.” In In Her Prime: New Views of Middle-aged Women, edited by V. Kerns and J.K. Brown, 155–72. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. ———. 1995. “The Indian Woman in Later Life. Some Social and Cultural Considerations.” In Women’s Health in India: Risk and Vulnerability, edited by M. Das Gupta, L. C. Chen and T. N. Krishnan, 289–306. New Delhi: OUP. The World Bank. 1960–2017. Life expectancy at birth (total years)—India. https​:/​/da​​ ta​.wo​​rldba​​nk​.or​​g​/ind​​icato​​r​/SP.​​DYN​.L​​E00​.M​​A​.​IN?​​locat​​ions=​​IN

Chapter 4

Here Comes the (Bollywood) Bride Gender, Power, Family, and Patriarchy in Millennial India Andrew Howe

From ancient times, the various eras and types of Indian theater inextricably linked drama with dance, music, and song (Morcom 2007, 3). The first Indian sound movie, Alam Ara (1931), a period fantasy based on Joseph David’s popular Parsi theater tale, carried these cultural and dramatic and musical traditions forward into a new era (Chatterji 1999, 2–4). With the effects of British rule on the traditional Indian cultures, new instrumentation and new, “sometimes Western,” rhythms were introduced, bringing about the “sudden hybridization of traditional Indian tunes” (4). Esha Bhattacharya Chatterjee (2016, 54) advises that songs and dance create “an alternative narrative system that defines Hindi cinema.” She notes that “popular cinema also reinforces the impression that songs and dances are natural and logical expressions of emotion in a given situation with the” filmic narrative (54). Shakuntala Rao (2010, 1) claims that, for Bollywood films to be popular with modern Indian audiences, they must “have ‘an Indian touch’ even while exhibiting global influences,” and showcase traditional song and dance while underscoring the critical importance of family structure and traditional values. Even though Bollywood cinema demonstrates its distinctive Western influence, it can be inferred from various readings— Chatterjee, 2016; Dwyer, 2014; Joshi, 2015; Rao, 2010, for instance—that many Indian viewers see the fashions, brides, wedding trends, and lifestyles as depicted by the films as being authentically Indian. Possibly this is partly because Indians “adore their actors as icons so much so that their actions have a huge impact on the daily lives of Indian citizens” (Chatterjee 2016, 54). Thus, Bollywood movies, and the song-and-dance sequences depicted in the movies, “heavily shape the Indian societal structure in various ways” 53

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(54), not only for domestic Indian audiences but across the globe via the Indian diaspora. Historically, Indian films were subjected to active government censorship, which did not lessen until 1991 and the opening of the industry to foreign investment (Sharpe 2007, 37). Despite mandates about what could and could not be expressed, numerous films made between the pre-independence era through the relaxation of censorship in 1991 mounted potent social critiques about class, caste, and even gender. This privileging of social commentary along with entertainment, the focus on social commentary over entertainment, was known as Parallel Cinema1 and fit into a larger movement of realistic, “New Wave” filmmaking2 that swept across the world during the first several decades following World War II (Bondanella 2004, 119–38). Two such films produced in Bollywood bracketed the period between independence and the relaxation of censorship: the Indian drama films Neecha Nagar (1946) and Salaam Bombay! (1988) Both these films garnered international recognition, including awards received at the Cannes Film Festival (Kulkarni, 2018). Such expressionist films had to walk a fine line between the social realism of their chosen topic and a government concerned about the way India and its social problems would be perceived internationally (Ganti 2004, 194–97). Ironically, the relaxation of censorship in 1991 precipitated a decadelong decline in Parallel Cinema, as Bollywood gradually became more highly sexualized and associated with song-and-dance melodramas, often in upper-class settings and focused upon traditional aspects of social class and gender (Sharpe 2007, 39). The year 2001, however, saw a turn back toward Parallel Cinema and a refocus upon social problems—including analyses of gender and generational norms in regard to marriage (Gopal 2012, 9–10). Increasingly, the practices of courtship, politics of family merger, and dynamics of marital ritual began to take center stage, particularly in Bollywood films that enjoyed international success (15, 61). This transition culminated in the Bollywood musical Bride and Prejudice (2004)—the modern adaptation of Jane Austin’s novel, Pride and Prejudice (1883) (Krämer 2016, 187–90)— which along with the Oscar-winning drama/crime film Slumdog Millionaire (2008) was filmed largely in the English language, hence carrying Bollywood to new international audiences (McInnes 2009). This chapter centers on three films released during the millennial move back to social commentary, each one typifying a different approach to new Bollywood filmmaking. I explore these films as symptomatic of a divergence in Millennial Bollywood featuring different depictions of how women become trapped in, but learn to survive despite pre-ordained, oppressive gender and family structures. I also examine the cultural phenomenon of marriage, specifically the role of the bride, in Indian culture, which although

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far from monotypic is often portrayed cinematically within a comparatively narrow range. Specific themes will be addressed, in particular as they diverge from Western practices, including the role of family in supervising courtship and brokering socially advantageous matches; traditional domestic values existing in tension with contemporary views of gendered empowerment; and the importance of ornate, often multi-day wedding rituals that bring together an extended family that often spans several continents. The first film: The Indian romance thriller Humraaz (2002), a very loose rendering of Alfred Hitchcock’s Dial M for Murder (1954), involves a love triangle and the politics of family and social class in facilitating loveless unions. Ultimately, the message here is one of conservative gender politics, with the soap opera elements overwhelming any semblance of sustained social critique, making this film emblematic of the desire to maintain the escapist approach of the 1990s cinema while introducing small doses of subtle criticism. The second film: The Indian drama Daman: A Victim of Marital Violence (2001), which features a woman forced into marriage with a physically and emotionally abusive man, is quite pungent in its social critique. Even though this film was financed and distributed by the Indian government, it is highly exaggerated in its sensationalism, and also suffers from the Bollywood tendency to churn out scenes as quickly as possible. Nevertheless, this film was symptomatic of a desire to shine a harsh light on patriarchy, even if the result was so outlandish that the film devolves into caricature. The third film: The Indian drama Monsoon Wedding (2001), evidences Bollywood cinema at its finest. This film is visually sumptuous but does not undercut the gravity of its weighty subject matter (arranged marriages, horrific family secrets, patriarchy) with exaggerated depictions or song-anddance numbers. Along with Lagaan (2001), a hugely successful, anti-colonial film released just a few months prior, Monsoon Wedding helped to establish Bollywood not only as a cinema of extreme escapism but one that could look unflinchingly at social problems in rich and nuanced ways. In a film industry that is still mired in chauvinism (Bhattacharya 2017), it is not too surprising that two of these three films were directed by women. BRIDES IN INDIAN SOCIETY India is one of the most diverse nations on earth: culturally, religiously, linguistically. Before rule was consolidated under British colonialism during the 1850s, the subcontinent was fractured into numerous city-states and principalities (Ludden 2002, 133). Despite 175 years of singular identity—100 years under British governance and over 70 years of statehood following

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the 1947 independence—India is still incredibly diverse when it comes to beliefs, attitudes, and rituals (42). This truth is re-inscribed into the position of the bride and her placement within society. The gamut of historical bridal practices in India runs from sati, a ritual of mandatory widow self-immolation banned in the nineteenth century, to women in contemporary Indian business and politics who choose career over marriage (Uberoi 2006, 252). Many of the modern tensions regarding the empowerment of women in making their own marital choices involve social class, with those who live in rural areas mostly left behind in the globalization of India’s economy, largely supporting more traditional forms of arranged marriage (43). As Sangita Gopal (2012, 3) points out, the evolution of the Bollywood industry has in the main reflected trends involving urbanization and globalization, as well as the growth of the middle class. Bridal rituals in Indian society hinge around families coming together and the preservation of cultural and patriarchal norms, most notably in the form of elders who create the perfect match (Uberoi 2006, 48). Since 2000, cinematic depictions of marital unions have shifted somewhat—despite maintaining some of these patriarchal ideas—toward the ascendancy of middle-class values and the negotiation of global Indian identity through extended families that span multiple continents (Gopal 2012, 9–10). It should be pointed out that Bollywood is only one of numerous Indian cinemas, many of them strictly regional, situated throughout the subcontinent. Bollywood stands as a sort of lingua franca, its films shown not just in Punjab, Bengal, and other Indian regions, but also in diaspora communities around the world (62–65). As Indian weddings are as much about families combining as couples, in many cases the nuptials will be public, ornate, and spread over several days (Blanchard, 2019). Rituals, both public and restricted to the family, are often scheduled, each conveying symbolic meaning (Blanchard 2019). At a pre-wedding party called the sangeet, the bride’s family performs a traditional song to welcome the groom and his kin (Blanchard 2019). The pre-marital and marital rituals are most often hosted and paid for by the bride’s family, although that changes for the post-wedding ceremonies as she is now considered part of her husband’s household (Blanchard 2019). Most of these rituals are open to male and female, young and old alike, although one exception is the mehndi, where female relatives and friends of the bride use henna to paint designs on her hands and feet while dispensing marital advice (Callaway, 2019). Although this ceremony is most associated with the subcontinent, it is also practiced throughout various portions of the Middle East (“Henna Party,” 2019). Other aspects of symbolism can be found in the bridal costumes, jewelry, and makeup. Red dresses, often edged or decorated in gold, symbolize the fertility that both families hope will result from the

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union (Mackey and Bose, 2018). Bracelets, bangles, and earrings symbolize wealth and prosperity, as does the mangalasutra, a beaded necklace given to the bride by her groom (Das 2019). Finally, after the marriage itself has been performed, the groom applies sindoor dye to the part in his bride’s hair, signifying that she is now a married woman (Mackey and Bose, 2018). During the nuptial ceremonies, many brides wear an amulet that rests on the forehead just below the hairline. This amulet, known as the maang tikka, represents the third eye chakra and connection to the soul (Bindi-Meaning, 2013). It also anticipates the bindi dot that most women living in traditional households will apply between their eyes every day for the rest of their lives, signifying their status as married (Das, 2018). The marriage rite itself is no less ornate and designed to highlight both the key nature of familial wisdom and the pre-eminence of the groom (Mackey and Bose, 2018). The wedding takes place under an awning called a mandap, often decorated with marigolds and fabrics. The four supports for this structure represent the four parents, or at least the matriarch and patriarch of each family (“Mandap Ceremony,” 2019). The message is clear: tradition, wisdom, and family history are the pillars of a successful marriage, and parents know best. Other aspects of the wedding also reflect traditional patriarchy. A fire is lit, and offerings—including fruits and vegetables—are placed around the fire (Mackey and Bose, 2018). After an exchange of floral garlands, which along with the offerings signify fertility and plenty, the bride’s family gives her rice to throw into the fire (Mackey and Bose, 2018). Finally, in the saptapadi ceremony, the couple’s tunics are tied together, and the bride follows her husband as they make seven complete circuits around the fire, each one representative of a different blessing for their union (Urban Mira, 2013). The fact that the bride follows the groom is symbolic; he will be the leader of their new household. The period of economic liberalization initiated in the early 1990s impacted many levels of Indian society (Gopal 2012, 9–10). Marital rituals and the manner in which they have been depicted in Bollywood have similarly evolved, increasingly linked to three changes: the growth of the middle class; increases in gender equality in urban centers, and pushback against such change from more rural areas; and, the transition of the Indian polity into a global entity following the maturity of the Indian diaspora (Ludden 2002, 197, 207; Gopal 2012, 62). Since the turn of the millennium, many Bollywood films have been adept at presenting these tensions. Kush Varia (2012) suggests that one aspect of bridal representation in Bollywood hinges on a piecemeal acceptance of globalization: In romances set in the present day, the romantic heroine often wears Western clothing but has traditional values and devotion to her family and this may

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sometimes be called upon to bring the romantic hero into line, suggesting that she is still entrusted with the upholding of cultural values. (63)

The bride may be a professional woman who wears business suits and holds a high-powered job, but once she dons her bridal gown and adorns herself with the nuptial accouterments, there is a danger that she will cleave to family and tradition and will be reduced, inevitably, to a more traditional gender role (Gopal 2012, 16–18). It should also be pointed out that although many of the wedding rituals are performed across social classes, Bollywood films tend to give a somewhat skewed view of these ceremonies. Many Indians live in poverty, facing associated problems such as unemployment, poor nutrition, and substandard healthcare (Kaur 2013). Even in Parallel Cinema, visions of wedding ceremonies tend to be escapist fare, with marital unions between those from the middle class and those from the upper class. As Rachel Dwyer (2014) notes: Many urban, middle-class Indians say that caste is unimportant. This is because this group lives in modern cities that allow caste to be ignored, at least within their social group, where they are all likely to be upper-caste, coming from the three upper caste groups which make up a small proportion of the Indian population but which form almost all of the new middle-classes. (202)

Post-Millennial Bollywood has thus walked a fine and some would say schizophrenic line. On the one hand, the institution has tended to champion progressive values of tolerance and inclusion, most notably when it comes to the role of women facing the prospect of marriage and the continued erosion of the traditional caste system. On the other hand, these films have continued to promote the pre-eminence of family and tradition, in so doing asserting the importance of the group over the individual in the marital contract, at least when it comes to the bride. Humraaz (2002) On the surface, if not for the fact that it is a remake of The Perfect Murder (1998), and thus distally connected to Alfred Hitchcock’s Dial M for Murder (1954), Humraaz might seem like just another film. Indeed, although it was quite successful at the time of its release, it has not stood out in subsequent evaluations of the era and very little criticism has been devoted to it. However, in many ways, Humraaz nicely reflects the tension between the traditional and the modern that played out in India during this time period. This distinction is seen not only in the modern song-and-dance numbers that compete with, although increasingly are replaced by, more traditional forms

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as the narrative progresses but most notably in the gender politics that are evident. In some ways, traditional strains of upward social mobility and parental wisdom are validated. There is a more subversive gender politics at play, one with distinctly Hitchcockian roots. Humraaz thus stands as an example of sexual and stylistic liberalization while staying largely within a traditional narrative formula, albeit one with surprising and intriguing departures. In this film, Raj Singhania is a successful industrialist and one of the wealthiest men in India. He is also a bachelor, with no need to marry for social mobility. As he tells a friend: “I want to marry a girl of character.” During a trip on a cruise line he has recently acquired, he notices Priya, a middle-class musical troupe performer who is in love with her coworker, Karan. She dreams of an engagement party where both their families sanction the union. In truth, Priya’s parents are concerned about her relationship with Karan, who they view as a schemer offering no social advancement. Their assessment is proven correct when Karan murders a rival in order that his troupe gets chosen to perform on the cruise. Raj meets Priya aboard the ship, noticing her in what was, for the time, one of the more sexually charged dances featured in Bollywood. He sweeps her off her feet and the couple progress quickly toward marriage. There are several pre-marriage rituals that Priya must engage in before she officially becomes Raj’s bride. When it comes to marriage, Humraaz is distinctly modern in that this union is not arranged, at least not by her parents. Both families still need to sanction the proceedings though, and after their courtship runs its course onboard ship, Raj and Priya slowly begin to engage in the rituals that signify the public joining of their households. They descend a staircase together in front of gathered friends at Priya’s birthday party, and there is a public dance where she is confronted with numerous single males, ceremoniously choosing Raj. According to Varia (2102) staircases are nearly always used symbolically in Bollywood films that involve marriage, as courtship rituals constitute some of the few moments when class mobility is sanctioned (75). Priya is now ready to meet Raj’s family, who embrace her despite her humble origins. At the sangeet, Priya is resplendent in a traditional blue outfit with gold embroidery. She is adorned with jewelry, including earrings, maang tikka forehead amulet, and mangalasutra necklace. Unlike the courtship ceremonies previously depicted in the film, this one involves families coming together, and as such the dance features the two lovers backed by relatives of the same gender, in essence a public and festive version of “giving away the bride.” Priya and Raj also play a ritual game where she is blindfolded and must, while partially guided by her female posse, locate him among a roomful of other males. The matriarch of Raj’s family then dispenses advice, telling Priya: “Make him proud, carry forth the family.” Raj is then instructed:

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“When your bride is cross, woo her with love.” Even though Humraaz was more gender subversive than many of the “entertainment first” films of the millennial period, the traditional gender dichotomy is evident in this advice. Priya has a job to do, and that is to produce an heir, while Raj is counseled to be indulgent of her moods. All of these bridal rituals are socially conservative in nature, privileging the power of the family unit and the subservience of the bride to the groom. These rituals, however, are also about inclusion, about people from different social strata coming together. There are other aspects of inclusion evident in the film, including religion. Although most of the characters are no doubt Hindu, Sikh and Catholic characters are also present in the narrative. After this “union of the families” ceremony, there are still many rituals that Priya and Raj must complete. They culminate in the saptapadi under a traditional mandap, their tunics linked together as he leads her around the fire. She is absolutely festooned with jewelry, including numerous rings and bangles to denote his economic status, and with traditional henna designs painted onto her hands and feet. Priya also wears a veil as she follows her new husband around the fire. Food offerings have been strategically placed under the mandap, underscoring the expectation that an heir should be produced soon. After the saptapadi, Priya’s bridal duties are not complete, and she cooks a ceremonial dessert to feed to Raj’s grandmother, symbolizing the sweetness that she will bring into his life. Finally, presumably a few days later, the couple hosts a party where they are officially introduced to Raj’s greater social and business circles. The press is present to document this event, and naturally there is a ritual song and dance that solidifies the bride’s full acceptance into her husband’s extended community. As it turns out, the courtship was a con, at least from Priya’s perspective. Karan actively sought the singing engagement on the cruise line as he suspected Raj might fall in love with Priya. On their wedding night, she tells Raj that she has taken a vow of celibacy for a month, and the plan is to accuse him of impotence at the end of that time, filing for divorce and getting millions in a subsequent settlement. Intriguing gender politics follow in the wake of this plot development, and at one point, instead of reporting Karan to the police—and true to both of its progenitor films—Raj enlists Karan to kill Priya. Naturally, as a Bollywood film, Humraaz ends happily. Priya realizes that she really does love Raj, he forgives her, and the two of them vanquish Karan and a group of thugs he has enlisted. She is the one to kill her former lover, shooting him a split second before he is set to kill Raj. Priya is a modern bride, comfortable with her sexuality, capable of successfully running a con, and even proficient in firearms. One must wonder what her place will be moving forward, as Raj goes back to work as a successful businessman.

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Daman (2001) Daman—occasionally referenced in English by its full title, Daman: A Victim of Marital Violence—was released the same year as Monsoon Wedding, and as a social problem film was greatly eclipsed by the latter. Although there are many good reasons for that—the writing and acting are exaggerated to the point of absurdity—the film is nonetheless just as interesting for the sake of analysis, in large part due to a focus upon a bridal weekend destroyed by violent patriarchy. The term “daman” derives from the Hindi word for “domination” (Rad 2016, 1320); and the film constitutes a long-term narrative focused upon an abusive relationship, largely told in a series of flashbacks years after Durga’s wedding to Sanjay Saikia. In order to save herself and her daughter from his violent tendencies, she eventually flees to an island, telling her story to a woman she finds there. Although this individual is sympathetic, welcoming the two women into her household, she initially assumes that Durga is a widow, as why else would she and her daughter appear so far from home without their husband/father? In one sense, the flashbacks are Durga’s attempts to justify to a couple of different individuals—including a police officer who recognizes her as a runaway wife—why she made the culturally frowned-upon decision to leave her husband. An extended scene of her bridal procession, marital rites, and wedding night constitute the first flashback. As the story unfolds, Durga is taken from her rural village to the city and, eventually, the Saikia household. Her celebratory journey is intercut with the anger and chaos that reigns in his domestic space, and the viewer is treated to a preview of her fate: she will soon be married to a volatile, aggressive, and violent man. There are also class issues at play. Durga derives from a lower class, and Sanjay is not happy about that fact and upbraids his parents. A farewell dance takes place at the former’s village, which, from what can be seen, features only buildings with thatched roofs. These dwellings stand in direct contrast to the room in which Sanjay yells at his parents, clearly a living room or other shared space in an upper-middle-class domicile. The villagers sending off their relative and friend are singing and dancing in unison, the entire village coming together in celebration for what they perceive to be a festive event. Durga is led to a boat for the trip to the big city, resplendent in an ornate, patterned pink outfit with partial veil, hair braided with tiny beads, a necklace containing a family symbol, gold earrings, a maang tikka, and ornate face makeup. Clearly, her family has spent much time and hard-earned capital to outfit her for the wedding. The overt focus on female beauty via adornment is not the only aspect where traditional patriarchy intrudes into the festivities. Durga is also placed inside a covered litter, symbolic of not only the confinement she will soon face but the expectation that women should be

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passive. She is not allowed to walk the short distance to the boat, although she will soon be subjected to much more troubling aspects of patriarchy. The celebratory unity of the traditional village is contrasted with the unhappiness of the modern household. When he first appears in the film, Sanjay is in a powerful rage, ripping down the ubiquitous marigolds that hang in celebration around his home, the orange flowers one of the few aspects of similarity between her village and his domicile. Sanjay moves on to throwing and breaking numerous household items, hyperventilating as his parents sit on the couch, stunned. His younger brother intervenes when Sanjay begins to turn his attack on their father, and his rage only abates when it is pointed out that the wedding guests outside, awaiting Durga’s arrival, might hear him. Sanjay tries to convince his brother to replace him as groom, and the latter indicts his parents, the father for never holding his older brother accountable, the mother for sacrificing an innocent young woman in an attempt at reforming Sanjay. The narrative acrimony is underscored by the formal camera techniques used in this scene. Unlike the long, steady shots employed in the village celebration, the drama playing out in the Saikia living room is presented with claustrophobic medium shots, zooms that push in way too close, sloppy whip-pans that follow the action, camera tilts, a wobbly handheld camera, and shots that are just a bit out of focus. This scene is not one of tranquility, happiness, and community, as one tends to observe in Bollywood marriage plots. Family politics are always in evidence in Bollywood, much as they surely are in all Indian weddings. However, the violence here is striking, leading the viewer to begin dreading the moment where the marital rituals are over and Durga enters her bridal bed, alone with Sanjay for the first time and vulnerable to his whims. Daman rips the veil off weddings, pointing to the fact that in arranged marriages, one or perhaps both parties are being forced into the union against their will. Sanjay does not want to get married, at one point telling his family: “I’m telling you that a woman divides the family!” Durga does seek the marriage, but that sentiment only lasts until she is alone with Sanjay and realizes his true nature. Arranged marriages are more about social advancement than compatibility and equality, and in a strongly patriarchal society, women are all the more vulnerable. After they are wed, Sanjay paces around their bridal bed like a predatory animal, viscerally crunching underfoot marigolds (the flower symbol for a long and happy and prosperous marriage) that have fallen onto the floor. Durga sits petrified, realizing that the beauty and glory of the event is over, and that she has, in essence, been sold off to a dangerous man. With a look of anger on his face, Sanjay ducks through the flowers that hang from the canopy and sits on the bed, an act of invasion that presages the violence that she will be subjected to moving forward. This scene is also shot with an unsteady handheld camera, furthering the implied violence. Sanjay

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smells Durga, then grabs her by the chin with one hand and the back of her head with the other, turning her face this way then that while proclaiming: “Beautiful. Very beautiful.” He becomes briefly childlike before turning to cruelty when she will not acquiesce to his demand for a hug, lighting a match, extinguishing it on her cheek, and stating: “I don’t want all this drama! I hate marriage.” He then storms out, turning to hit her when she tries to follow him. If there was still any doubt, Durga now realizes that the honeymoon is fully and completely over. A short time later, she lies contemplatively in bed surrounded by rose petals while her husband, in an intercut scene, consorts with a prostitute. The next morning, she will begin a daily routine of humiliation and abuse that will last until she gathers up the courage to leave and try and forge a better life for herself and her daughter. Jahnavi Patel (2019) points out that sexism in Bollywood films is not an issue that has been newly discovered, that, in realty, there is still a large portion of Indian traditions that revolve around arranged marriages and the misogynistic perspective of women. The acting in Daman is cartoonish, and the narrative—especially the actions and plot points involving Sanjay—is quite extreme. Nevertheless, this film is brave in that it suggests that parents do not always know best and that when treated like property—even only ritualistically—brides are vulnerable in that they end up in the husband’s household. Furthermore, marriages that are arranged pair individuals who know very little about one another. Obviously, most brides will not end up married to a Sanjay, but the traditional processes of arranged marriage conspire to strand women far from their established support networks, making them vulnerable to the temperaments and desires of men they barely know. For these reasons, Daman is a courageous film indeed and an important one demonstrating that, coming only ten years after the adoption of neoliberal economic policies, change was afoot in Indian society. The film was cosponsored by the Department of Family Welfare and a government concerned with an increasingly bifurcated economy resulting in increased migration by young men from poverty-stricken rural regions to, and eventually unemployment in, major cities, leading to increases in a variety of criminal activities, including violence against women (Sarkar 2016, 282–83). Monsoon Wedding (2001) Monsoon Wedding was at the time of its release, and continues to be, much more renowned and critically acclaimed than the other two films analyzed in this chapter. Much as with Humraaz and Daman, this film is very much a cultural product of its era. In this case, the critical contextual resonance lies with the international dimensions of such weddings. By the end of the twentieth century, the subcontinental diaspora was now well in the past, with family

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members from far-flung global communities—known as NRIs (non-resident Indians)—now having sufficient economic footing to travel back to India for such marital gatherings (Gopal 2012, 47). In this film, the wedding takes place in Delhi, although cousins and other relatives have come from Texas, Australia, and Oman. The film itself is a metaphor for not only globalization but also India’s economic ascendancy within the contemporary world. As Jenny Sharpe (2007) notes, the wedding is not the real play: “[Monsoon Wedding] uses a lavish Punjabi wedding as an occasion for staging the reunion of family members who are scattered across the globe” (70). The film focuses on the final few days before the wedding, including both preparations for the festivities and the complex social interactions that take place. New and old acquaintances come together, and social and economic pecking orders are reevaluated. Family divisions are exposed, and painful secrets come to life, threatening the unity of the extended family. The marriage in Monsoon Wedding is truly arranged, with Aditi and Hemant (the bride and groom) meeting for the first time only a few weeks before the event. Unlike Humraaz, which moves from ritual to ritual through the middle third of the film, and unlike Daman, which has a sustained focus on the wedding rituals but only in flashback, Monsoon Wedding focuses more on the preparation and the social politics that underpin these efforts. Slowly but surely, however, the bridal rituals intrude. Aditi is quite conflicted about her upcoming nuptials. She has allowed her family to arrange a marriage with Hemant, an American whom she knows very little about. She still harbors feelings for Vikram, her boss, and the two even sleep together a few days before the wedding. Aditi’s father, Lalit, is also conflicted. He wants to put on the best possible wedding for his daughter, although his designs are largely selfish in that the more opulent the wedding, the greater his perceived status will be among the global family. In order to achieve these goals, he is forced to borrow money from several sources, including Tej, his brother-inlaw from the United States. As is later established, Tej is a pedophile, committing crimes of which the family leaders have previously been unaware or wantonly ignored. Lalit realizes that his immediate familial status is increased with a show of wealth, and much of the film focuses upon the labor and social capital that goes into supporting the marital rituals. As is often the case in Bollywood depictions of marriage, marigolds are everywhere. It is apropos that this flower should play such a large role in a film focused upon India’s placement within globalism, as the strain of the flower so omnipresent in Indian bridal rituals originated in Mexico and was actually introduced into India, and possibly as late as the 1600s (Vikram Doctor, 2017). These flowers appear in just about every scene in Monsoon Wedding. In the first ritual, Aditi and Hemant ceremoniously swap rings and feed each other. Next, there is a

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henna decorating party where the women sing to Aditi about different types of prospective husbands. Eventually, the men show up to crash the party and are told they must leave, although a few do stay, changing the dynamic of the ritual into a much more solemn affair. The night before the wedding, the extended family meets again for dinner and drinks. The young people dance, and the older generation discusses future pairings, and particularly a prospective union between two of Aditi’s cousins, one from Delhi and the other from Oman. The morning of the wedding, Aditi is photographed surrounded by her relations. The women appear in traditional red and gold, the men in white tunics with pink head coverings. This is the last time that Aditi will appear as a member of her own family. She is a bride, and in a few hours will be transferred over to the family of her husband following the saptapadi ceremony. Before she does, though, Tej’s crimes come to light, and Lalit makes the decision to send him home just prior to the marriage ceremony, a difficult choice given that this is his brother-in-law and a man who is helping pay for the wedding. As Sharpe (2007) points out, this action indicates that the gender politics in Monsoon Wedding do not conform to that of traditional Bollywood, even in the midst of ritual after ritual where the male is privileged: Lalit’s decision demonstrates that the strength of the Indian family lies in a male head of household who respects all of its members’ needs over his own desire to save face in public. The torrential rain represents not only the freeing of women’s sexual desire through a disengagement of male honor from women’s virginity, but also a refusal to sacrifice women in the name of family honor. Rather than reaffirming traditional patriarchal values through the ruse of modernity . . . Monsoon Wedding reworks those values for the modern Indian family. (49)

In Monsoon Wedding, as the rains starts pouring down following Tej’s eviction, the group heads to the wedding in the bridal processional. The monsoon has arrived, its cleansing powers sanctifying a new iteration of the global family, one that has seen traditional and economic patriarchy cast out. True, the culture is still one of pronounced patriarchy, but changes are in evidence. A final cousin shows up fresh from the airport, still in his travel clothing. This is a Bollywood film, and true to form, he is accepted with open arms. No need to change into traditional clothing; he is welcome to participate in the ceremony as is. The bride and groom exchange garlands and the family come together in unison, at least for this evening. As Sharpe (2007, 38) notes, the film marries traditional marriage rites with the modern technologies of communication and transportation that have

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allowed the global family to not only keep in touch with one other but also congregate for such an occasion: Monsoon Wedding presents the contradictions of everyday life that an opening of India to globalization has introduced. The film destroys any lingering image of a nation mired in some premodern space as a traditional land with ancient customs and beliefs. It reveals a postmodern world in which cell phones and e-mail coexist with age-old rituals. (38)

The celebration also puts aside all tensions and problems, at least momentarily. Aditi’s wedding is an excuse to come together and reformulate the global family, who sway together in celebratory union, centered around the nuptial couple. In the end, clips of Aditi during the saptapadi are intercut with the credits. She is veiled, decorated with Hemant’s garland, and is wearing a maang tikka. Aditi offers a prayer and throws rice into the fire. Her tunic is then linked to Hemant’s, and the couple walks around the fire as family members shower them with flower petals. A much better film than Humraaz, the positivity of the ending is undercut very subtly by how Hemant and Aditi react to this ritual. He looks happy, whereas there is a slight look of concern on her face. She is engaging in the final marital ritual; there is no going back. Aditi is marrying a man who is, in essence, a stranger to her. Regardless of who Hemant turns out to be, her (Aditi’s) life will never be the same. In large part, Monsoon Wedding made a mark internationally as it was an early example of the increased globalization of Bollywood during a time when the economic and cultural ascendancy of the diaspora was beginning to take center stage (Singh, 2019). The film was largely financed with money from Hollywood, and was distributed by USA Films, a subsidiary of Universal Pictures (IMDB, 2019). Other “international” Bollywood films that would follow in short order—both financed through studios in Great Britain— included Bride and Prejudice (2004), also focused on courtship and marital rituals, and Slumdog Millionaire (2008), which won Best Picture at the 81st Academy Awards. All three films, particularly Monsoon Wedding (2001) and Bride and Prejudice (2004), were criticized for reducing Bollywood cinema to stereotypes. The criticism offered by Priya Joshi (2015) is particularly pointed, with the assertion that Mira Nair’s film Monsoon Wedding (2001): “pilfered aspects of the Bombay industry’s formula, sterilized it, peopled it with Delhi’s consumerist elites, and purveyed the confection with hitherto unimaginable success to multiplex audiences in the United States” (92). Monsoon Wedding may trade in certain stereotypes, but it cannot be denied that it took a frank look at the tensions that exist in contemporary India, between the traditional and the modern, between subcontinental Indians and

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their global relations, and between economic modalities predicated upon rigid class structures and those promoting greater fluidity. Since the resurgence of Parallel Cinema in the early 2000s, the role of women and their placement within society as bridal objects have become a focal point for these various tensions. Varia (2012) points out that this distinction is far from the reality across the subcontinent, where sons have historically been privileged and daughters viewed as a financial strain (61). Such films in general, and Nair’s Monsoon Wedding in particular, may thus have been somewhat configured for global audiences, but it is nonetheless one of the most perceptive Bollywood films in recent history in that it reflects how the figure of the bride and the meaning of the marital rituals in which she engages have evolved concatenate with the rise of the middle class and the globalization of middleclass families. CONCLUSION Since it achieved nation status following World War II, India has been conflicted when it comes to the role of women in society. The world’s first two democratically elected female prime ministers/presidents were both from the subcontinent: Sirimavo Bandaranaike (Ceylon) in 1960 and Indira Gandhi (India) in 1966 (Nix, 2018). Within the Bollywood industry, female filmmakers, such as Nair, and actors, such as Aishwarya Rai, have become some of the most powerful and influential figures (Kulkarni, 2018; Gopal 2012, 1). In many ways, though, large swaths of Indian society remain beholden to traditional forms of patriarchy (Uberoi 2006, 8–9). There are significant tensions that exist between rural and urban populations, with specific problems occurring when workers from the former come to the latter searching for employment, bringing pre-conceived notions of gender hierarchy to urban centers (Sarkar 2016, 282–83). When compounded by unemployment and vast economic disparity, some of this chauvinism has resulted in high-profile sexual assaults perpetrated by groups of young men, cases that have troubled a nation seeking greater recognition on the global stage (283). Specific to Bollywood, many films produced after the turn of the millennium have focused with increasing clarity and bravery upon the gender imbalance plaguing Indian society, as well as an international NRI community that has increasingly brought different ideas and values to the weddings that occasionally serve to congregate extended families (Gopal 2012, 47). There are, of course, blind spots in this return of a Parallel Cinema. Despite such areas for future focus, the impact of this return to socially conscious filmmaking is one of gender and class leveling. The song-and-dance element may have receded somewhat with the resurgence of Parallel Cinema, but such features are still

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employed as they indicate that everyone is included as the bride participates in traditional rituals, but within a world where she has more ability than ever before to fashion her own life. Even though gender issues may be intrinsically intertwined with and inseparable from India’s traditions and culture, as the films here show, Bollywood is indeed a harbinger of social change.

NOTES 1. Parallel cinema is a blanket term for Indian cinema that use social realism as opposed to adhering to the convention’s mainstream commercial cinema and is usually government-funded (S.J. 2017; Srinivasan 2012). The movement began when a few filmmakers chose to focus more on social messages than on historical and mythological subjects (Gokulsing and Dissanayake 2004, 17–18). 2. Indian New Wave cinema is a complicated movement that has “no clear beginning and end, and no defined aesthetics or issues” (Chowdhary 2015).

REFERENCES Alam Ara. 1931. Movie, directed by Ardeshir Irani, written by Joseph David Penkar Munshi Zahir. British India: Imperial Movietone. Bhattacharya, Ananya. 2017. “After Analyzing 4,000 Films, Researchers Confirm that Bollywood Movies are Still Crazy Sexist.” Quartz India, October 23. https​:/​/ qz​​.com/​​india​​/1104​​106​/b​​ollyw​​ood​-h​​as​-a-​​very-​​real-​​gende​​r​-pro​​blem-​​an​-an​​alysi​​s​-of​ -​​4000-​​films​​-reve​​al/ “Bindi-Meaning and Significance of the ‘Dot’ on Forehead.” 2013. Sanskriti magazine, November 25. https​:/​/ww​​w​.san​​skrit​​imaga​​zine.​​com​/c​​ultur​​e​/bin​​di​-me​​aning​​ -and-​​signi​​fican​​ce​-of​​-t​he-​​dot​-o​​n​-for​​ehead​ Blanchard, Justine Lorelle. 2019. “What to Expect at an Indian Wedding.” The Knot. https​:/​/ww​​w​.the​​knot.​​com​/c​​onten​​t​/hin​​du​-we​​ddi​ng​​-gues​​t​-qa Bondanella, Peter. 2004. “From Italian Neorealism to the Golden Age of Cinecitta.” In European Cinema, edited by Elizabeth Ezra, 119–38, 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bride and Prejudice. 2004. Movie, directed by Gurinder Chadha (2004). Montreal, Canada; Alliance Films (2005). DVD. Calloway, Nina. 2019. “Bridal Henna Party.” The Spruce, November 10. https​:/​/ww​​ w​.the​​spruc​​e​.com​​/brid​​al​-he​​nna​-p​​a​rty-​​34896​​31 Chatterjee, Esha Bhattacharya. 2016. “Contemporary Bollywood Dance: Analyzing It Through the Interplay of Social Forces.” International Journal of Scientific and Research Publications, 6(6): 54–60. Chatterji, Shoma A. 1999. “The Culture Specific use of sound in India cinema.” Conference presentation, international Symposium on Sound in Cinema, April 15–18. http://filmsound​.org​/india/

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Chowdhary, Devayush. 2015. “The ‘New’ Indian New Wave.” The Citizen, April 26. https​:/​/ww​​w​.the​​citiz​​en​.in​​/inde​​x​.php​​/News​​Detai​​l​/ind​​ex​/he​​-New-​​​India​​n​-New​​ -Wave​ Daman: A Victim of Marital Violence. 2001. Movie, directed and written by Kalpana Lajmi, produced by Hrishikesh Mukherjee, starring Raveena Tandon, Sayaji Shinde, and Sanjay Suri. Mumbai, India; Video Sound. DVD. Das, Subhamoy. 2018. “Bindi: The Great Indian Forehead Art,” June 12. https​:/​/ww​​ w​.lea​​rnrel​​igion​​s​.com​​/bind​​i​-the​​-grea​​t​-ind​​ian​-f​​orehe​​​ad​-ar​​t​-177​​0089. ———. 2019. “The Mangalsutra Necklace: Sacred Symbol of Love and Marriage,” February 24. https​:/​/ww​​w​.lea​​rnrel​​igion​​s​.com​​/the-​​manga​​lsutr​​a​-nec​​k​lace​​-1770​​471 Dial M for Murder. 1954. Movie, directed and produced by Alfred Hitchcock, screenplay by Frederick Knott. Burbank, CA: Warner Bros. Dwyer, Rachel. 2014. Bollywood’s India: Hindi Cinema as a Guide to Contemporary India. London: Reaktion Books. Ganti, Tejaswini. 2004. Bollywood: A Guidebook to Popular Hindi Cinema. 2nd ed. New York: Routledge. Gokulsing, K. Moti, and Wimal Dissanayake. 2004. Indian Popular Cinema: A Narrative of Cultural Change. 2nd ed. Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire, UK: Trentham Books. Gopal, Sangita. 2012. Conjugations: Marriage and Form in New Bollywood Cinema. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. “Henna Party.” 2019. Turkish Culture Portal. http:​/​/www​​.turk​​ishcu​​lture​​.org/​​lifes​​tyles​​ /cere​​monie​​s​/hen​​n​a​-pa​​rty​-5​​39 Humraaz. 2002. Movie, directed by Abbas-Mustan, produced by Ganesh Jain, written by Shiraz Ahmed. Mumbai, India: Eros International (2006). DVD. IMDB. 2019. Monsoon Wedding. https://www​.imdb​.com​/title​/tt0265343 Joshi, Priya. 2015. Bollywood’s India: A Public Fantasy. New York: Columbia University Press. Kaur, Ramandeep. 2013. “Major Issues in India.” Maps of India, updated August 27, 2019. https​:/​/ww​​w​.map​​sofin​​dia​.c​​om​/my​​-indi​​a​/ind​​ia​/ma​​jor​-i​​​ssues​​-in​-i​​ndia Krämer, Lucia. 2016. Bollywood in Britain: Cinema, Brand, Discursive Complex. London, UK; Bloomsbury, NY: Bloomsbury Academic. Kulkarni, Vishwas. 2018. “The Uncomfortable Truth About Indian Cinema.” N Arts&Culture, The National, September 16. https​:/​/ww​​w​.the​​natio​​nal​.a​​e​/art​​s​-cul​​ ture/​​film/​​the​-u​​ncomf​​ortab​​le​-tr​​uth​-a​​bout-​​ind​ia​​n​-cin​​ema​-1​​.7708​​85 Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India. 2001. Movie, directed and written by Ashutosh Gowariker. Mumbai, Maharashtra: Aamir Khan Productions. Ludden, David. 2002. India and South Asia: A Short History. London: Oneworld Publications. Mackey, Jaimie, and Sharbari Bose. 2018. “12 Hindu Wedding Ceremony Rituals and Traditions, Explained.” Brides, April 23. https​:/​/ww​​w​.bri​​des​.c​​om​/st​​ory​/h​​indu-​​ weddi​​​ng​-ce​​remon​y McInnes. Paul. 2009. “How Slumdog Millionaire is changing filmmaking in India.” The Guardian, June 4. https​:/​/ww​​w​.the​​guard​​ian​.c​​om​/fi​​lm​/20​​09​/ju​​n​/04/​​slumd​​og​-mi​​​ llion​​aire-​​india​

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“Mandap Ceremony.” 2019. Cultural India. http:​/​/www​​.cult​​urali​​ndia.​​net​/w​​eddin​​gs​/ we​​dding​​-ritu​​als​/m​​andap​​​-cere​​mony.​​html Monsoon Wedding. 2001. Movie, directed and produced by Mira Nair, screenplay by Sabrina Dhawan. Universal City, CA: Universal Pictures (2002). DVD. Morcom, Anna. 2007. Hindi Film Songs and the Cinema. Aldershot, Hampshire, UK: Ashgate Publishing Ltd. Neecha Nagar. 1946. Movie, directed by Chetan Anand, written by Hayatullah Ansari, produced by Rashid Anwar. British India: India Pictures. YouTube video, 1:40:48, posted by “Shemaroo Vintage,” October 8, 2011. https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​ com​/w​​atch?​​v​=Zi4​​​vJQC-​​QJU Nix, Elizabeth. 2018. “Who was the First Elected Female Head of Government?” History, August 31. https​:/​/ww​​w​.his​​tory.​​com​/n​​ews​/w​​ho​-wa​​s​-the​​-firs​​t​-ele​​cted-​​ femal​​e​-h​ea​​d​-of-​​gover​​nment​ Patel, Jahnavi. 2019. “The Bollywood Effect: Women in Indian Cinema.” Reclamation magazine, April 12. https​:/​/re​​clama​​tionm​​agazi​​ne​.co​​m​/201​​9​/04/​​12​/th​​e​-bol​​lywoo​​d​ -eff​​ect​-w​​omen-​​​in​-in​​dian-​​cinem​​a/ Rao, Shakuntala. 2010. “‘I Need an Indian Touch’: Globalization and Bollywood Films.” Journal of International and Intercultural Communication, 3(1): 1–19. https​://ww​w/tan​​fonli​​ne​.co​​m​/doi​​/full​​/10​.1​​080​/1​​75130​​50​903​​42811​​7. Salaam Bombay! 1988. Movie, directed by Mira Nair, written by Mira Nair and Sooni Taraporevala, produced by Mira Nair and Gabriel Auer. Bombay, India: Mirabai Films. Sarkar, Siuli. 2016. Gender Disparity in India: Unheard Whimpers. 1st ed. New Delhi: PHI Learning. Sharpe, Jenny. 2007. “Gender, Nation, and Globalization in Monsoon Wedding and Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge.” In Once Upon a Time in Bollywood: The Global Swing in Hindi Cinema, edited by Gurbir Jolly, 70–91. Ontario: TSAR. Singh, Kuwar. 2019. “India Will Overtake the US Economy by 2030.” World Economic Forum, January 9. https​:/​/ww​​w​.wef​​orum.​​org​/a​​genda​​/2019​​/01​/i​​ndia-​​ will-​​overt​​ake​-t​​he​-us​​​-econ​​omy​-b​​y​-203​ S.J. 2017. “Realism, Indian cinema’s parallel success story.” The Economist, May 29. https​:/​/ww​​w​.eco​​nomis​​t​.com​​/pros​​pero/​​2017/​​05​/29​​/rela​​ism​-i​​ndian​​-cine​​mas​-p​​arall​​​el​ -su​​ccess​​-stor​y Slumdog Millionaire. 2008. Movie, directed by Danny Boyle, produced by Christian Colson, screenplay by Simon Beaufoy, based on Q & A (novel) by Vikas Swarup. Surrey UK: Cedar Films; London: Film4. Srinivasan, Srikanth. 2012. “Parallel Cinema.” The Hindu, May 12. https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​ tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=Zi4​​​vJQC-​​QJU Uberoi, Patricia. 2006. Freedom and Destiny: Gender, Family, and Popular Culture in India. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Urban Mira. 2013. “Importance of Saath Phere in Indian Weddings.” Wedding magazine, December 10. http:​/​/www​​.wedd​​ingma​​gazin​​e​.in/​​impor​​tance​​-saat​​h​-phe​​re​-in​​d​ ian-​​weddi​​ngs/

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Varia, Kush. 2012. Bollywood: Gods, Glamour, and Gossip. London: Wallflower. Vikram Doctor. 2017. “Marigold: The Mexican Flower that has Become a Part of Indian Festivals.” The Economic Times (blog), October 20. https​:/​/ec​​onomi​​ctime​​ s​.ind​​iatim​​es​.co​​m​/blo​​gs​/on​​mypla​​te​/ma​​rigol​​d​-the​​-mexi​​can​-f​​l ower​​-that​​-has-​​becom​​e​ -a​-​p​​art​-o​​f​-ind​​ian​-f​​estiv​​als

Chapter 5

Ideological and Cultural Manifestations in Bridal Narrative and the Image of the Bride in Modern Egyptian Visual Culture Azza Harras

The Egyptian cinema industry began with the birth of the film era in 1896, when the French brothers Lumière set up Egypt as the film “pioneer” in the Middle Eastern Arab region (Pérez, 2016). In 1917, Egyptian movie director, actor, and writer Mohamed Karim made two film shorts, the documentary Charaf El Badawi (The Honor of the Bedouin) and el Azhar el momitah (The Deadly Flowers), which was banned on religious grounds (Rising Stars, 2019). Then in 1927, Egypt produced its first full-length feature silent film, Layla. Rosa Pérez (2016) marks “melodrama and Bedouin love adventures” as “the main themes of Egypt’s silent era.” Underlying these more obvious themes is a covert thread: the nation’s social problems (Shafiq 1999, 13–18). In Egyptian film the theme of marriage and the central image of the “bride” are loaded with societal, cultural, ideological, and political implications that are either subtle or direct reflections of, or challenges to, the dynamics, hierarchy, formations, and ideologies of the Egyptian society (Pérez, 2016). Consequently, cultural productions featuring the “bride” divulge the changing socioeconomic Egyptian structures and, in so doing, raise questions of chastity, virginity, and class divisions, and women’s role in the society (Shafiq 1999, 13–18). Further, the representations of marriage in Egyptian film and television drama expose the inherent cultural and socially constructed values of a girl’s worthiness to be a bride, and, in a derogatory sense, the concept of the term spinster (Ammar and Mayton, 2009). These factors question the role of media and culture in reconstructing the double standards, hypocrisy, injustice, and stress inflicted on Egyptian girls by patriarchal mores and the cultural practices of arranged marriages (Nadaswaran 2018, 37–39, 41–42, 73

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49; Gregg 2005, 262–63). In an attempt to fill a gap in the field of Arab cultural studies, this chapter focuses on filmic representations of the bride and marriage as a groundbreaking dimension in that area. In critiquing a selection of Egyptian films and television serials, I seek to unravel Egyptian social imaginaries of marriage and the figure of the bride as reflected and conveyed in the society’s popular entertainment. I read marriage and the bride as symbolic manifestations of the local, global, and religious forces that have shaped the Egyptian nation. As well, I read the represented perceptions of marriage and the figure of the bride in relation to various sociopolitical eras and socioeconomic formations in Egypt. THE EGYPTIAN BRIDE: CULTURE, TRADITION, AND PATRIARCHY For decades, the Egyptian society has perceived marriage as the ultimate goal for girls (Ammar and Mayton, 2009). Marrying off a daughter signals that the parents have fulfilled their responsibility toward their child, that she is now secure and can enjoy a degree of independence as a mature woman with a man responsible for her (Gregg 2005, 262–63). In his hadith (narrative record) as quoted by Riyadh As-Salihin (1989, 82), the Prophet Mohammed explains the criteria upon which women were sought as brides throughout the ages, and lists these as four things—wealth, beauty, lineage, and morality and religious commitment; and he urges men to prioritize a female’s morality and religious commitment over the entirety of her other characteristics and earthy possessions (Browne 2014, 292, 140). Similar teachings are found in Orthodox Christianity as embraced by most Egyptian Copts (Abu-Lughod and Amin, 1961, 128). However, despite such teachings, the dichotomy between the categorical imperative and the hypothetical imperative in Kantian terms (Kant [1785] 1964) has resulted in a perplexing paradox of marriage-worth in the Egyptian society where the worthy bride is one who possesses wealth or standing, rather than one who is sought for her moral values and personal attributes (Mahgoub 2015, 77). This paradox has sometimes resulted in more freedom for the bride (and her parents) to “choose” the best suitor (77). In the Egyptian society women who are unsuccessful in gaining the attention of suitors are deemed “unsuitable,” either for not meeting the criteria of beauty imposed by the society or for not having any wealth or family power to offer in a capitalist world where relationships are commodified based on their material value (Schielke 2015, 126). Thus, a woman’s worth is measured against what she can bring to the marriage institution: a wealthy bride can offer her groom something of the luxurious life, and a bride from a powerful family can offer him security and authority (Abu-Lughod and Amin

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1961, 134–36). In the Arab world, it is a cultural fact that suitors seeking marriage (especially those regarded as being suitable) have long been a sense of pride to girls’ families and that daughters who are married for their family wealth or status or their beauty instill their families with feelings of dignity. In the modern Egyptian society, age, education, beauty, social status, and virginity, not chastity, are prioritized over other criteria for a worthy bride (Gregg 2005, 262–63, 269). The “ideal” middle-class bride is a sexy, young university graduate whose degree would enable her to find a job, and whose family is capable of paying their share in the marriage and can offer their daughter a valuable trousseau (Gregg 2005, 62; Ammar and Mayton, 2009). In a traditional marriage the girl’s parents, mainly her father, approves the marriage after the groom and his family propose to the bride and marriage arrangements are made between the male members of both families (Abu-Lughod and Amin 1961, 127–28). Regardless of religion and era “the Egyptian culture dictates that a man and woman are not to date before they marry,” though there “are still chances where Egyptian men and women have a chance to meet each other” (127–28). If they wish to marry and “the families eventually approve, the marriage process is started” and the intended bride and groom are allowed to socialize on family occasions (127). The respectable girl, “mindful of her reputation, neither dates nor selects her own husband” (127). In modern-day Egypt, with the crushing economic hardships and austerity measures of recent decades, and with the effects of modernity on traditional culture practices, girls are slowly becoming more independent (Abu-Lughod and Amin 1961, 127–29). Even though change is very gradual, more voices are seeking to end the long-term patriarchal practices against women, and more initiatives are being taken, sometimes by the government, to address marriage costs (Megahid 2018). However, the stereotypical image of the worthy bride remains much the same (Abu-Lughod and Amin 1961, 127–29). A girl who has had premarital sex is marked an unworthy bride and one that has failed her societal norms, and in rural and tribal parts of the country, she could risk her very life by committing such a “sin” (Shawky, 2014). The persistence of such violence against women stems from cultures that see the bride/maiden not only as a bearer of her family’s honor but also as a potential source for the alleviation of the family poverty by finding a suitor who can help with the expenses of life. In less urbanized areas, however, some university-graduate suitors seek less-educated females from lower classes to guarantee a subservient wife and avoid costly marriage requests in terms of mahr (dowry) and accommodation (Hoodfar 1988, 58). In the Egyptian society, it is commonly known that to reduce (or avoid) marriage costs to themselves, some men seek women who have been married before: although not publicly announced, marrying a widow or a divorcee means paying less

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or no dowry to the bride and her family—who are in any case satisfied by a second chance for their daughter to start a new life in finding a husband to protect her; in such cases, though, providing for the new husband and offering him accommodation is seen by both the bride and her family to be socially more acceptable. EGYPTIAN FILMIC PORTRAYALS: “SAFE VALUES” Many Egyptian films that portray representations of marriage and the “bride” serve as platforms for the reinforcement of cultural and societal values. Such factors demonstrate the uniqueness of the Egyptian situation. What Walid El Khachab (2017), in speaking elsewhere about certain Egyptian figures in cinema, would call “safe values” can be applied to filmic representations of the marriageable woman: In cinema, figures of the Bedouin and the ancient Egyptian have acted respectively as anchors for the production of an Arab-oriented or Egyptianist-oriented national subjectivity. However, the production of a national self-image with the help of figures of subjectification . . . is often an indication of a malaise vis-à-vis modernity and its identity including filmmakers, than by laypeople. (El Khachab 2017, n.d.)

Some Egyptian movies have focused on cultural mores to such a high degree that there are no major developments in the storyline; no all-important contraries and hence no progression toward deeper understanding (see Gerring 1997, 974–79); no hints that could assist in facilitating audience insight into the cultural traditions associated with marriage and the bride; no alterations to the ideologies surrounding the bride or to practices in respect to the occasion; and hence no opportunity afforded to the viewing audience for analyses of the ideology (Fine and Sandstrom 1993, 21–38). Egypt’s first full-length feature film, the silent movie Layla (1927), a melodrama, a love story, and a social comment, is one example. The film’s storyline warns the audience of the dangers of behavior that is traditionally and socially unacceptable: Laila, a village girl, lives in the oasis owned by Rauf Bey. A genuine man, Rauf Bey is much taken by Laila and tries to woo her. Laila rejects his advances as she is in love with a different young man, Ahmed. Laila meets with Ahmed: he seduces her, then abandons her for a Western woman. Laila discovers she is pregnant. By her actions she has shamed her family and cannot now bring them honor. Laila runs off from the village and is accidentally hit by a reversing car. The driver, Laila’s admirer Rauf Bey, takes Laila to his house to try and save her, but she dies; but just before dying, Laila delivers a live

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baby and places it in his custody. In losing her virginity outside of wedlock, Laila has suffered the ignominy of having placed herself beyond a husband’s protection. THE EGYPTIAN BRIDE: FROM SOCIALIST TO NEOLIBERAL EGYPTIAN SOCIOECONOMIC MATRIX The weight of having a daughter is innate in the Egyptian and Arab culture and endorses age-old proverbs like “you who borne a girl bear distress until your death.”1 In Egypt, throughout eras of social, political, and economic change, the process of getting a daughter married off has played a pivotal role in placing the already burdened middle-class family under increased financial hardship (Aswat Masriya, 2015). This element is reflected in Egypt’s cultural productions: the 1963 movie, ōm ālʿarousah (Mother of the Bride), which introduces the financial difficulties a middle-class family undergoes because of their daughter’s upcoming marriage, still resonates in the stressful sociopolitical Egyptian 2018–2019 economy (Salem 2016, 249), leading to another television show tackling the same theme, the popular family saga Abu al’Arousah (Father of the Bride) (2018–2019). In conveying the middle-class family’s struggle with the expense of getting their eldest daughter married, Abu al’Arousah reveals the socioeconomic transformation the Egyptian society has undergone over the previous five decades. Abu al’Arousah does this by showing the differences between the contemporary neoliberal Egypt of the new millennium, and the middle-class family of the Nasserist Socialist Egypt of the 1960s as portrayed in ōm ālʿarousah. Ironically, in the 2018–2019 drama Abu al’Arousah, the middleclass family struggling with its finances resides in Heliopolis, a suburb that was formerly accessible only to well-off families (Richardson 2003, 207). Those who once enjoyed reasonably comfortable lives in the beautiful suburban areas of Cairo in the 1950s and 1960s are now middle-class families who can only sort out their finances with great difficulty (Adham 2005, 19). According to Khaled Adham (2005, 19) the emergence of the new gated communities of New Cairo “has helped transform the city’s urban economy in a way that mirrors the consumption patterns of a dominant new sector of elite Cairenes who are establishing themselves on the periphery of the city.” In Abu al’Arousah the family of the groom (Tarek), dwellers of one of the fancy compounds of the fifth settlement, look down upon Zeina’s family and their “humble” house in Heliopolis in an irony that can but totally disregard the dwellers of graveyards and the notorious Cairo slums. The schematized characterization of a “worthy bride” in terms of education, morality, beauty, and social standard makes worthy brides of both

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Ahlam, the 1960s bride, and Zeina, the 2018 bride. Even so, the chasm between the social classes in Egypt is exposed through the changing of the bride’s worth between Ahlam and Zeina. Intriguingly, in accordance with the standards of Nasserist Egypt of the 1960s, Ahlam is portrayed as a wise girl who decides against pursuing a university education after finishing her high school studies; an advantage that is praised by the groom and his family since those who wait to gain a university degree risk their chances of getting married or having to marry at an “old age.” Zeina, the 2018 bride, on the other hand, is a beautiful graduate of Medicine school. However, the rising elitist system of the vigorously implemented contemporary 2000s neoliberal economy is an age where education and educational institutions are fast becoming another factor of class division in terms of both the job market and marriage (Peterson 2011, 117). According to the groom’s 2018 elitist mother in Abu al’Arousah, Zeina, as a graduate of a state university, is not a good match for her American-university-graduate son, Tarek. Thus, the disparity between the fancy compounds at the outskirts of Cairo and the collapsing suburban areas of old Cairo, and the disparity between private universities and state universities, are among the factors in the changing equation of marriage in contemporary Egypt that put Zeina and Tarek’s forthcoming marriage at risk. What remains unchanged from 1963 to 2018, however, is the burden that the bride’s family has to face in order to pay their portion of the marriage costs, including the furniture, the trousseau, and their share of the wedding party. THE SPINSTER: SEXUALITY, RELIGION, AND SOCIOECONOMIC POLITICAL REALITY The stigma of the spinster and its persistence in Arab society has long been reflected in Egyptian films. In the more modern day, films that feature the figure of the spinster, as one who is actively seeking a husband, range from the 1950s to 1960s Zeinat Sedki productions, to movies of the twenty-first century. In her 1950s–1960s movies, the most famous old maid in Egyptian cinema, comedienne Zeinat Sedki (Gharib, 2018), presented the spinster as an element of ridicule and humor, wherein the ugly bride manages to find a husband who reluctantly agrees to marry her as a source of funding for him and his close, jobless friends (usually aspiring to become famous musicians). The spinster in contemporary Egyptian movies and television drama, however, is no longer an element of humor but rather a satirical or tragi-comic exposition of the hardships and societal pressure Egyptian maidens face on a daily basis to avoid the stigma of “spinster.” The popular Egyptian movie Ayza Atgawez (I Want to Get Married) (2010) is a case in point: Originally a humorous blog written by Ghada Abdel Aal in 2006, turned into a best-selling book in

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2008, the blog is the first of its kind by a female blogger who expressed her anger at the society’s stereotyping of female roles and the criteria of success that disregard any career achievements for unmarried girls, especially after the age of thirty (see Ammar and Mayton, 2009). Categorized as an Egyptian comic series, Ayza Atgawez resorts to satire in presenting the spinster’s plight and, in so doing, highlights the stress put upon a girl aged twenty-nine to find the perfect suitor before she turns thirty. This packed drama serves as a heavy critique of the stereotypical image of an ideal bride and young women’s continued efforts to avoid remaining unmarried at the age of thirty (Kholoussy, 2010). In her perennial quest to find Mr. Right, the protagonist, Ola, experiences several situations that expose marriage-worth in the Egyptian society, and the changing dynamics of the bride-to-be/suitor relationship when factors such as wealth, an American/ Western nationality, or accommodation are available to the unmarried girl. Conversely, the 2010 movie Bentein Men Misr (Egyptian Maidens), adopts a bleak melodramatic tone to represent the suffering of two Egyptian females turning thirty years of age, and the hardships of finding a good suitor in a country on the verge of a revolution (El-Mahdi, 2011). The interweaving of cultural structures of marriage-worth with the national struggles of the country (El-Mahdi, 2011) serves to heighten the drama in the movie. Nonetheless, in Bentein Men Misr, the presentation of the two helpless girls whose life goals are centered around finding a male partner both reinforces misleading premises that a female’s worth is measured by her ability to become a bride and reflects Max Horkheimor and Theodor W. Adorno’s (2002) proposition: The countless agencies of mass production and its culture impress standardized behavior on the individual as the only natural, decent, and rational one. Individuals define themselves now only as things, statistical elements, successes or failures. Their criterion is self-preservation, successful or unsuccessful adaptation to the objectivity of their function and the schemata assigned to it. (21–22)

In this respect, Bentein Men Misr seemingly contributes to the suppressive mode imposed on Egyptian women in terms of societal pressure for marriageage and worth: helplessness, submission, and conformity, as reflected in a society where marriage must be contracted before the cut-off age of thirty years, is a part of female identity (Gregg 2005, 262–63, 269). To use Elleke Boehmer’s (2005, 2) words on the term “girls” from elsewhere and apply them to Bentein Men Misr, this movie conveys “compound implications of vulnerability, immaturity, helplessness and sexual provocativeness.” In Bentein Men Misr the main concern of the two protagonists is their “belated” marriages. The cousins, Dali and Hanan, one a pharmacist and the

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other a librarian at a state university, live a life that literally revolves around the concept of the bride-to-be, the security it entails to have a man each to take care of them, the humiliation they face on a daily basis for not being married, and the social pressure put on them to escape the label of spinster; and, indeed, the persistent desire for motherhood, that can only be fulfilled through marriage. In censuring yet reconstructing the society’s positivist look at marriage-age, the movie does not do much to challenge the status quo. Hanan, the librarian, spends a goodly part of her modest salary buying nightgowns that end up hidden in her cupboard to wait for her marriage to come to the fore; a subtle hint to the suppressed sexual desire a lady in a conservative society is not allowed to express. Hanan’s keen habit of writing the date of purchase on every pack demonstrates her long lingering, with some packs dated four years back. The humiliation of “arranged marriage” scenes, where “suitors” coming to pick one of the female librarians to be his bride from among a group of several available girls, is introduced to the audience as a normal practice. Worse, Dalia and Hanan face a number of humiliating male demands, including virginity tests to ascertain chastity, and sitting in a group of single girls waiting to be picked out by a suitor. Nonetheless, in this movie—an exposition of a devastated male generation who either face financial hardships or suffer from psychological complexities around the concept of virginity and morality—none of the marriage projects actually work. In a scene that sums up the message of the movie, a discussion takes place between a number of Egyptian female medical doctors and an American visiting doctor about the culturally constructed meanings of marriage in the Egyptian society and its counterpart in the West. The protagonist, Dalia, states in clear English that not being married in the Arab world means being a virgin by default. Even girls who have intimate relations with boyfriends make sure they remain virgin until their marriage (Gregg 2005, 62, 207, 262, 317). The open-ended movie’s final scene is set in the airport where Dalia and Hanan come to meet a prospective suitor who works in the wealthy Qatari Gulf country and is visiting Egypt for a couple of days to pick his wife-to-be. Despite the humiliation of having to meet him at the same time to choose the one he likes best, Dalia and Hanan sit patiently waiting for the suitor while observing the flow of the airplanes, and long for the change that could yet come; an overt reference to a possible turn in the lives of Dalai and Hanan, and an implicit reference to a hoped-for turn in the political and social conditions of a country under stress. The looks of despair, fear, frustration, anger, yet also hope on the protagonists’ faces implicitly call for a change of the societal norms that trap females in the role of wives and mothers through refusing to see them as independent, productive individuals whose worth is not determined by their marriage. Importantly, modern-day filmic “spinsters”

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are also implicit comments that critique the conventional societal norms of arranged marriages (Lenze 2019, 107–8). HARBINGERS OF CHANGE In 1961 Janet Abu-Lughod and Lucy Amin reported on their study of Egyptian marriage practices: the purpose of this study was to determine if the trend toward marriage advertisements among some singles indicated “that the more traditional techniques of marriage arrangements are not functioning for certain individuals in the culture” (127). Conducted over a nine-year period, the study was based on 100 advertisement samples drawn blind from the marriage columns of a high-class, popular Egyptian magazine that caters to the highly educated and professional classes in Egypt and the wider Arab region (126). To begin with, Abu-Lughod and Amin posited the advertisements to be “symptomatic of both a shift in cultural patterns governing marriage and a new openness in the Egyptian class structure” (127–29). They ultimately found that the advertisements, although posted by both sexes, were mostly by men; a result the researchers found to be “predictable in a culture that places strong inhibitions on female initiative in marriage” (129). In conclusion, they found that while the advertisements did indicate a shift in patterns governing marriage, this could be due to any number of factors including migration, age, income, marriage values, and education (136). Attempts to fight the conventional standards of the traditional marriage and the ideological representations of the ideal bride have long been inclusions in the Egyptian film repertoire. These types of Egyptian cultural practices are prominent themes in films that range from the 1968 movie āzāwāǧ ʿalā ālṭryqah ālḥdyṯha (Getting Married the Modern Way) to a contemporary 2017–2018 television series Sabe’a Gar (The Seventh Door Neighbour/ The Farthest Neighbour). āzāwāǧ ʿalā ālṭryqah ālḥdyṯha (1968) centers on two students who fall in love and wish to get married while still at university. Noha, an engineering student and an ideal bride for suitors seeking a wife, is unable to persuade her parents to accept her marriage to her beloved cousin, Ahmed, while remaining in her family house until her graduation. As a young university student, Ahmed finds himself unable to compete with Noha’s suitors who are offering her family a stable life and suitable accommodation for the bride. Similarly, the 2017–2018 television series Sabe’a Gar, challenges marriage conventionality and the ideological representations of the “ideal bride.” In Sabe’a Gar a woman and her neighbor, Ahmed, singles who live in the same building, fall in love; but Ahmed refuses to marry her because she allowed him into her bed without their being married. Following the conservative

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traditions of a society that suffers double standards, Ahmed seeks and marries the ideal wife. Ironically, the supposedly immoral woman is a close friend of most of the other neighbors in the building, a portrayal that many viewers considered to be inadequate, and guilty of promoting immorality and defending debauchery (El Nabawi, 2018). In its early showings this family drama created public disagreement that resulted in a temporary cancellation of the show; the show was later resumed after making some alterations imposed by Egyptian censorship (El Nabawi, 2018). In Sabe’a Gar, Farah, another single woman who lives in the same building, seeks to overcome the conventionality of marriage. She proposes to a coworker, Ali. Desperate to be a mother, and yet rejecting of the commitments and formalities that come with conventional marriage, the bride offers a new type of commitment-free marriage where she does not move in with her husband to prepare a family house. She also offers Ali a free-of-commitment divorce once she gets pregnant. Ali, who likes Farah but does not want children, likes the idea of spending time with her within the safety of a socially acceptable form of marriage and agrees on the offer. Ali, who never expected his wife to be a virgin, is somewhat surprised at the discovery that Farah is intact. Ali and Farah’s marriage turns out to be a success. This would seem to endorse Theodor Adorno’s (2006, 10) definition of a proper marriage as “one allowing each partner to lead an independent life, in which, instead of a fusion derived from an enforced community of economic interests, both freely accepted mutual responsibility.” Sabe’a Gar, however, also shows how marriage, “a system centered on legitimate alliance” (to use Michel Foucault’s (1978) words from elsewhere), is undergoing some modifications in an age of discursive explosions. VIRGINITY: HONOR KILLING AND SHARIA Honor killing, as in putting an unmarried woman to death for fornication, although often attributed to Islamic advocacy, is not one of the teachings or rules of Islamic Sharia, rather a practice that “stems from a patriarchal tradition that pre-dated the arrival of Islam in the world scene” (Owen 2017, 2). Starting with the cultural delineation of the “ideal bride” as a virgin, and focusing on the perspective of the bride as the bearer of the family’s honor and the social pressure that might lead to the girl’s suicide or murder (honor killing) if she loses her virginity outside of marriage, several Egyptian movies explored the association of virginity to marriage-worth in various communities, especially rural communities in the countryside and tribal ones in Upper Egypt. dwʿāʾ ālkārwān (The Nightingale’s Prayer) (1959) is one example. Like the 1943 novel on which it was based, the movie “tackles the archaic set

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of beliefs whereby a man is valued by his ability to avenge and kill, and a woman’s chastity is more important than her life” (Shawky, 2014): [dwʿāʾ ālkārwān] The Nightingale’s Prayer does it well: showing the harsher realities of the Egyptian countryside in the early twentieth century. Illiteracy prevailed, men controlled families, and women were herds of followers in constant need of a shepherd. However, in large Egyptian cities, society was slowly changing. (Shawky 2014)

dwʿāʾ ālkārwān tells the story of two young unmarried sisters and their mother. They live in a small village in Upper Egypt but are left impoverished when their husband/father, Kheder, is killed for having sexual affairs. Forced to abandon their home to escape the legacy of Kheder’s shameful actions, they travel to a city in Upper Egypt where the sisters become housekeepers: Amna goes to the house of the sheriff, and Hanadi goes to the house of an irrigation engineer. Hanadi’s employer tells her he loves her and forcefully takes her virginity; Hanadi’s rape results in her murder, a cold-blooded, remorseless crime carried out by her uncle for having lost her virginity. There is no indication of any lawful punishment for either the engineer or Hanadi’s uncle. Amna swears to the nightingale to avenge her sister, but “becomes prey to her own trap” (Shawky, 2014) when she falls in love with the engineer. While this movie sought to feature a tribal practice of honor killing in rural Egypt, it also carried the implication that a woman can bring about a societal crime through her own sexual actions. Thus, dwʿāʾ ālkārwān is an instance of a movie that criticizes yet also normalizes the discourse of honor killing; the movie’s popularity transcended mere reflection on the portrayal of societal crime, into reinforcing the enormity of societal crime against women (Shawky, 2017). Failing to blame the murderer in a culture that has long cherished female virginity over female life, the movie and the book on which it was based represent yet also powerfully reinforce the tribal crime for the generations to come (Shawky, 2014). VIRGINITY For decades, underprivileged women only had their virginity to offer: “virginity is valued when men have to pay for wives by transferring goods in the form of bride wealth to the women’s families” (Schlegel 1997, 719). While dwʿāʾ ālkārwān offers a Foucauldian model of the docility of the female body whose society controls her sexuality, it also offers a Marxist delineation of an objectified female whose virginity is her only capital. Nina Lykke (2010, 50) finds that gender/sex should always be considered “in relation to

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its intersections with constructions of other sociocultural categories such as race, ethnicity, class, sexuality, age, dis/ability, nationality and so on”: in accordance, the female predicament as portrayed in dwʿāʾ ālkārwān might not have had the same catastrophic consequences on women of more urbanized, better-educated upper-class levels. Against this backdrop, the Egyptian movie Awqat Fara’gh (Spare Time) (2006), takes the female’s loss of virginity from a very different perspective. The young university girl, Menna, loses her virginity to her boyfriend, both of whom are from upper-class families. Although shocked at her betrayal of their trust, Menna’s family fix the rather fragile situation, and hence save their honor and social standing, by forcing the young couple to get married. They bring a case of defilement of a female against Menna’s boyfriend; he can either fulfil their marriage or go to prison. The two upper-class families understand the necessity of a marriage document in order to save the girl’s honor and secure a dignified life for her in her Arab Muslim community. However, the young, well-educated boyfriend whose family forced him into this marriage resents the bride and divorces her shortly afterward; he cannot accept being married to a girl who succumbed to her sexual desires outside of wedlock. The situation ends with Menna finding a better suitor and finally settling down. Somewhat ironically, Menna gets to have a wedding party and wear the white, dignifying wedding gown as a worthy bride in a sequel movie that exposes the superficiality of a society that holds the girl accountable for losing her virginity under any circumstances, and whose marriage-worth is exclusively measured against this criterion. Menna’s class, however, saves her from a fate similar to that of the 1959 dwʿāʾ ālkārwān’s Hanadi: thus, the two movies, dwʿāʾ ālkārwān and Awqat Fara’gh in comparison, can be seen as an exposition of the intersectionality between class and gender when it comes to marriage-worth, virginity, and social status. ORFI MARRIAGE The Egyptian society of the 1980s and 1990s witnessed a surge of lowermiddle-class youths pursuing a university education in the numerous inexpensive widespread state universities, an education that represented access to better career opportunities than vocational employment, although it did not really change the lower-class social position much (Wilson 2011, 68). Youths were forced to suppress their needs not only until they had fulfilled their university education and graduated (at around twenty-two years of age) but also until they had found a job and were able to afford accommodation (68). Nevertheless, young Egyptian males eventually had the chance to look for their perfect wives. Conversely, in order to meet societal and cultural mores,

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Egyptian females—regardless of their education and employment status and financial position—must wait for the suitor to appear, no matter how long that may take (Abu-Lughod and Amin 1961, 127, 129, 130). In the clime of the 1990s, deteriorating economic conditions left many people with no hope of making a traditional marriage in the near future. Orfi marriage was seen as a bid to overcome the complexities involved (OWE, 2011). An Orfi marriage is one where the couple agrees to be married without giving or receiving any rights; the man simply proposes and the woman accepts, usually in front of two witnesses. A single document is drawn stating the couple’s names, birthdates, and civil ID numbers, and is signed by the couple and their witnesses in the presence of an attorney. However, Orfi marriage is not registered by the state; an Orfi marriage paper is not a legal document and is not recognized by the Egyptian government. Egyptian law acknowledges traditional Islamic or Christian marriages by a sheikh or a priest as the only legitimate marital structure. In Islamic cultures, Orfi marriage is haraam, forbidden (OWE, 2011). Any form of marriage other than the traditional Islamic one endorsed by a sheikh and accepted by the family jeopardizes the bride’s “worth.” The dichotomy between Islamic Shari’a and Egyptian civil law makes the bride’s situation worse as she is denied of her basic rights, and in case of bearing children, she is unable to register their birth without a court order that proves her marriage. All an Orfi marriage paper does is protect the couple from being accused of fornication and so from being thrown into jail. According to societal norms, therefore, calling an Orfi contract a marriage is an act of subjugating sex at the level of language (Foucault 1978, 17). The dominant discourse in the 1990s was how Egyptian society perceived Orfi marriage (OWE, 2011). That the society made a call against Orfi marriage (OWE, 2011) is made clear from the title given to the popular 1998 television drama Gawaz ‘Ala wara’ Solofan: “marriage on a wrapping paper” is marriage on a colorful and bright piece of paper that ends up in the trash bin. Gawaz ‘Ala wara’ Solofan highlights the dilemma of the bride who gets married outside the Islamic Sharia (Orfi marriage), with no sheikh to announce the marriage and without the consent of her parents. Disowned by her own family, Farrah, the upper-class bride who is in an Orfi relationship with a lower-middle-class university colleague, has to face a life of austerity, humiliation, and contempt by her in-laws on a daily basis as a deserved consequence of dishonoring her parents and going against her society’s norms. Farrah is disillusioned by the complexities of having to live with her “shame” in an unforgiving society that considers Orfi marriage as a form of structured fornication, and those who get involved in it as unworthy girls. The romance comes to an end under the socioeconomic reality of a generation of university graduates who lack insight and adaptability despite having gained degrees.

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The drama ends with the transformation of romance into a case of domestic abuse where Farrah, the unworthy girl, is incapable of getting the divorce by the court since she has no documents to prove her marriage (the marriage contract was written on a blank paper that her husband has already torn into pieces). The young bride is prohibited from making a new life for herself because she remains married from a religious perspective, and a divorce never takes place. THE BRIDE AS ALLEGORY During times of oppressive postcolonial regimes when the “real life political nation fails to provide meaningful codes of identity, writers turn instead to narrative structures in order to locate the signifying forms with which to give shape to an unreal social life” (Boehmer 2005, 140–41). A shift from a realistic representation of the nation to a metaphor of the bride as the nation is evidenced in several movies produced during the 1960s Nasserist Egypt. The “constructedness” of the metaphor of the bride is seen by Boehmer (2005, 140–41) as a result of both the disillusionment and the cynicism of the writers that have led them to concentrate on the “imaginative as opposed to the actual status of the nation.” Despite the validity of Frederic Jameson’s (1986, 65) interpretation of some “third world literature” of allegorical narration, especially in the Nasserist era, which was introduced as a creative reaction to a rising suppressive regime, this has not been the case with the prolific creative expressions of the twenty-first-century Egypt. In the 2009 epic movie El-Farah (The Wedding), the figure of the bride is an allegory, not of the nation, but rather of the discrepancies in the Egyptian society. This movie, a highly interwoven drama of everyday struggles of Egyptians living under the poverty line in the Cairo slums, in areas infested with crime, drugs, and lust, acts as a sharp criticism of the socioeconomic conditions facing the underprivileged people. The movie’s title word, El-Farah, translates into English as happiness (“wedding party”). Nonetheless, happiness is the most strikingly missing theme in a movie that delineates a lower-class worker who stages a fake wedding night for his presumed sister (he never had one) in order to raise funds to buy a commercial minibus to make his living. The staged marriage celebration necessitates the presence of a fake bride and groom. Gamila and Abd Allah, a troubled couple, agree to play the part for a goodly sum of money. Through being privy to Gamila and Abd Allah’s “marriage,” the viewing audiences become more familiar with the institution of conventional marriage in Egyptian society. The marriage process which “unfolds over several stages,” can start with engagement followed by katb

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kitab (wait); among Muslim and Christian couples alike, consummation does not occur until the bride’s family gives their final approval, symbolized by the actual wedding party (farah). In underprivileged areas, the state of “waithood or prolonged adolescence as marriage and entering into adult hood was delayed, partly due to the high cost of marriage” and suitable accommodation, and the inflation factor (Singerman 2003, 1–2), which was the case with Gamila and Abd Allah. Unwilling to wait longer, Gamila and Abd Allah fulfil consummation without the permission of the bride’s family. The bride’s father decides to confirm his daughter’s virginity in a Dukhla Baladi, a defloration ceremony which acts as a “double confirmation of female virginity and male virility” (Ghanim 2015, 123) to preserve and protect a girl: “if someone talks about her you can put your finger in his/ her eye” (El-Kholy 2003, 157). Frightened of Gamila’s father’s insistence, the young couple seeks one of Egypt’s always available unlicensed gynecological clinics that will readily provide her with a fake hymen. By exposing shocking practices in Cairo’s rural areas, El-Farah reveals a different aspect of virginity business and the dark side of medical practitioners in Egypt in the bridal context.

CONCLUSION Marriage constitutes an integral part of the basic challenges that Egyptians face within a rapidly changing socioeconomic reality that propagates endless paradoxes of unmistaken misogyny and ideologically designated yet never fulfilled gender roles. In some areas in Egypt the society’s firm grip on traditional criteria for the “ideal” bride has started to loosen over the last few years, yet several sectors of the communities remain staunchly loyal to the cultural traditions and patriarchal mores. The cultural practices selected by the producers for inclusion in popular Egyptian films and television serials that portray the bride offer deep social, political, and cultural critique. Further, these inclusions are seemingly selected to establish an understanding of the ways in which discursive and cultural boundaries might be negotiated and crossed. Importantly, popular Egyptian movies and television productions are potential harbingers of gradual change in relation to female status in the Egyptian and Middle Eastern Arab region.

NOTE 1. Anonymous.

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REFERENCES Abu Al’Arousah (The Father of the Bride). 2017. Film short, directed by Kamal Mansour, screenplay by Hani Kamal. Egypt: D Media Production and Content Development and Square Production and Distribution. Abu-Lughod, Janet, and Lucy Amin. 1961. “Egyptian Marriages Advertisements: Microcosm of a Changing Society.” Marriage and Family Living 23(2): 127–36. https://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​/347726 Adham, Khaled. 2005. “Globalization, Neoliberalism, and New Spaces of Capital in Cairo.” Traditional Dwellings and Settlements Review 17(1): 19–32. https://www​ .jstor​.org​/stable​/41758302 Adorno, Theodor. 2006. Minima Moralia: Reflections on a Damaged Life. Translated from the German by E. F. Jephcott. London; New York: Verso Books. El-Farah (The Wedding). 2009. Film, directed by Sameh Abdelaziz, screenplay by Ahmed Abdallah. Gizeh, Egypt: Al-Sobky Film. Ammar, Manar, and Joseph Mayton. 2009. “Egypt’s Spinsters Fight Against Society Stereotypes.” Women’s News Network (WNN), April 3. https​:/​/wo​​menne​​wsnet​​ work.​​net​/2​​009​/0​​4​/03/​​egypt​​s​-spi​​nster​​s​-fig​​ht​-ag​​ainst​​-soc​i​​ety​-s​​tereo​​types​/ Awqat Fara’gh (Spare Time). 2006. Film, directed by Mohammed Moustafa, screenplay by Amr Gamal and Mohamed Moqbel, produced by Hassan El-Kalla. Egypt: Al-Alamiya for Cinema and Television. As-Salihin, Riyadh. 1989. Riyadh as-Salihin of Imam Nawawi (Gardens of the Righteous), translated from the Arabic into English by Mauhammad Zafrulla Khan; foreword by C. E. Bosworth. 2nd ed. New York: Olive Branch Press. Aswat Masriya. 2015. “Loans that Could take Egyptian Women to Prison.” Egyptian Independent, March 30. https​:/​/eg​​yptin​​depen​​dent.​​com​/l​​oans-​​could​​-take​​-egyp​​tian-​​ wo​men​​-pris​​on/ Ayza Atgawez (I Want to Get Married). 2010. Film, directed by Ramy Emam, based on blog-turned-novel by Ghada Abdel Aal. Egypt: Shorouk Art Production, Tvision Tarek Alganainy and Promo Media. āzāwāǧ ʿalā ālṭryqah ālḥdyṯha (Getting Married the Modern Way). 1968. Film, directed and written by Salah Karim. Egypt: Shahrazad Film. Bentein Men Misr (Egyptian Maidens). 2010. Film, directed and written by Mohamed Amin. Egypt: Arab Company for Distribution. Boehmer, Elleke. 2005. Stories of Women: Gender and Narrative in the Postcolonial Nation. Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press. Browne, Jonathan A. C. 2014. Misquoting Mohammad: The Challenge and Choices of Interpreting the Prophet’s Legacy. Oneworld Publications. Charaf El Badawi (The Honor of the Bedouin). 1918. Film, documentary, directed and produced by Mohamed Karim. Alexandria: SITCIA. dwʿāʾ ālkārwān (The Nightingale’s Prayer). 1959. Film, directed and produced by Henry Baraka, written by Taha Hussein (novel). Egypt: Barakat Film. el Azhar el momitah (The Deadly Flowers). 1918. Film short, monologue, directed and produced by Mohamed Karim. Alexandria: SITCIA.

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El Khachab, Walid. 2017. The Cinema of the Pharaohs: Film, Archeology, and Sub-Imperialism. Open Books Edition. Paris: Publications de l’Institut national d’histoire de l’art. (CRNS-INHA). http://books​.openedition​.org​/inha​/7196 El-Kholy, Heba Aziz. 2003. Defiance and Compliance: Negotiating Gender in LowIncome Cairo. Paperback ed. Oxford and New York: Berghahn Books. El-Mahdi, Rabab. 2011. “Labour protests in Egypt: causes and meanings.” Review of African Political Economy 38(129): 387–402. https://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​ /23055362 El Nabawi, Maha. 2018. “Sab3 Gar: The Progressive Series Gives New View of Egyptian Women.” N Arts&Culture, The National, updated January 16. https​:/​/ww​​ w​.the​​natio​​nal​.a​​e​/art​​s​-cul​​ture/​​telev​​ision​​/sab3​​-gar-​​the​-p​​rogre​​ssive​​-seri​​es​-gi​​ves​-n​​ew​ -vi​​ew​-of​​​-egyp​​tian-​​women​​-1​.69​​5650 . Fine, Gary Alan, and Kent Sandstrom. 1993. “Ideology in Action: A Pragmatic Approach to a Contested Concept.” Sociological Theory 1(11): 21–38. https://www​ .jstor​.org​/stable​/201978 Foucault, Michel. 1978. The History of Sexuality, Volume One: An Introduction. Translated from the French by Robert Hurley. New York: Pantheon House Books. Gawaz ‘Ala wara’ Solofan (Marriage on a Wrapping Paper). 1998. Film, Television Drama, Directed by Alaa Karim and Ashraf al-Ghazali, Screenplay by Iqbal Baraka. Egypt: The Egyptian Radio and Television Union. Gerring, John. 1997. “Ideology: A Definitional Analysis.” Political Research Quarterly 50(4): 957–94. https://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​/448995 Ghanim, David. 2015. The Virginity Trap in the Middle East. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Gharib, Ashraf. 2018. “Remembering Zeinat Sedki: The most famous spinster in Egyptian cinema.” Ahramonline, March 2. http:​/​/eng​​lish.​​ahram​​.org.​​eg​/Ne​​ws​/29​​​ 1981.​​aspx Gregg, Gary S. 2005. The Middle East: A Cultural Psychology. Foreword by David Matsumoto. 1st ed. New York: Oxford University Press. Hoodfar, Homa. 1988. Between Marriage and the Market: Intimate Politics and Survival in Cairo. London: University of California Press. Horkheimor, Max, and Theodor W. Adorno. 2002. Dialectic of Enlightenment, edited by Gunzelin Schmid Noerr, translated by Edmund Jephcott. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Jameson, Fredric. 1986. “Third World Literature in the Era of Multinational Capitalism.” Social Text, 15: 65–88. https://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​/466493 Kant, Immanuel. [1785] 1964. Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals, translated and analyzed by H. J. Paton. New York: Harper Torchbooks. Kholoussy, Hanan. 2010. “The Fiction and Non-Fiction of Egypt’s Marriage Crisis.” Middle East Research and Information Project. December 13. https​:/​/me​​rip​.o​​rg​/20​​ 10​/12​​/the-​​ficti​​on​-an​​d​-non​​-fict​​ion​-o​​f​-egy​​pts​​-m​​arria​​ge​-cr​​isis/​ Layla. 1927. Film, directed by Aziza Amir, Widad Orfa, and Stephan Rosty, written by Aziza Amir and Ahmed Galala, story and screenplay by Widad Orfa. Egypt: Cairo.

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Lenze, Nele. 2019. Politics and Digital Literature in the Middle East: Perspectives on Online Text and Context. 1st ed. London, UK: Palgrave Macmillan. ———. 2010. A Guide to Intersectional Theory, Methodology and Writing. Oxon UK and New York: Routledge. Lykke, Nina. 2010. Feminist Studies: A Guide to Intersectional Theory, Methodology and Writing, edited by Jeff Hearn and Nina Lykke. New York: Routledge. Mahgoub, Mohamed Abdo. 2015. Customary Laws and Social Order on Arab Society: Socio-Anthropological Field Studies in Egypt. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Megahid, Ahmed. 2018. “Parliamentary initiative seeks to help Egyptians overcome cost of marriage.” The Arab Weekly, April 3. https​:/​/th​​earab​​weekl​​y​.com​​/parl​​iamen​​ tary-​​initi​​ative​​-seek​​s​-hel​​p​-egy​​ptian​​s​-ove​​rc​ome​​-cost​​-marr​​iage Nadaswaran, Shalini. 2018. “Oppressor or Oppressed: The M(other)-in-Law in Nigerian Women’s Literature.” In Representations of the Mother-in-Law in literature, film, drama, and television, edited by Jo Parnell, 37–51. Lanham: Lexington Books. ōm ālʿarousah (The Mother of the Bride). 1963. Film, directed by Atef Salem, written by Adel Hamid Gouda As-sahar (novel), and Abdel Hai Adeab. Egypt: Naguib Khoury. OWE. 2011. “Orfi Wives of Egypt (OWE): Orfi Marriage Facts.” Orfi Wives of Egypt (OWE) (blog), September 11. http:​/​/orf​​i​-wiv​​es​-eg​​ypt​.b​​logsp​​ot​.co​​m​/201​​1​/09/​​what-​​ is​-or​​​fi​-ma​​rriag​​e​.htm​l Owen, Patricia R. 2017. Gender and Patriarchy in the Films of Muslim Nations: A Filmographic Study of 21st Century Feature from Eight Countries. Jefferson, NC: McFarland. Pérez, Rosa. 2016. “10 Things You Didn’t Know About Egyptian Cinema.” The Best of Film & TV in Egypt, Middle East—Culture Trip, updated November 15. https​:/​/th​​ecult​​uretr​​ip​.co​​m​/afr​​ica​/e​​gypt/​​artic​​les​/1​​0​-th​i​​ngs​-y​​ou​-di​​ dn’t-know-about-egyptian-cinema/ Peterson, Mark Allan. 2011. Connected in Cairo: Growing Up Cosmopolitan in the Modern Middle East. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Richardson, Dan. 2003. The Rough Guide to Egypt. London: Rough Guides. Rising Stars. 2019. “The History of Egyptian Cinema.” Ricerca Cooperation in Egypt and SEMAT. https​:/​/ri​​sings​​tarsp​​rojec​​t​.fil​​es​.wo​​rdpre​​ss​.co​​m​/201​​1​/07/​​histo​​ry​_eg​​y​ ptia​​n​-cin​​ema1.​​pdf Sabe’a Gar (the Seventh Door Neighbour/ The Farthest Neighbour). 2017. Film, directed by Iten Amean, Nadine Khan, and Heba Yousri, screenplay by Heba Yousri. Egypt: Hani Osama and Mohamed Hefzi. Salem, Rania. 2016. “Imagined Crises: Assessing Evidence of Delayed Marriage and Never-Marriage in Contemporary Egypt.” In Domestic tensions, national anxieties: global perspectives on marriage, crisis, and nation, edited by Kristin Celello, and Hanan Kholoussy, 231–54. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Schielke, Samuli. 2015. Egypt in the Future Tense: Hope, Frustration, and Ambivalence before and after 2011. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.

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Schlegel, Alice. 1991. “Status, Property, and the Value on Virginity.” American Ethnologist 18(4): 719–34. https://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​/645449 Shafiq, Viola. 1999. “Women, National Liberation and melodrama in Arab Cinema: Some Considerations.” Al-Raida: Arab Women and Cinema 16(86–87): 12–18. Shawky, Amany Ali. 2014. “Egypt’s Cinematic Gems: The Nightingale’s Prayer.” Mada Masr, August 14. https​:/​/ma​​damas​​r​.com​​/en​/2​​014​/0​​8​/23/​​featu​​re​/cu​​lture​​/egyp​​ ts​-ci​​nemat​​ic​-ge​​ms​-th​​e​​-nig​​hting​​ales-​​praye​​r/ Singerman, Diane. 2013. “Youth, Gender and Dignity in the Egyptian Uprising.” Journal of Middle East Studies’ Women 9(3): 1–27.

Chapter 6

The Image of a Bride in Tajik Cinema Sharofat Arabova

The complex gendered representation of the bride in Tajik cinema creates a vivid image that invites examination. Notably, the figure of the bride features in most Tajik films. This chapter seeks to analyze the meaning of the portrayal of the bride in the Tajik context. Taking several Tajik films produced between 1934 and 2020, I trace the popular perception of the Tajik bride over the span of the Soviet and post-Soviet decades. My interest is whether the portrayals of the bride in these films depict the cultural change in the Tajik society over the given time. SOCIOHISTORICAL BACKGROUND TO THE FILMS Over the centuries, the Tajiks of Central Asia have been subjected to invasion by various empires, with the latest disruption to their culture being communist Russia’s rule after 1917 (Batalden and Batalden 1997, 166). With the 1918 uprising by the Basmachi movement (Muslim people of Central Asia against Soviet control of the area) Russia’s grip on the area was not fully reestablished until the mid-1920s (166). In 1924 the Soviets reorganized Tajikistan as an autonomous region within the new Soviet Republic of Uzbekistan; then in 1929 they transferred the autonomous Gorno-Badakhshan region and much of the Sughd province to Tajikistan and officially proclaimed it a full Soviet Republic separate from Uzbekistan (166). With this, the Tajiks were forced to establish Dushanbe (a village at that time) as their capital (Nourzhanov and Bleuer 2013, 41), and some traditional Tajik settlements either remained in other republics or fell on Tajikistan’s borders (Batalden and Batalden 1997, 166). While the Soviet administration pushed to establish cotton plantations and build factories and railroads, most Tajiks preferred to maintain traditional 93

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lifestyles in small villages (166–67). Many Tajiks strongly objected to the Soviet’s disastrous forced relocation of some regional people to work in industry and agricultural production (Nourzhanov and Bleuer 2013, 63, 69, 75). Then, in the 1930s and 1940s, “over the violent objection of the local Tajiks” the Soviets collectivized cotton monoculture (Batalden and Batalden 1997, 166–67). Tajikistan’s 1992–1997 Civil War With the breakup of the USSR in 1991 Tajikistan proclaimed its independence, and one year later experienced a devastating and violent Civil War (Lemon, 2019). Hostilities were driven by a combination of economic, political, religious, and social factors (Lemon, 2019). Until the 1997 peace treaty, the Tajikistan government continued to have skirmishes with the gangs in the Gorno-Badakhshan region (Pannier, 2018). In 2000 Uzbekistan planted anti-personnel land mines along its borders with Tajikistan to prevent Islamic militants, operating in the area at the time, from spilling over into their region (Ahror, 2012). In the present day there are some ongoing tensions, and guards still patrol Tajikistan’s borders (Pannier, 2018; Reuters, 2019). Tajikistan’s Seasonal Workers Tajikistan is largely agricultural and is the poorest country in Central Asia (Lemon 2019). Its economy is greatly helped by seasonal laborers and other workers who migrate, mainly to Russia, and send remittance home to their families (IWPR, 2017; Lemon, 2019). Most of Tajikistan’s migrant workers are male, and for various reasons many go to Russia and stay (IWPR, 2017; Lemon, 2019). Socially, “one of the major impacts of mass migration is absence”: in many instances this has led to a breakdown in family life, increased divorce rates, and poverty for women and their children (Lemon, 2019). Many abandoned wives resort to polygynous marriage to solve their various problems, and some urge their young daughters into early marriage (Najibullah, 2017; Warcholak, 2011). Outlawed by Tajikistan’s secular legislation (Section 6, “2018 Country,” 2019), these types of marriage “are contracted outside civil law, using only the Muslim wedding rite known as” nikah (Qodir, 2011). Although nikah marriages are recognized under Muslim law, they do not carry a civil wedding certificate as proof of a legal marriage; thus, the nikah wife (whether polygynous or monogamous) has few rights and no legal standing (Najibullah, 2017; Qodir, 2011; Warcholak, 2011). Juliette Cleuziou (2017, 253–54) finds that the gender presentations in contemporary Tajik culture are affected by male labor migration which strengthens the

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traditional gender roles of a man, the breadwinner, and a woman, the housekeeper. Traditionally, Tajik men were responsible for the agricultural work, and the women were responsible for family care and some agricultural work on the family’s own crops and relied on their husbands’ income; in more recent times though, there has been “an increasing feminization of agriculture” (Lemon, 2019). Lifestyle and Identity Although Tajikistan’s government is fiercely secular, the constitution grants the population broad religious freedom and freedom of expression; there is no state-sponsored religion, but the population is predominantly Muslim. The various regions that comprise the country differ not only by religious streams—for example, the Sunni and the Ismaili in Tajikistan’s GornoBadakhshan Province (Pannier, 2018)—but by the nuances of the national character and the household lifestyle formed by the plains and the mountainous geography of the space that led to certain isolation or openness of the culture. Kirill Nourzhanov and Christian Bleuer (2013) note “the importance of geographical influences” on the “sub-Tajik identities,” with the people of the plains and mountain regions of Tajikistan “having distinct ‘economic, political and cultural environments’—traditionally having a low level of interaction with each other in the Soviet era” (92). By the end of the Soviet era, rural social life in Tajikistan “was still ‘comparatively isolated and inward looking’” (92). This would point to the strength of the persistence at the core of Tajik tradition—the importance most Tajiks place on locale and family structure as a sense of origin and belonging; much of Tajikistan’s population “self-identifies not by ethnicity” rather by town or region of patrilineal origin (76–85, 89, 107). This factor is important at both the elite and the non-elite levels (89–90). In 2006, Collette Harris (1–2, 17–18, 19) noted that most Tajiks “accept the existence of elite”—“socially prominent, well-educated families”—that are “set far apart from the rest.” During Soviet times there was “very little in way of class differentiation among the rest of populace” (19). Since “many urban families were only one or two generations away from the village, class ties were often kept between them and inter-marriage was common” with the result that “urban culture remained very similar to rural culture” (19). More recently, in urban areas, a “newly emerging social group” is “starting to live like the old elite families” (19). These people will be likely to have good connections, speak excellent Russian, and send their children “to the Slovyansky [common term for the Russian-Tajik (Slavic) University], rather than the [less prestigious] Tajik State University” (19– 20; square brackets mine). Although there is somewhat of a social distance

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between the “more educated families” and the “less educated majority,” the traditions “all these families live by are remarkably similar” (18–20). In modern-day Tajikistan there is also a trend in urban areas toward the nuclear family; however, a Tajik “nuclear family” is not usually “nuclear” in the Western sense rather a unit that often includes the husband’s parents, and the husband/son still belongs to his extended patriarchal kinship network (Nourzhanov and Bleuer 2013, 77–80, 83–84; Turaeva 2017, 163–65). Tajik women have legal status that is not different to that of men, but in practice, women are not equal to men: “Patriarchy, interpreted as a ‘kinship-ordered social structure in which women are subordinated to men,’ serves as a fair indication of the persistence of traditional patterns in Tajik society” (Nourzhanov and Bleuer 2013, 83). Regional identity is a factor both socially and politically; as, for instance, in “social behaviour such as marriage preferences for co-regionals,” and in “university socialisation patterns,” where “there are reports of occasional fights between groups of youths from different regions” (Nourzhanov and Bleuer 2013, 90). Further, cultural markers—customs, folklore, national costume, and so on—differ between and vary within the regional groups (91). There are also differences in these customs and values as set “by families from rural areas vs. urban families” (Turaeva 2017, 159–61). On a broader scale, Tajikistan shares customs and traditions common to Central Asia; Tajik customs and practices can also differ a little to those of other countries (Nourzhanov and Bleuer 2003, 90–91; Turaeva 2017). Much of the symbolism of these aged customs is performed automatically by new generations (Edelbay 2012, 120–31). This reflects how ancient values are appreciated in the traditional Tajik society and, somewhat similarly to those of some other Central Asian countries—Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Kazakhstan, for instance—but according to national traditions, are related to superstitious belief (120–31). Kalym (bride-price) This is a type of ransom paid pre-wedding to the bride’s parents by the groom, for bringing up their daughter (Rakhimdinova, 2005). In the modern day, just as in times past, not every man can afford the luxury of getting married (Rakhimdinova, 2005). Though patriarchal concepts promote kalym as “a positive practice that lets women know their worth,” the transaction symbolizes the patriarchal attitude toward women as goods and puts a woman in a subordinated position toward her future husband (Rakhimdinova, 2005). In previous times, the bride was seen as an additional labor power in the groom’s house and was expected to “pay off” the ransom (Turaeva 2017, 154, 157–60). This perception exists even today: the son chooses the bride

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according to his mother’s will because the daughter-in-law is expected to serve the husband’s relatives living in a joint family, and to take over the major household responsibilities from her mother-in-law in respect to family hierarchy (154, 157–59). Arus/Kelin The Tajik language uses two words to name the bride: arus (a bride, fiancé, unmarried),  and kelin (a newlywed, daughter-in-law, married).  In Tajik society, the bride’s position is identified as a phase in a rite of passage— that of a girl into a bride into a woman then mother. Rano Turaeva (2017, 154–58, 159) applies Victor Turner’s liminality theory to a kelin’s transition as consisting of three components: ceremonies and rituals that mark family hierarchy; a kelin’s attributes reflecting her new status; and the relationship between a mentor (mother-in-law) and an obedient pupil (kelin) (157–58, 159). Becoming a kelin means being made accustomed to following the behavioral code specified for a daughter-in-law (Yusufbekova 2015, 133). In the Tajik culture generally, it would be appropriate and usual to refer to girls as brides (arus) from the period beginning with the announcement of their engagement until the completion of all wedding customs (kelin); but the young woman in the Tajik culture remains a bride until she gives birth to her first child (Harris 2006, 74). Most often, a kelin who is identified as infertile is divorced by the husband (74). Childbirth becomes a significant marker that influences a kelin’s future married life and thus the right to become an equal member of the husband’s lineage (Turaeva 2017, 154–55, 157–58). A kelin’s exit from the bride category is accompanied by a rite-of-passage ritual, Sallabandon  (tying of a turban) (Nurdzhanov 2001, 176). Turaeva (2017, 154–55, 164–65) notes that a kelin owns a very low status among the relatives and neighbors. A kelin is never referred by her name but rather by her husband’s name as someone’s kelin: later, living separately from her in-laws, she is referred to as someone’s wife (154). It is only after she marries off her children and becomes a mother-in-law herself, that she receives a full-valued social status and is called by her name (154). An arus/kelin is always the center of attention, she is observed by relatives and neighbors of all ages; and for everyone, her image presents a different meaning (Turaeva 2017, 157–62). For the older women the purpose of the show is to assess the family to which the kelin belongs (160–61). The unmarried girls or younger women appreciate a kelin, including her dress-sense (a kelin may change her dresses several times a day to demonstrate the family’s wealth), and her behavior and domestic skills as an example to look up to (160–63). The bride’s status is most desirable among the Tajik girls because

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it is always associated with beautiful clothes and public attention (160–61, 163–65). Sophie Roche (2017, 27) notes that in the Tajik society, since the theme of sexuality is kept secret from an unmarried girl the wedding becomes the most significant event in a maiden’s life. Plaits and Attire In accordance with Tajik beliefs, the transition of a female from one age category to another is reflected in her clothes and hairstyle. Traditionally, whereas young girls wore their hair in several simple braids and their hair was allowed to be visible to the public, the bride’s hair was plaited into two braids behind the ears and decorated with ribbons and covered by scarves (Yusufbekova 2015, 118–19). In contemporary times, many Tajik girls and women still wear their hair in traditional plaits. Historically, the change in hairstyle from single maid to bride was preceded by Sarshuyon, the ritual of washing the bride’s hair accompanied by a song of the same title (118–19). The bride’s new hairstyle had to be done only by a healthy and happily married woman (118–19). Similarly, the Hinobandon ritual (applying henna to hands and feet) was performed during the bachelorette party, the bride’s farewell to her maidenhood (Nurdzhanov 2001, 187). In the more recent day, the Tajik government actively supports the distinction between the global (world-traveling) man and the traditional woman through the stated dress code which urges women to wear national dress and men to conform to (Western) business wear (Roche and Hohmann 2011, 124–25). This presentation is widely exploited in the contemporary Tajik mass media and cinema to present the bride as reproducing the national/ ethnic values (Thibault 2016, 4). For example, in 2010 the government introduced annual hair-beauty competitions among girls from all over Tajikistan: the participants are judged on the basis of the longest hair braid, and their knowledge of the Tajik language and literature (Regnum 2010), as well as their presentations of the traditions, customs, and national costume of their region (Mir24, 2019). For the past few years the Tajik government has legislated to regulate traditions, customs, and any celebrations, including weddings (MFA, 2019), with the aim to reinforce the national identity to curtail what it calls alien elements and signs of religious extremism (Thibault 2016, 4–6). These regulations aimed to cultivate respect for the Tajik national dress among women (Torno 2017, 117). Previously, whereas most city brides wore white Western bridal gowns, city brides now wear national designer-made wedding dresses (Asia Plus, 2018). The government book on recommended attire for girls and women in Tajikistan provides examples of the appropriate clothing in national style, including regulations for a bride’s look (Asia Plus, 2018). In times past, the tailoring of the bride’s dress was done only by

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a happy woman who has given birth to many healthy children (Yusufbekova 2015, 114–15). Both the tailoring of the dress and the figure of the tailor were seen to be auspicious; it was believed that in the process their magical qualities transferred to the bride (114–15). Nowruz Malikai Nowruz (a Princess of Nowruz), an annual attribute to the Tajik New Year, celebrated on March 21, symbolizes the awakening of Spring. The ritualized presence of the princess is dressed in a white bridal-gown, a postSoviet novelty which does not relate to the Tajik bride directly rather by color (Roche and Hohmann, 2011). In the Tajik culture the color white symbolizes prosperity, while the traditional Tajik wedding dress is red in color, symbolizing passion and life. Ruibinon Ritual Ruibinon (unveiling the face), the miai (“looking at the bride’s face”) for the groom’s relatives and neighbors, was traditionally performed several days after the wedding (Yusufbekova 2015, 130–31). In return, those relatives who saw the bride’s face had to bless her and gift her presents (130–31). In the Pamir region the ruibinon was performed with the help of a boy who was given a branch of a fruit tree and a bow (without arrows) to lift the bridal veil. The bow was believed to ward off evil forces (130–31). Pir-Dukhtar An unmarried girl who crosses the traditionally accepted marriage age (eighteen to twenty-three years) is claimed pir-dukhtar (old maid); her only alternative to “becoming an easy target for mockery” is polygynous marriage (Warcholak, 2011). Inheriting the tradition of early marital age, the village girls abandon high school after ninth grade to prepare for the bride’s role (Newman, 2006). Recently, some home-science and embroidery classes have been introduced to make secondary education more attractive for girls and to strike a balance: officials believe this initiative will decrease the number of future divorces (TAG News, 2014). This differs from the unofficial training for brides-to-be practiced in Uzbekistan, where “Schools for Brides” are operated by successfully married women who share their experience in dealing with family turmoil, in-laws, and the smart woman’s secrets of ruling a husband (Turaeva 2017, 160–61). Roche (2017, 26–27) finds that the governments of Uzbekistan and Tajikistan easily invest in training good brides and future mothers rather than in educating women.

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TAJIKISTAN’S CINEMATIC BRIDES Zhivoy Bog (The Alive God) (1934) A poor peasant, an opium addict, sells his ten-year-old daughter to an old Ishan (religious leader). There is no marriage ceremony in the film. The bride’s initiation ritual is the loss of her virginity. The raped girl runs away to beg her father for protection. She is sent back to the harem, where she remains for several years before she is freed by her childhood friend, who supports the Soviet revolution of Tajikistan. The black-and-white silent film Zhivoy Bog demonstrates the role and the feelings of the suppressed female who is forcibly married off. The girl’s story serves as a subplot to that of a rescuer who liberates the bride and helps her to start life anew in Soviet society. During the early Soviet period, the figure of the bride often symbolized the old world and the traditional family model. To create a stronger impact on the audience, the bride was often depicted as an uneducated teenage (or younger) girl, covered by a paranja (traditional burqa-like robe) being married off to an old man of religious background or traditional mindset. The bride image indicated a shift from a regressive society to a progressive future against a backdrop of the politics of liberation of the “Oriental Woman” in Central Asia, initiated by the Soviets in the 1920s and 1940s (Edgar, 2006). Hassan Arbakesh (Hassan the Charioteer) (1965) This film looks back at the first years of communist collectivization in Tajikistan. Hassan Arbakesh earns his living by transporting goods and passengers in his old horse-drawn cart. He dreams of making enough for kalym so he can marry his beloved, Sadaf. His world changes as the Soviet power increasingly industrializes Tajikistan: carts are replaced by trucks and cars, personal work turns into collective work, and Hassan’s hopes of earning the kalym fade. The film opens with a shot of Hassan driving the wedding cortege of a twelve-year-old girl who is to marry an aged bourgeois. The girl-bride sits in the curtained carriage with the matchmaker and her niece, Sadaf. Both girls wear their hair in multiple plaits, the cultural marker for a maiden. The wedding carriage is followed by a group of Tajik women playing the tambourines, their faces and bodies covered by traditional paranja. On the way, Hasan meets a young teacher, Zaynap, walking her students down the road. Zaynap has short hair and is dressed in Western clothes. She is attacked by the villagers for being out in public without a headscarf. Hasan drives them off. The girl-bride and her chaperones peek at the scene then withdraw behind the

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carriage’s thick curtains. Zaynap serves as a subject for community criticism and the matchmaker’s warning to Sadaf about dangerous freedom. During the wedding ceremony the young bride, covered by a paranja, rides around the wedding fire on a horse led by Hassan. The aged bourgeois halts the horse, pulls the bride down, and willfully unveils her face before the wedding night and ruibinon. Her young age is revealed and discussed within the context of domestic work that can be found, even for her, in the village. The next scene is a continuation of the wedding celebration which, as is customary, is in a public space. This space becomes an arena for the first romantic expression between Hassan and the matchmaker’s niece, Sadaf. In the society of the period, where direct communication between a potential bride and an unmarried man was suppressed, the collective celebratory wedding dance served as a safe opportunity to demonstrate their interest. The matchmaker warns Sadaf of falling in love with Hassan because, due to his poverty, he cannot be the better groom. Later, the aunt-matchmaker is shown checking a dowry trunk prepared for Sadaf. Frightened, Sadaf runs from the house, leaving the old lifestyle behind. The two intended brides—Sadaf and the twelveyear-old girl—are emancipated, and in the final sequence of the film are seen studying in a school. Sadaf joins the school and follows the path of Zaynap as a liberated woman. Hassan goes looking for Sadaf and finally learns that she has been relocated to a remote area to work. Qiyami roz (True Noon) (2009) The wedding in this film expresses the absurdity of the demarcation of the geopolitical borders of Tajikistan and its neighboring states after the disintegration of the Soviet Union. Qiyami roz illustrates the traditional exogamy that had existed for several centuries in two villages. Although the film does not directly indicate the story’s geographical location, it becomes obvious that it is set in the Fergana Valley, a territory with a controversial border conflict. A wedding is to take place between the two villages, Safedi Bolo, located at the top of the hill, and Safedi Poyon, located on the foothill. Nilufar and Aziz’s engagement day coincides with the shutdown of the TajikistanUzbekistan border. Uzbek border soldiers come and erect barbed-wire barricades to separate the two villages. They plant landmines and set tripwires across the path the villagers use to cross from one village to the other. The demarcation line between the villages can now only be crossed by special approval which must be received at the district center. Nilufar is not permitted to pursue university study after school. As an eldest daughter, she must stay at home and help her mother with the housekeeping. The villagers consider Nilufar a Russified girl because of her interactions

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with old Kirill Ivanovich, who operates the meteorological station at the top of the hill. One of the last Russian meteorologists left in Tajikistan, Kirill has trained Nilufar on how to use and care for the instruments and make observations. Nilufar speaks Russian to him and calls him Papa. Kirill’s entire family lives in Russia. He hopes to leave the meteorological station to Nilufar and go back to Russia. She would continue his duties after her wedding. The interruption to Nilufar’s engagement by the borderline demarcation puts her wedding at risk. Kirill promises Nilufar’s and Aziz’s families to help their children marry on the agreed date. The night before the wedding, Kirill constructs a metal detector and Nilufar prepares red marker flags; together, they check the path the marriage cortege will take the next day to cross the borderline. They mark the landmine points with the flags. Nilufar, the bride, is seen standing in the darkness, holding a bunch of the red flags as if they are a funeral arrangement, and not a bridal flower bouquet—a foreshadowing that anticipates Kirill’s tragic act of selfsacrifice. At noon on the wedding day, the bride and the old meteorologist lead the wedding procession down to the borderline. The cortege presents an exaggerated image of the traditional bride’s escort to the groom’s house. Kirill holds the bride’s arm as would a father in the Western/Russian tradition. Nilufar’s real father plays a musical instrument as he walks along behind them. The groom and his father and their relatives stand waiting at a distance from the border crossing. Significantly, even though the safety path had been marked out for both families the night before, Aziz and his father do not move ahead to welcome the bride and her entourage as soon as they break the tripwire and enter their territory. This can be interpreted as a commitment to tradition: according to the wedding customs, the bride must reach her groom and not the other way round, and the ritual of escorting the bride to the groom must be completed fully. Kirill accidentally steps on a landmine that he had missed marking the night before; he stops moving and stands still to let the bride and her group move ahead toward the groom. As soon as Nilufar turns her face away from Kirill Ivanovich, the blast of the mine is heard. The artistic convention of representation of the marriage ritual in the Tajik films selected for this study indicates people’s attitude toward the traditionally performed customs: that is, the degree of cultural acceptance of certain forms of marriage (legal, religious nikah, informal), and a deviation from the typical wedding practice containing all the significant steps of the bride’s initiation. The absence of one of the important steps in the preparation of the bride for the wedding or after it makes her initiation incomplete, and hence her status as a “real” wife comes under question. For example, the Tajik films of the Soviet period paid attention to the depiction of the wedding customs. While some of the films of the Perestroika era (1985–1991) and the period

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of sovereign Tajikistan (1991–) approach a wedding of the filmic characters as a formality, sometimes with no portrayal of an actual wedding ceremony, it indicates a spread of a new model of an “informal” family when the bride transits to the wife category without the public acknowledgment which the wedding celebration is.

Margi Begunoh (The Sinless Death) (2013) In this period drama on the Civil War in Tajikistan, the ruined wedding is portrayed as the personal revenge of a gunman. The opening title acknowledges that the film is based on the Tajik writer Karomatullohi Mirzo’s memoirs about real incidents. In one part of Margi Begunoh, Barzu, a self-obsessed dangerous gunman, sees a girl among passengers being held hostage on a local bus and decides to marry her even though he knows nothing of her background. He helps the girl and the other villagers escape by killing the hijacker, another gang leader. The girl’s parents offer Barzu gifts to thank him for saving their daughter. Barzu insists on only taking their daughter’s hand in marriage. The girl’s father opposes Barzu proposal, saying that intermarriages have never taken place between their villages, and the village strongmen would never allow such a relationship. Barzu is adamant, and the girl marries him against her parents’ will and the established custom; thus, their union is presented as a prohibited marriage. In Tajikistan, young men often call Civil War marriages “receiving a wife for free,” which encapsulates implied easy access to women and the missing cultural complexity of marrying (Roche and Hohmann 2011, 120). On the other hand, parents often hurried to marry off their young daughters to protect them from being raped (120). Later in the film, the girl, now a married woman, is raped by an opposing gang who wish to take revenge on Barzu, and she suicides. These episodes of Barzu’s life are depicted in flashbacks that occur while he is ill and confessing to his mother. Barzu recalls a rural wedding he ruined by visiting it with his drunken gunmen. Barzu fires a warning gunshot to interrupt the celebration. The wedding guests run away. A later sequence is a dramatic panorama shot of the bride running through the fields to escape Barzu. He stalks her as would a hunter, and the young bride jumps over a cliff to preserve her honor. The film juxtaposes the two human natures: Barzu’s wickedness and the bride’s purity which is underlined by her white veil and her tragic death. Both examples of a young married woman’s death, the bride’s and Barzu’s wife, demonstrate objection to out-of-marriage intercourse performed by force, which is perceived in Tajik culture as a social stigma without further life.

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The Bride’s Transformation With the emergence of the new Central Asian sovereign states after the disintegration of the USSR came the portrayal of a new family model in the films of Central Asia. Mostly, these are genre films with melodrama and comedy intertwined, featuring a modern bride marrying into a traditional patriarchal family. The bride is modern because she is half-Russian but not necessarily, incompetent in housekeeping, and lives in a city while her future in-laws live in either a village or city suburbs. The comic effect in the films is achieved by demonstrating situations the modern bride goes through in an enculturation process that develops the skills necessary to a bride/kelin, and in the bride switching from the Russian language to the national language of her country. This transformation becomes a symbol of a return to one’s national identity and values, following the nation-building strategy of the Central Asian states. Unlike the evolution of the bride-figure toward progressive views in the Tajik cinema of the early period, in the Tajik films since the period of independence there is a tendency to observe a return toward a traditional understanding of womanhood. For example, in Arusi Zamonavi, the bride-figure becomes an indicator of the Tajik nation-building and unity. Her appearance and code of conduct are subjected to the various regulations (Roche and Hohmann 2011, 124–25) discussed earlier in this chapter. Roche (2017, 24) stresses that the legislation documents, dress regulations, and the state-sponsored mass weddings urge to avoid marriages outside of the Tajik community and make a wedding an event of social and political significance. Arusi Zamonavi (A Modern Bride), part 1 (2015); part 2 (2016) Produced in two parts, this film illustrates the existing polar duality of Tajik society: the juxtaposition of a village to a city in favor of a traditional culture which is preserved in the village. On its release in Tajik cinema Arusi Zamonavi became a box office hit; it is a story to which people can relate. A segment of the young generation of Tajiks who had received their schooling and university education in Russian, or who speak mostly Russian at home because their parents represent the Tajik intelligentsia educated in the USSR, are not fluent in the Tajik language. Sabrina, a city girl from a rich elite “nuclear” family, has been raised by her Russian nanny; her Russian mother had long passed away. Being a Tajik businessman, her father travels and is rarely at home. Initially, Sabrina speaks to him on the phone only in Russian, then after her transformation in broken Tajik. The comic effect of the film is based on Sabrina’s unintentional misuse of the Tajik words and her adaptation to rural life. Sabrina follows her modern values. She imposes herself on Rustam, a young university student who lives in a hostel because he is from a village that is

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not near the city. Despite Rustam’s rejection of her love, Sabrina comes to his village and, so they will not get rid of her, lies to Rustam’s mother that she is pregnant by her son. When Rustam’s mother agrees to Sabrina staying with them in their house, she starts referring to her as kelin, a status a bride inherits after entering her new family. In Rustam’s mother’s house, although she and Rustam are living under one roof without a marriage procedure (no matchmaking, engagement, or wedding), Sabrina is already expected to perform the kelin’s duties. Zinatmo Yusufbekova (2015, 103–4) notes the Tajik custom of Khonadomod, a relic of the matrilocal relocation when the future groom lived in the bride’s house before and after the wedding. In the case of the groom’s poverty, he worked in his future in-law’s house for the next few years to “earn” the bride (103–4). The entire concept of the reversed gender roles in Arusi Zamonavi indicates a shift in the contemporary Tajik culture in contrast to its folklore and traditions. Sabrina, a bride from a well-settled well-off family, works hard to “earn” the right to marry a poor man. Prompted by the neighboring woman’s observations of Sabrina, Rustam’s mother grows suspicious and is advised by her neighbor to scare the city girl away by loading her with the village woman’s daily housework and outside duties. Sabrina excels at her tasks, which disappoints both Rustam’s mother and her neighbor. Notably, Rustam’s mother and her neighbor are both single; later in the film Sabrina introduces them to a dating website to find husbands for themselves. The transformation Sabrina goes through out of love for Rustam involves a shift from European clothes to national dress and a headscarf that are gifted to her, as well as learning the Tajik vocabulary. Arusi Zamonavi also illustrates the Tajik definitions of a modern bride: Rustam’s childhood friend Nargiz returns from Russia to spend her university vacation at home. She is held as an example to Sabrina and is called a “real” bride because of her qualities—height and posture, excellent cooking skills, thick eyebrows, and the fact that she studies abroad. Unlike her rival Nargiz, Sabrina is a poor cook, short in height, studies in Dushanbe, and has thin eyebrows, a facial feature that is the opposite of beauty in the eyes of the Tajik people, and which become a subject of her yet-to-be-mother-in-law’s taunts. The eyebrow detail is a minor part in the film but becomes meaningful within the context of Tajik culture in the aesthetic category of the beautiful. Natural, thick, unshaped eyebrows are always a sign of an unmarried girl, as was the cut of her dress and her hairstyle in the traditional culture of the Tajiks. In previous times a woman was allowed to thin and shape her eyebrows only after getting married; together with changes to her wardrobe, groomed eyebrows showcased her new status as a married woman. Importantly, the bride’s crown, a part of the traditional wedding costume of Samarkand, Uzbekistan, and the northern regions of Tajikistan that were culturally connected, was

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called  Qoshi Tillo (Golden Eyebrows) and resembled the joined eyebrowarches in shape, presenting a beauty canon. Apart from serving as a reflection of contemporary Tajik aesthetic and ethical norms, Arusi Zamonavi part 2 illustrates an ambiguous marriage that can be perceived as the only acceptable outcome of the relationship between a modern mixed-blood bride and a young, educated village man. When Sabrina’s father forcefully removes Sabrina from the village, Rustam and his mother realize they love her and are ready for the matchmaking. Rustam’s university friends tell them and the neighbor that no one agrees to marry off a girl into their family if they (the matchmakers) will not look modern, especially if the future bride is from the city. With this, Rustam’s mother and her neighbor go through a similar, but reverse, transformation to that which Sabrina went through. They adopt the Western dress and try to look modern when they approach Sabrina’s father with their matchmaking. Despite their attempts, Sabrina’s father makes a statement about their social contrast and rejects their proposal. The film takes a contemporary fairytale turn when Sabrina’s father’s heart melts under Rustam’s promise that he would do anything so that Sabrina, his only daughter, will not starve. The film’s final sequences are as schematic as shorthand. On her wedding morning, Sabrina, wearing a white Western bridal-dress with a narrow red waist-sash (a cultural marker of her mixed Tajik-Russian heritage), sits in her room and cries because, as her father has arranged, she is to marry the son of his business colleague. Unknown to Sabrina, her father has had a change of heart; he is shown purchasing honeymoon air tickets, which he hands to Rustam with his congratulations. When it is time for Sabrina to leave the house to be married, she walks alone to the car. To Sabrina’s surprise Rustam is sitting in the car, waiting, and she realizes that her father has given his blessing for her and Rustam to be together. The common ritual celebration of sending the bride off to be married that takes place at the parental house is noticeably absent in this film. Normally also, the bride is accompanied in the bridal car by her father or some other relative. In this film, though, the modern bride is unaccompanied. Likewise, the young couple is not shown performing either a nikah or a legal marriage; rather, they set out directly on their honeymoon journey. The entire marriage sequence lacks the details in the mise-en-scène which can prove it as a real marriage. It is possible that the filmmaker, Nabijon Pirmatov, has intentions of producing further sequels to Arusi Zamonavi, thus maintaining and prolonging the intrigue of whether the lovers from the two contrasting social poles (the elite from the city, and the potential new elite who hails from a rural village) can form a successful relationship. Due to the demographic imbalance and the spread of polygyny, which turns a meaningful marriage

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ritual into a mere formality, the film’s failure to portray a proper wedding ceremony acknowledged by the community in an earlier sequence where the bride and the groom were depicted as living unmarried under one roof, creates an ambiguous norm that can be seen as acceptable in Tajik society at this point of time. Arusi Zamonavi introduces either a new form of informal marriage or a different form of civil marriage, in which the bride becomes kelin without going through the wedding ritual. Indeed, the film points to a current problem: the migrant laborers who work in Russia prefer not to register their marriage in the Tajik court but rather perform nikah. In that case, they can marry in Russia for the sake of a permanent-residency permit. Marriage registration in Tajikistan becomes affected by changes in Russian migration laws (Roche and Hohmann 2011, 119). Raqsi Zindagi (The Dance of Life) (2019) This film, a melodrama, presents the contemporary problem of male labor migration to Russia. Bonu is an orphan in that her father, a seasonal migratory worker, did not return from Russia. A young village man seeks to court Bonu—not for love of Bonu, but rather for the sake of his mother, and to please his ego. Raqsi Zindagi portrays the important steps of marriage (like matchmaking) to demonstrate the social contrast between Bonu’s sophisticated mother and the groom’s aunts who wear rural dresses and speak in a dialect. Bonu’s groom is persistent in his courting, but after the wedding he proves very patriarchal. He asks his mother (a housewife who does not work outside) to stop doing the housework, saying that these duties will now fall to her kelin (daughter-in-law), the newly wed Bonu. Soon after, Bonu dances during a neighbor’s wedding celebration. A fight ensues, and Bonu’s jealous husband leaves her to take seasonal work in Russia. According to Sophie Roche and Sophie Hohmann (2011, 121), labor migration (for Tajiks) has replaced marriage as a rite of passage in which social maturity is achieved. The abandoned wife is seen as an assurance of her husband’s Tajik identity in spite of the time he spent in Russia (121). Raqsi Zindagi ends with Bonu living with her mother-in-law, performing all the duties of the kelin, and then giving birth to a baby girl whose father is lost in Russia. The film’s ending suggests a cyclical model that predicts a probable future for Bonu’s baby daughter, as a repetition of her mother’s fate. Raqsi Zindagi does not show that it is Bonu’s love which moves her to accept the marriage proposal. Instead, Bonu and her mother are shown in long thoughtful conversations about the marriage. This film reveals a negative-impact problem which the Tajik society now faces because many males who migrate to Russia for work stay and settle there, and a large

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number of unmarried, divorced, and abandoned women are left without potential husbands (Najibullah, 2017). Tajikistan’s abandoned wives often agree to polygyny because of the special status awarded a married woman (Najibullah, 2017). Cleuziou (2017, 248–62) finds that the marriage motivations of the contemporary Tajik women point to a lack of alternatives. The married woman (even as a second or third wife) is respected in the society, while the absence of a husband casts shadows on the morality of an unmarried/divorced woman (248–62). Divorce is considered to be a woman’s fault and the repeated marriage allows the woman to become respectful again (248–62). Provintsial’nye Mechtateli (The Provincial Dreamers) (2020) A musical comedy, Provintsial’nye mechtateli illustrates yet a further demographic problem in contemporary Tajikistan. The story is set in a town called Pirabad. No such town exists in actuality; Pirabad is a fantasy town. Translated into English, “Pirabad” becomes “a city of oldies.” A girl’s parents suddenly realize that their young daughter is at risk of becoming a pir-dukhtar if she is not married off soon. In Tajikistan, an unmarried daughter’s parents can arrange her marriage with or without her consent (Nourzhanov and Bleuer 2013, 77–80, 83–84; Turaeva 2017, 154, 159–61, 165). In Provintsial’ny mechtateli the girl’s concerned parents place an advertisement in a local newspaper, welcoming candidates for their daughter’s hand in marriage. Significantly, the would-be bride is put up for a kind of auction and hence objectified. Somewhat like an aged oligarch and a banker, the would-be bride’s parents arrange the mia (“look at the bride” meeting) of the potential grooms. They wish their daughter to be married off into a well-settled family. Their first candidate proves unsuitable, and each of the succeeding candidates turns out to be even worse than the one before. Finally, their daughter, a modern bride, stops waiting for her parents’ approval; she takes matters into her own hands and marries a poor young poet. In marrying the suitor of her own choice, she has defied tradition and married for love. Hence, by discarding the old ways for the new, the bride shows that change is occurring between the traditional Tajikistan and the contemporary Tajikistan. CONCLUSION Clearly, the Tajik wedding customs and traditional family network structures are the driving force for the continuance of the culture. At the core of the culture is the strength and persistence of the importance of locale and region to the Tajik sense of identity and belonging which, given the long history

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of disruption to their culture by other empires, would appear to be inherent in the Tajik nature. As the films in this chapter show, the image of the bride in Tajik cinema embodies a shift from a regressive society and relics to a progressive future in early Tajik films, and a return toward a traditional understanding of womanhood in films of the later period of independence. The films indicate that even though Tajikistan has undergone a cultural revolution, in part, like the arus/kelin, Tajikistan is currently caught in a liminal phase.

REFERENCES Ahror, Kamar. 2012. “Landmines Still a Threat on Tajik-Uzbek Border.” Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, IWPR, September 12. https​:/​/ww​​w​.iwp​​r​.net​​/glob​​al​-vo​​ices/​​landm​​ines-​​ still​​-thre​​at​-ta​​ji​k​-u​​zbek-​​borde​r Arusi Zamonavi (A Modern Bride), part 1. 2015. Tajik film, directed by Nabijon Pirmatov. Dushanbe: Zamonavi Media. ———. part 2. 2016. Tajik film, directed by Nabijon Pirmatov. Dushanbe: Zamonavi Media. Asia Plus. 2018. “Minkulturi pridumalo, chto dolzhni nosit zhenshini: Net miniyubkam, chernim platkam I galosham” (“The Ministry of Culture made up what women should wear: No mini-skirts, black scarves and galoshes”). https​:/​/as​​iaplu​​ stj​.i​​nfo​/r​​u​/new​​s​/lif​​e​/cul​​ture/​​20180​​319​/m​​inkul​​turi-​​pridu​​malo-​​chto-​​dolzh​​ni​-no​​sit​-z​​ hents​​hini-​​net​-m​​ini​-y​​ubka​m​​-cher​​nim​-p​​latka​​m​-i​-g​​alosh​​am Batalden, Stephen K., and Sandra L. Batalden. 1997. The Newly Independent States of Eurasia: Handbook of Former Soviet Republics. 2nd ed. Phoenix: Oryx. Cleuziou, Juliette. 2017. “Po napravleniyu k zhenotsentrichnoy semie? Otnosheniya v transnatsionalnih I nepolnih semiah v Tadjikistane” (“Towards a women-centric family? The relations in the transnational and the single-parent families”). https​ :/​/ww​​w​.aca​​demia​​.edu/​​33336​​839​/T​​oward​​s​-mat​​rifoc​​al​-fa​​milie​​s​-Rel​​ation​​s​-in-​​trans​​ natio​​nal​-a​​nd​-si​​ngle-​​paren​​​t​-fam​​ilies​​-in​-T​​ajiki​​stan Edelbay, Saniya. 2012. “Traditional Kazakh Culture and Islam.” International Journal of Business and Social Science, 3 (11): 122–33. https​:/​/ij​​bssne​​t​.com​​/jour​​ nals/​​Vol​_3​​_No​_1​​1​_Jun​​e​​_201​​2​/15.​​pdf Edgar, Adrienne Lynne. 2006. “Bolshevism, Patriarchy, and the Nation: The Soviet ‘Emancipation’ of Muslim Women in Pan-Islamic Perspective.” Slavic Review, 65(2): 252–72. doi: 10.2307/4148592. Harris, Collette. 2006. Muslim Youth: Tensions and Transitions in Tajikistan (Case Studies in Anthropology). 1st ed. New York; London: Routledge. Hassan Arbakesh (Hassan the Charioteer). 1965. Tajik film, directed by Boris Kimyagarov. Dushanbe: Tajikfilm. IWPR Central Asia. 2017. “Tajikistan’s Abandoned Wives.” Global Voices Tajikistan, RCA Issue 810, March 30. https​:/​/iw​​pr​.ne​​t​/glo​​bal​-v​​oices​​/taji​​kista​​ns​-ab​​a​ndon​​ed​wi​​ves

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Lemon, Edward. 2019. “Dependent on Remittances, Tajikistan’s Long-Term Prospects for Economic Growth and Poverty Reduction Remain Dim.” https​:/​/ww​​ w​.mig​​ratio​​npoli​​cy​.or​​g​/art​​icle/​​depen​​dent-​​remit​​tance​​s​-taj​​ikist​​an​-pr​​ospec​​ts​-​di​​m​-eco​​ nomic​​-grow​​th Margi Begunoh (The Sinless Death). 2013. Tajik film, directed by Yunus Yusupov. Dushanbe: Tajikfilm. MFA. 2019. “Zakon Respubliki Tajikistan Ob uporyadochenii traditsiy, torzhestv I obryadov v Respublike Tajikistan” (“The Law of the Republic of Tajikistan on Streamlining of traditions, celebrations and customs No.272 dated June 8, 2007.”) https​:/​/mf​​a​.tj/​​ru​/ma​​in​/vi​​ew​/39​​60​/za​​kon​-r​​espub​​liki-​​tadzh​​ikist​​an​-ob​​-upor​​yadoc​​henii​​ -trad​​itsii​​-torz​​hestv​​-t​-ob​​ryado​​v​​-v​-r​​espub​​like-​​tadzh​​ikist​​an Mir24. 2019. “Pesn o lokone: v Dushanbe proshel festival dlinnih volos” (“The Song on a Curl: A festival of long hair is over in Dushanbe.”) https​:/​/mi​​r24​.t​​v​/new​​s​/163​​ 50828​​/pesn​​-o​-lo​​kone-​​v​-dus​​hanbe​​-pros​​hel​-f​​estiv​​​al​-dl​​innyh​​-volo​s Najibullah, Farangis. 2017. “Tajik polygamy: ‘Secret’ second wives confront risk, but often it’s too late.” Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, October 26. https​:/​/ww​​w​.ref​​ world​​.org/​​docid​​/5a9f​​c6​30a​​.html​ Newman, Dina. 2006. “Sudba negramotnih nevest v Tajikistane” (“A fate of the illiterate brides in Tajikistan”). BBC Russian​.com​, December 6. http:​/​/new​​s​.bbc​​.co​.u​​k​ /hi/​​russi​​an​/li​​fe​/ne​​wsid_​​62150​​0​0​/62​​15076​​.html​ Nourzhanov, Kirill, and Christian Bleuer. 2013. Tajikistan: A Political and Social History. Asian Studies Series, paperback ed. Canberra, Australia: ANU E Press. Nurdzhanov, Nizam. 2001. “Teatralnaya I muzikalnaya zhizn stolitsi gosudarstva Samanidov XIX-XX vv” (“The theatre and musical life of the capital of Samanid State in XIX-XX century”). Dushanbe: Matbuot. Pannier, Bruce. 2018. “Tajikistan’s Unconquerable Gorno-Badakhshan Region.” Quisloq Ovozi (blog), October 9. RadioFreeEurope.RadioLiberty. https​:/​/ww​​w​.rfe​​ rl​.or​​g​/a​/t​​ajiki​​stan-​​uncon​​quera​​ble​-g​​orno-​​badak​​hshan​​-regi​​​on​/29​​53405​​7​.htm​l Provintsial’nye Mechtateli (The Provincial Dreamers). 2020. Tajik film, directed by Rumi Shoazimov. Dushanbe: Tajikfilm. Qiyami Roz (True Noon). 2009. Tajik film, directed by Nosir Saidov. Dushanbe: TALCO. Qodir, Haramgul. 201l. “Multiple Marriages in Tajikistan.” RCA Issue 665. Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, December 13. https​:/​/iw​​pr​.ne​​t​/glo​​bal​-v​​oices​​/mult​​iple-​​ marri​​ages​-​​tajik​​istan​ Rakhimdinova, Aijan. 2005. “Kyrgyz Bride Price Controversy.” Central Asia, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan WPR Issue, 17: 52. https​:/​/iw​​pr​.ne​​t​/glo​​bal​-v​​ oices​​/kyrg​​yz​-br​​ide​-p​​rice​-​​contr​​overs​y Raqsi Zindagi (The Dance of Life). 2019. Tajik film, directed by Mukhabbat Sattori. Dushanbe: Tajikfilm. Regnum Information Agency. 2010. “President Tadjikistana nablyudaet za finalom konkursa na samuyu dlinnuyu kosu” (“The President of Tajikistan observes the finale of the longest braid’s competition.”) Regnum in Tajikistan, November 5. https​:/​/re​​gnum.​​ru​/ne​​ws​/cu​​ltura​​/1343​​​530​.h​​tml

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Reuters. 2019. “Tajikistan: 17 killed in border outpost attack.” Reuters News, November 6. https​:/​/ww​​w​.dw.​​com​/e​​n​/taj​​ikist​​an​-17​​-kill​​ed​-in​​-bord​​er​-ou​​tpost​​-a​tta​​ck​ /a-​​51129​​060 Roche, Sophie. 2017. “Semia v Centralnoy Azii: novie issledovatelskie perspektivi” (“The Family in Central Asia: New Research Perspectives.”) In Semia v Centralnoy Azii: novie perspektivi izucheniya/The Family in Central Asia: New Perspectives, edited by Sophie Roche, 7–36. Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Verlag GmbH. Roche Sophie, and Sophie Hohmann. 2011. “Wedding Rituals and the Struggle Over National Identities.” Central Asian Survey 30(1):113–28. https​:/​/do​​i​.org​​/10​.1​​080​/0​​ 26349​​37​.20​​​11​.55​​4065 TAG News. 2014. “Shkola dlya Tadjichki—ne prosto znaniya, eto shkola zhizni— spetsialisti” (“A School for a Tajik girl is not just the knowledge, but a School of Life. The Specialists”). https​:/​/ta​​jikta​​.tj​/r​​u​/new​​s​/shk​​ola​-d​​lya​-t​​adzhi​​chki-​​ne​-pr​​osto-​​ znani​​ya​-et​​o​-shk​​ola​​-z​​hizni​​-spet​​siali​​sty Thibault, Hélène. 2016. “Female Virtue, Religion, and State Ideology in Tajikistan” (PDF). Ceria Briefs, 10: 1–9. https​:/​/ww​​w​.aca​​demia​​.edu/​​20167​​317​/F​​emale​​_Virt​​ ure​_R​​eligi​​on​_an​​d​_Sta​​te​_Id​​eo​log​​y​_in_​​Tajik​​istan​ Torno, Swetlana. 2017. “Tadjikskoe po soderzhaniyu—sovetskoe po forme? Tadjikskiy politicheskiy diskurs primenitelno k zhenshinam” (“The Tajik in essence but Soviet in form? Tajik political discourse towards women.”) In Semia v Centralnoy Azii: novie perspektivi izucheniya /The Family in Central Asia: New Perspectives, edited by Sophie Roche, 112–28. Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Verlag GmbH. Turaeva, Rano. 2017. “Kelin” v Centralnoy Azii” (“Kelin in Central Asia”). In Semia v Centralnoy Azii: novie perspektivi izucheniya (The Family in Central Asia: New Perspectives), edited by Sophie Roche, 154–65. Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Verlag GmbH. 2018 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices: Tajikistan. 2019. Section 6. Discrimination, Societal Abuses, and Trafficking in Persons. Children. United States Department of State. Bureau of South and Central Asian Affairs Tajikistan. https​:/​/ww​​w​.sta​​te​.go​​v​/rep​​orts/​​2018-​​count​​ry​-re​​ports​​-on​-h​​uman-​​right​​s​-pra​​​ctice​​s​/taj​​ ikist​​an/ Warcholak, Natasha. 2011. “Early Marriage in Tajikistan.” The Guardian, June 30. https​:/​/ww​​w​.the​​guard​​ian​.c​​om​/jo​​urnal​​ismco​​mpeti​​tion/​​early​​-marr​​iage-​​​in​-ta​​jikis​​tan. Yusufbekova, Zinatmo. 2015. “The Family and the Household Life of Shugnan People (end of XIX-beginning of XX century).” Moscow: Institut ethnologii i anthropologii im. N.N. Miklukho-Maklaya RAN. Zhivoy Bog (The Alive God). 1934. Tajik film, directed by Dmitry Vasiliev, and Mikhail Verner. Stalinabad: Tajikkino.

Chapter 7

The “Economics” of Bride-Price in Nigerian Women’s Literature Shalini Nadaswaran

In much of the scholarship on African women’s literature, there has been very little focus on the representation of brides. Research has, however, oftentimes discussed the negative implications of the dowry system for brides in comparison and in relation to the positive practice of bride-price (Onyango 2016, 1–4; McCarthy 2017), the latter of which is also frequently viewed as a practice that honors women who are intended brides-to-be (Kaye, 2016; Lowes and Nunn, 2018; Olomojobi 2016, 16–17; Baffour Adjei, 2019). Noticeably, very few such works deal with the ambiguities and negative literary economics of the bride-price on brides. While research on women’s subjectivity and agency has examined women’s experiences in different roles and junctures of their lives such as daughter, wife, and mother or even mother-in-law (see Nadaswaran, 2018; Titilayo Saibu, 2018), the bride, on the other hand, occupies an in-between, ambivalent space. At the cusp of womanhood, as wifehood is often seen as the mark of transition for a young girl-woman (see Arabova, chapter 6, this book), the space occupied by brides raises concerns in African popular literature as writers explore the effects of bride-price on brides. This chapter aims to highlight the economics of Nigerian marriage, the effects of the practice of bride-price on the Nigerian bride/wife, underlining the ways in which the contemporary “transactions” of this bride-price both affect and effect a variety of social relations, especially between bride and groom/ husband and wife, and father and daughter relationships as well as relationships between in-laws (Sessou et al., 2018; Lowes and Nunn, 2018; Ashraf et al., 2015). In this chapter I approach the literary economics of the practice of bride-price—which is commonly found in most African societies (see Lowes and Nunn, 2018; Collins Isioma 2016, 1; Research Directorate, 2000)—in the context of Nigerian women’s literature. I read select literary 113

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fictions penned by first-, second-, and third-generation Nigerian women writers, Buchi Emecheta, Ifeoma Okoye, and Unoma Azuah, from the angle of their discussions on, and explorations of, the bride-price and their portrayals of how this practice charts and changes the lives of their female characters. Emecheta’s novel The Bride-Price (1976), Okoye’s short story The PayPacket (1993), and Azuah’s book Sky-High Flames (2005), respectively, dissect this traditional practice of bride-price, which uncovers a more sinister, darker, and often contradictory motive which does not take into consideration the needs of the female person who is the bride/bride-to-be. Thus, in their literary treatments and representations of brides, these Nigerian women writers reveal the anxieties and complexities of how brides are affected by the practice of bride-price, often “bartered” to their husbands’ families, their bride-price a transferable utility that pays off either their families’ debts or their brothers’ education (see Ashraf et al., 2015, 5–8; Sessou et al., 2018). Through the works of Emecheta, Okoye, and Azuah, we (as readers) can discern how, in real life, the bride often occupies a precarious space, bound by societal and cultural duties and obligations which often mute their agency and self-definition (see Stobie 2006, 117–18).1 In this chapter I will consider how the figure of the bride and the practice of bride-price seemingly signal the continued construction of hegemonic patriarchy and gendered difference, in preparation for a peripheral, feminized domestic space which is heavily contested by Nigerian women writers. THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK For this chapter, in order to analyze the selected literary reinscriptions of contemporary scholarly discourses, I locate my argument within the theoretical framework expounded by Omolara Ogundipe-Leslie’s (1993) feminist perspective and Chikwenye Okonjo Ogunyemi’s (1985) womanist theory. These two theories will help situate my argument that established patriarchal practices and strictures (mountains on a woman’s back), such as the bride-price, do indeed oppress women. Undeniably, though, despite their ambiguous positions, brides in Nigerian women’s literature do attempt to subvert these hegemonic discourses placed upon them, some more successful than others. In her article “African Women, Culture and Another Development” (1993), Ogundipe-Leslie discusses the various factors that oppress and subjugate African women, which she theorizes as the six mountains on a woman’s back. Drawing and extending on Mao Tse-tung’s argument on the state of women’s oppression (which I have also discussed elsewhere,2) OgundipeLeslie (1993, 114) extrapolates that the “centuries of the interiorization of the ideologies of patriarchy, and gender hierarchy” seen in the many mountains

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on a woman’s back, have solidified her oppression and subjugation. The six mountains of colonialism and neocolonial oppression, traditional structures, the female person’s own backwardness, man (depicted through the institution of patriarchy), race, and “the sixth is herself,” are the foundational factors that legitimize women’s backwardness and marginalization (107). Pertinent to the discussion in this chapter are the mountains of patriarchy and tradition which pose crucial threats to brides through the practice of bride-price, compounding and validating their subservient positions. I also find Ogunyemi’s (1985) womanist theory useful in my discussion on Nigerian women’s writing as these writers draw on womanist qualities to show female characters that challenge patriarchal practices and ideologies, while asserting their agency and self-determination which have been forcibly removed from them. In her article Womanism: The Dynamics of the Contemporary Black Female Novel in English (1985, 66), Ogunyemi draws on a female legacy of strength and history by articulating that “in fighting the establishment,” African women writers depict a discerning quality that envisions women in self-defining categories. Arriving at the term “womanism” independently of, but overlapping with, Alice Walker’s definition of the theory,3 Ogunyemi (1985) states: The young girl inherits womanism after a traumatic event such as menarche or after an epiphany or as a result of the experience of racism, rape, death in the family, or sudden responsibility. Through coping with the experience she moves creatively beyond the self to that concern for the needs of others characteristic of adult womanist. (72)

The “womanist” process allows the female subject to metamorphosize and come “to a sense of herself as a woman,” to become independent and “selfreliant” (Ogunyemi 1985, 72). For this chapter, I use the “womanist” process to discuss the ways in which brides in Nigerian women’s writing become womanist and challenge the impositions of the bride-price on their lives, refusing commodification and the absence of independent choice. Applied together, Ogundipe-Leslie’s (1993) and Ogunyemi’s (1985) theoretical underpinnings provide a more nuanced way of de-categorizing powerlessness in brides. BRIDE-PRICE To gain a nuanced understanding of bride-price in Africa, it is first necessary to note that Africa “is a multi-national society; and therefore the existing customs of her people are as varied as the number of the ethnic societies,”

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and that despite this multiplicity and variety of cultures, the practice of dowry and bride-price is still prevalent in most of the cultures (Collins Isioma 2016, 1; Research Directorate, 2000). Importantly, “in present-day Africa,” women’s problems in relation to economic formations differ from society to society (Ogundipe-Leslie 1993, 113): “Thus woman’s problems in Nigeria, a neo-liberal country, differ from those in South Africa, still a colonized country” (113). While “dowry” and “bride-price” have sometimes been confused as being one and same (Olomojobi 2016, 16–17), on closer inspection the two payments are quite different from the other. Loosely defined, “dowry” is “property and money” that the bride’s father gives to the groom’s family in the name of gifts deemed as suitable for the newlywed couple (16–17). Dowry is usually given at the wedding, or immediately after (16–17). Though some may argue differently, bride-price is the opposite of dowry: bride-price is a payment for a human being which can be described as the money that the bride’s father obtains pre-wedding from the groom’s family in exchange for their daughter (Olomojobi 2016, 16–17; Lowes and Nunn 2018, 1, 3). The practice of payment between families at the time of marriage known as “bride-price” is a common, pervasive one in Nigeria and larger Africa (Lowes and Nunn, 2018). Generally speaking, the “bride-price,” which some may call the “bride wealth” (Kaye, 2016), is an age-old custom established initially as a means to compensate the bride’s family for the “loss” of their family member (Lowes and Nunn 2018, 3). Therefore, the bride-price is paid by the groom to the bride’s family. The bride-price was first carried out in agrarian society, and its practice varies in Nigeria according to locality and ethnic communities, where sometimes the differences in requests may be profound (Sessou et al., 2018). For one example, the Igbo in some parts of Abia state (one of the thirty-six states in the seventeen local government areas that constitute Nigeria as a country) set the bride-price at thirty shillings alongside the Umunne—the list of items requested by the bride’s family that needs to be fulfilled by the groom (see Sessou et al., 2018). The general practice is that each family determines what their son-in-law will pay them in compensation for their daughter, where the amount set is supposed to be a small “bride token” (Sessou et al., 2018). The Umunne hence should consist of small amounts of money, food items, life stock, palm wine, and other tangible gifts for the bride’s family (Sessou et al., 2018). However, in contemporary times, this practice has evolved and changed from its origins and function to a practice that oppresses brides, often using them as cash cows that pay a heavy price of submission and servitude when they become wives (Lowes and Nunn 2018, 2–3; Sessou et al., 2018). Further, Sessou et al. (2018) note that in their interviews with Nigerian women of the Igbo society, it was revealed that the bride-price “varies and

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is collected according to each family’s traditions and customs.” One woman said it differs “from state to state, villages to villages and families to families. If the prospective in-law is wealthy, some families might take advantage of it and inflate the bride-price” (Sessou et al., 2018). Understanding the custom of the bride-price is vital to appreciating the effects of this practice on Nigerian women. In fact, in Nigerian societies, “the payment of the bride-price supersedes any other form of marriage, such as the church or registry wedding” (Princewill et al. 2019, 776). Integral to this is also recognizing that “nonpayment of the bride-price results in negative consequences for the woman and her offspring” (776). Arguably, this leaves the bride in a vulnerable position, exposed to dangers, should her bride-price not be paid because “a woman whose bride-price was not paid is not regarded as a wife but a concubine by the groom’s family; she is not treated with respect in the society” (776). To elaborate a little, in Nigeria, this practice is crucial in marriage because it not only confirms the validity of traditional marriage but also is an informal prerequisite for church or civil ceremonies (Lowes and Nunn 2018, 3). If a bride-price is unpaid, the marriage is then seen as invalid by family and community (3). In their interviews with Nigerian women from various societies—Igbo, Hausas, Delta, Yoruba, Edo, and Akwa Ibom, and some of the other ethnic groups of the two-hundred-and-fifty in Nigeria—Sessou et al. (2018), noted that the bride-price is “symbolic in Igbo marriage,” and they recorded one interviewee as saying, Bride-price removes shame and insult from the woman since she is legally married according to the tradition and gives honor to the woman. But sometimes it also can be a disadvantage to the woman because some men feel they can treat their wives anyhow because they paid for her. There is no binding law of marriage if the bride-price is not paid according to the Igbo tradition. (Sessou et al., 2018)

In the Igbo culture, the fully paid pre-wedding bride-price allows the woman to be given full respect in her husband’s house and by his family, and “the woman cannot be driven out of her husband’s house unless the bride-price is refunded” (Sessou et al., 2018). One of the women interviewed by Sessou et al. (2018) explained the situation thus: If there is “a problem” in the house or the marriage, and the woman “is on the receiving end,” for example, an abusive husband, “she cannot easily leave the marriage and remarry until there is a refund of the bride-price to her husband”; and if he “refuses to collect the bride-price” and the woman “decides on her own to leave him for another man,” all children of her marriage and from the new man belong to her “first” husband because she is still legally married to him unless, and

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until, he accepts the bride-price from her family: “This is why is it good for the woman [the bride-to-be] to ensure that her bride-price is paid before marrying a man to avoid problems in the future” (Sessou et al., 2018). Thus, the bride-price is integral for social approval. Critics have assessed the position of women within this practice arguing that it continues to oppress a bride’s agency and personhood as this “price” or payment not only diminishes women’s “autonomy” but also subjects them to “commodification as objects for sale” (Princewill et al. 2019, 776). Furthermore, calculating the stressful nature of this practice hints “that husbands sometimes are unhappy at the exorbitant amount of money paid for the marriage” and take this out on their brides, which again places the women in a subjugated state (776). Invariably in contemporary times, the high price paid for a bride’s hand in marriage translates to “ownership”—allowing a husband absolute authority (Kaye, 2016; Sessou et al., 2018; Lowes and Nunn 2018, 2). Viewed in this way, the position of power then becomes the focus of the bride-price practice. Since power hinges on positioning, this places the groom or the husband in a superior position to dictate the terms and practices within the marriage. In the literary narratives selected for this chapter, Emecheta (1976), Okoye (1993), and Azuah (2005) each discuss how the engagement with this practice for women is a crucial feature in a bride’s life that has the capacity to demarcate, imprison, and control them, clearly another strategic method of suppression and power relations. In this respect, however, it seems vital to reiterate that the practice of the bride-price was never initially conceived as a strategy for power but carried out as a means to compensate families for the loss of a daughter and her labor (Lowes and Nunn 2018, 3). Traditionally, with some societies, of whom the Sonjo people are one example, the bride-price used to “range from sixty to three-hundred goats,” with “the average being about a hundred goats,” but in accordance with what the worth of the bride was seen to be by family (Gray 1960, 38). Emecheta’s The Bride-Price (1976) In part, Emecheta’s first novel The Bride-Price (1976) concerns the problems of women as brides-be-be/brides in postwar Nigeria. Emecheta’s novel is also a classic indictment against the practice of “bride-price.” In the book, through the character of Aku-nna, Emecheta interrogates this practice, brideprice, delineating the human “cost” of this experience and the ways in which Aku-nna is robbed of her womanhood and personhood. Used as a means to an end, Aku-nna’s stepfather Okonkwo quickly arranges for her marriage to Okoboshi so that he can use her bride-price to acquire his Eze title,4 to increase his status in his community. As a writer whose works are replete with the varied ways in which Nigerian women are exploited and subjugated,

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Emecheta brings to the forefront the oppressive, monetary nature of this practice as she reveals the poor choice of a husband made for Aku-nna. In Emecheta’s book, Aku-nna is even kidnapped by Okoboshi when he discovers Aku-nna’s love interest for Chike. He attempts to force himself on her, to consummate this “forced” marriage: “the next minute he was upon her, pulling her roughly by the arm so much that she screamed in pain. He forced her onto the bed . . . then she kicked him in the chest, he slapped her very hard, and she could smell gin on his breath” (Emecheta 1976, 137–38). Emecheta reveals at this juncture the helpless position of the bride that is oppressed by the intricate web of traditions. Ogundipe-Leslie (1993, 110, 113, 115) theorizes that the mountains of patriarchy and tradition, “superstructural forms deriving from the precolonial past” (115), are major factors that contribute to a woman’s limitation. Through Aku-nna, one sees the multifarious ways in which women are disempowered. Igbo culture accepts and endorses Okoboshi’s actions, meaning him kidnapping and attempting to consummate the relationship with Aku-nna would sanction him the right as her husband (see Lowes and Nunn, 2018; Sessou et al., 2018). Thus, the bride in this context is not celebrated but is seen as an object to be acquired. However, refusing to accept this position, Aku-nna displays womanist qualities during the rape, fighting for her freedom, as she experiences “a kind of strength [that] came to her, from where she did not know. She knew only that, for once in her life, she intended to stand up for herself, to fight for her honor” (Emecheta 1976, 136). Aku-nna reverses the ownership of bride-price, refusing the position of forced bride through forced rape, dishonoring herself in order to retain her honor. She escapes by lying to Okoboshi and his family that she has lost her virginity to her lover, Chike. Through Aku-nna, Emecheta critiques what Eustace Palmer (1981, 21) notes as the “degradation of the female”: Male chauvinism is surely at its peak in traditional society where females are regarded by males as little better than goods and chattels . . . if they are daughters, the father’s only interest in them relates to the amount of money they will bring into his coffers in the form of bride-price. (21)

Thus, in her 1976 story, The Bride-Price, in showcasing the legitimization of Aku-nna’s “forced” marriage, Emecheta discloses the construction of the bride-price in defining womanhood. Refusing to accept the dictates of her culture, Aku-nna runs away with Chike. The act of running away from home and choosing her own husband reflects Aku-nna’s attempt at claiming agency and personhood for herself, her “womanist” attempt at refusing to follow the mandates set out by tradition and family. Unfortunately, Aku-nna’s joy is short-lived when she dies at childbirth. Her death “substantiated the traditional superstition,” that in “losing” her virginity before marriage, running

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away with Chike and her bride-price from Chike rejected by her stepfather, Aku-nna was doomed (Emecheta 1976, 168). In her death, Aku-nna is made an example: Every girl born in Ibuza after was told her story, to reinforce the old taboos of the land. If a girl wishes to live long and see her children’s children, she must accept the husband chosen for her by her people, and the bride-price must be paid. If the bride-price was not paid, she would never survive the birth of her first child. (Emecheta 1976, 168)

It would be somewhat simplistic and superficial to read the text as condoning the hold of the bride-price on young girls, and especially a young bride like Aku-nna. A closer reading of The Bride-Price delineates Emecheta’s anger and disillusionment toward this practice, rationally questioning how this “psychological hold . . . would continue to exist, even in the face of modernization, until present day. Why this is so is . . . anybody’s guess?” (Emecheta 1976, 168). Aku-nna names her daughter Joy, “the same name [they] gave to the bed on which [Joy] was conceived,” a reflection of her state of happiness in choosing her marriage partner and her position as a bride (seen further through the reference of the marriage bed), this time liberated and self-defining (167). In this, Emecheta gestures toward a fully realized womanist character as Aku-nna, however brief her period as a bride was, occupied a space of agency and self-determination, proving that a short marriage of one’s own choice is better than one in a lifetime of misery and suffering. Thus Emecheta leads one as the reader to sympathize with young Nigerian women who are victimized in the position of bride through the practice of the bride-price. Okoye’s The Pay-Packet (1993) Consistent with the legacy and commitment of Nigerian Igbo women writers, Okoye’s short story The Pay-Packet (1993) also critiques the economics of the bride-price while attempting a theoretical revision on bride-price practice. In this, Okoye (1993) reveals the gendered discourse of the practice by unpacking the long-established cultural bias, focusing on the ways in which women’s labor is constructed. Undeniably, “the power of discourse was systematically used to frame women’s role in development,” and in this story is used to show a more nuanced revelation of women’s participation in the public and private spheres, which is seen as equally oppressive to them (Rai 2002, 14). As women are expected to play different roles, Iba, a young bride in The Pay-Packet (Okoye, 1993) is confronted with a new “ideological reproduction” which expects her to “construct, reproduce and transmit” (cultural) expectations that continue to place her in a submissive position (Rai

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2002, 13). Thus, while women participate in the public domain like Okoye’s character, Iba, who works as a school teacher, her labor is restricted through the bride-price practice as she is expected to hand over her monthly salary, that is, her pay-packet, to her husband (and father) every month without questioning its legitimacy. It is the male discourse and ideology (seen through the bride-price) that configures, counts, assesses, and rewards Iba’s labor production (Okoye 1993, 113–14, 115, 116). When Iba received her salary every month, “her husband had demanded all of it. Basking in the euphoria of the newly married, she had failed to notice the implications and consequences of such demands and had gladly complied with it. From her salary, Bertrand had given her some housekeeping money and a small amount of pocket-money” (Okoye 1993, 17). Bertrand, Iba’s husband, effectively removes Iba’s agency, depicted in him laying claim to her salary and deciding how much allowance she should be given, relegating her to a peripheral position as soon as she becomes his bride. Here, Okoye (1993) contrasts Iba’s experience of receiving her salary as a single woman, describing her sense of elation of receiving and spending her salary as opposed to the feeling of dread she experiences as a young bride, “these days pay-days had become a great terror for her, something she longed for and dreaded at the same time” (Rai 2002, 15). Clearly, “in those days, [Iba] spent her money as she wished” (Okoye 1993, 17). It is troubling to see how women’s labor participation and contribution in both public and private domains serve masculine or male desires when she discovers her own salary is being used to pay her bride-price by her husband to her father. Although she is central to the economic production of her family, seen in how much the men in her life depend on her pay-packet as an economical means for the bride-price, she is still “marginalized in the new discourse of development,”—that is, economic contribution (Rai 2002, 15). When Bertrand finally confesses the weight of the bride-price payment to Iba, “your father secretly made me promise to give him your salary every month for three years in spite of the huge sum he took from me as your bride-price,” Okoye (1993, 25) reveals the links between women’s narratives and the discourse of masculinity and patriarchy in this story, addressing the multiple burdens women carry as well as the weight of their responsibilities, and as defined by Ogundipe-Leslie’s (1993, 107) feminist perspective of six mountains that women carry on their backs. This practice, as argued by Chitu Princewell et al. (2019, 9), causes strain on the newlyweds, oftentimes cementing women’s subjugated and precarious positions as they experience abuse from their husbands in their marriage as Iba does, the payment of a large bride-price solidifying “the culture of male dominance,” and “women’s diminished autonomy” (9). Despite Iba’s early pregnancy, the cultural manifestation of this practice translates to abuse, as Bertrand—who is ironically

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referred to as Gentleman B—exerts brute force when she refuses to give her pay-packet to him (Okoye 1993, 18). In her experience of physical abuse and having her salary forcefully taken from her, “a woman’s diminished autonomy and subordinate position in the family” is the focal point at this juncture, undoubtedly eroding “her autonomy and dignity” (Princewill et al. 2019, 11). Although Iba initially tries to hold on to her money, “when she would not comply, [Bertrand] had begun to beat her. . . . He was nearly six feet tall and weighed 80 kilograms. . . . Unable to take anymore beating, she surrendered the money to him” (Okoye 1993, 18). Seen in this context, Iba’s circumstance “bordered on slavery,” proving that the bride-price parallels servitude (18). There is no polarity between the two aspects of bride-price and servitude, and Bertrand’s declaration, “you’re now getting ideas into your head. Some women in that bloody school of yours are teaching you how to grow wings, but I’ll clip your wings before they ever start growing,” is evidence of the patriarchal imposition on the bride at the early stages of her marriage, ensuring a powerful and fixed construction of her subservient, gendered position in her marriage (18). Furthermore, this also gestures toward how Bertrand’s exerts his masculine dominance over Iba, vehemently wanting to “clip” or “beat” down any form of independence and autonomy from her. Bertrand behaves in this manner through his masculine pride as groom and husband who has paid a high bride-price for Iba, coupled with his masculine strength as someone bigger and heavier than her, “no better than a brute,” who was to others, however, “a perfect gentleman—civilized, suave, courteous and kind” (21). However, true to a womanist underpinning, these biased demarcations are contested by Okoye (1993, 23), as Iba attempts for a second time to stand up for herself. Despite Bertrand’s slaps, Iba continues to defend herself, this time through verbal criticism rather than physical retaliation (23). She observes his lack of masculinity, repeatedly stating, “You’re a fine gentleman. Your friends will be very proud of you when they hear this,” thus threatening his reputation among his friends (23). When his friend comes to visit and notices Iba’s bruised lip, Iba does not embarrass Bertrand by publicly humiliating him, choosing instead to cover-up his crimes by brushing off the query on her bruises with a nonchalant remark, “You know B couldn’t hurt a fly” (24). Grateful for her tactfulness and forgiveness, Bertrand reveals the true reason behind his brutality, which shocks Iba, “No, not him. He would not do such a cruel thing. Not my father!” (25). Thus Okoye addresses the roots of patriarchal conduct, depicting the ways in which fathers “barter” their daughters and continue to make a “profit” even after their marriage despite receiving a large bride-price when they give their daughters’ hand in marriage as brides. Both men, Bertrand and Iba’s father, are presented as brutal in the story, and through Iba, Okoye (1933) subverts the practice of bride-price,

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suggesting that the bride or young wife be paid an equal bride-price for the cruelty she has endured. In The Pay-Packet, Iba refashions power relations; Iba does not excuse Bertrand for his behavior, demanding he “pay another bride-price—this time to me—to restore the status quo ante bellum” (25). Iba asserts her womanist individuality, restoring the inequality she experiences as a young bride by receiving a bride-price of her own from her husband, a practice traditionally meant to be paid by men, to men only. The markings in this short story re-visions the position of a new bride, quelling the systemization of patriarchal dominance which may be carried out throughout the marriage. Similarly, the position of the father, which is usually reinforced, is brought to the forefront as Iba intends to “go to the village with [Bertrand] tomorrow” to question him (25). In refusing to legitimize both her husband’s and her father’s actions, Iba underlines “the centrality of women for the reproduction of labor,” refusing to allow her worth, translated as labor in this context, be taken for granted (Rai 2002, 24). Such refashioning is vital as it places value on her contribution to both the private and the public domains, which must not be reduced to merely economic or utilitarian functions. While OgundipeLeslie (1993) has cited the social hierarchy of traditional practices as oppressive on a woman’s life, Okoye (1933) establishes that traditions can and need to be changed, seen in the payment of the bride-price to the bride to compensate her for the loss of self-dignity and self-worth as a bride in marriage. Azuah’s Sky-High Flames (2005) Third-generation Nigerian literature, usually marked with works published after the year 2000, has been described as a body of work that “constitutes a corpus in the making . . . producing prolific and sometimes unforeseen goods” (Adesanmi and Dunton 2008, vii–ix). The figure of the child is often used in third-generation texts to “examine how the innocent probing of such young characters become acts of resistance, capable of unmasking the sociocultural strictures of the postcolonial space” (x). After first noting that the dedication in Azuah’s novel Sky-High Flames “makes it plain” that the work “is a fictionalization of the author’s late aunt’s story,” Cheryl Stobie (2006, 117) announces that the first chapter in Azuah’s novel “is set during a phase of limbo when the main protagonist” and her best friend “are awaiting the news of their success in passing their primary school” exams (117). Stobie (2006, 117) further points out that the first paragraph in Azuah’s first chapter also establishes the narrator “in her specific family circumstances, and as well as in her wider cultural context,” as a victim of patriarchal rule. Here, I will employ the same quote from Azuah’s book Sky-High Flames as does Stobie in her 2006 review “Fierce, Yet Cleansing Flames,” but for the purposes of this chapter, with my deletions:

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My father never approved of anything I did. He felt he knew what was best for me, and my mother picked on me like a bird with a sharp beak. As the first daughter, I’ve always had to cater to everyone’s need . . . . Maybe my father was impatient because he had two wives . . . . The first he inherited from his father. My mother, he married out of love. Maybe my mother was afraid I would fail her as a first daughter if she were not harsh with me. . . . I couldn’t wait to leave home and attend high school. I wanted to be well educated with a high school certificate. I wanted to become a teacher and get married to the man of my dreams. Then my life would take the course I wanted it to take. I would miss . . . my brothers, but I would be happy to take a break from my parents and to work towards what I want. (Azuah 2005, 7)

Azuah’s Sky-High Flames (2005) interrogates the dominant male social order still prevalent in contemporary times. Through the potent strategy of the young girl-child whom I read as the young girl-bride, Ofunne, Azuah (2005) explores the patriarchal practice of the bride-price in present-day Nigeria. While many girls were denied access to education because of a bias toward boys and limited resources, this pattern changed when a higher brideprice could be fetched for girls with basic education (Ashraf et al. 2015, 3). Although Ofunne is sent to school, her education is affected because of her mother’s illness and her bride-price is necessary to settle the family’s medical bills. She questions the anxiety surrounding her marriage, “why this sudden plan for my marriage?” but is faced with the reality that “it is to help your father . . . we have spent a lot of money . . . everything we have, we have used up” (Azuah 2005, 73). Given the circumstance, her husband-to-be will pay her bride-price and her school fees until she finishes school. Ofunne does not wait to question her circumstance as a young bride after marriage but does so before, demanding an explanation from her father on how he could “marry her off to a stranger” because he “needs money”; “I don’t believe you; how much is my school fees? And you even made up your mind without consulting me?” (Azuah 2005, 76). Despite having the protagonist Ofunne confronting her father in the novel, Azuah, the author, uses Ofunne’s predicament to depict the helplessness of the young girl-child in the face of traditions that, as Ogundipe-Leslie (1993, 117–19) would suggest, need modification. In Azuah’s novel Sky-High Flames (2005), as an educated girl, Ofunne sees the ways in which she is “sold” into marriage because of money, a “commodity” to help her family expenses. Her helplessness is palpable when her agency is removed and the decision to marry made for her, “my heart cringed at the thought of getting married because we needed the money” (76). In seeking possible explanations “for the greater impacts of school construction among bride-price ethnic groups,” Ashraf et al. (2015, 3) suggest that

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groups that engaged in bride-price payments at marriage were more likely to take advantage of increased supply of schools by sending their girls to school because the returns to doing so were higher . . . . Increased investments in education by parents meant an increase in the amount of bride-price received by parents at marriage. For societies that do not pay a bride-price at marriage, or societies that pay a symbolic (or “token”) bride-price, this additional return to parents in investments in their daughters’ education does not exist. (Ashraf et al. 2015, 3)

In her 2005 novel Sky-High Flames, Azuah goes to great lengths to describe Ofunne’s future husband Oko Okolo, providing a complex and detailed description of his slippery, pretentious, and perverse character. Ofunne is married off to a man that “glances at Uka’s chest . . . What kind of man is he?” (80–81). He was also a man who, “in the space of three month[s]” never visited, but wrote “short letters” telling her “how busy he had been working hard to save for” their apparently elaborate wedding (83). Finally, when he does visit Ofunne, “he came looking unkempt. His hair was well oiled and combed the last time he visited, but now uncombed and twisted at the edges. His light blue shirt was rumpled just like his black pants” (83). As a bride (since her bride-price had been paid and her marriage seen as legitimate within the Igbo community), Ofunne observes her husband’s devolving behavior, fearing “is Oko like the hawk? Watching to snatch me away to an uncertain life?” (84). His changed, unkempt state is a foreshadow of the life and lies Ofunne will face with Oko as her husband. Ironically, if Ofunne’s parents had spent more time observing Oko instead of the amount of bride-price he was paying for her as a bride, they would have realized the poor choice they made for her. Despite her misgivings, Ofunne follows Oko to Kaduna, “barely eighteen. [Her] parents had performed [their] traditional marriage by proxy and there was no need for [Ofunne] to return home” (88). Robbed of the agency to decide on whom to marry, Ofunne is also denied a proper, traditional wedding, to be celebrated as a bride. She also experiences a makeshift church wedding in a “used wedding gown” in “a small empty Catholic church”; “the only witnesses were two priests, Mama Abu and Abu. His so-called friends who were supposed to have attended the wedding from all over the country never showed up. There was no elaborate party to show [her] off. The anticipated huge feast never occurred” (95). Thus Ofunne, the persona of the young girl-bride, reveals the truth behind the façade surrounding the sanctity and sacredness of wedding practices in contemporary times. Hiding behind the mountains of patriarchy and tradition (see Ogundipe-Leslie, 1993), Ofunne’s parents do not celebrate their daughter, choosing instead a short cut where they receive the “benefits” of the bride-price while omitting the outward display of affection and importance of their daughter. Similarly, Ofunne’s groom, Oko, rushes through the

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church wedding, in effect lying to Ofunne before marriage that he was working hard to have a grand celebration of their union (95). Thus, the process of imposition on women is seen as transitional and transferable, from one stage to the next, a young girl-child to girl-bride and then wife, each stage building blocks to the next that culminate in a whirlpool of oppression and subjugation. Unlike earlier writers such as Emecheta and Okoye, the third-generation writer, Azuah (2005) describes Ofunne and Oko’s marital consummation explicitly, in a rather frenzied, comical manner to expose the “lustful” nature of the bride-price practice. Apart from her parent’s “greed” of profiting from her, Ofunne describes her sexual experience with Oko as an extension of this excess and abuse. Unable to control himself, Oko “hopped over [her] with his clothes on. But as he struggled to get into [her], his pants got in his way, so he peeled off his clothes and jabbed [her] with such hostility that [she] told him to slow down . . . but every jab came with such an intense pain that [she] pushed him off several times” (Azuah 2005, 95). This description underpins the vulgarity of Ofunne’s experience, the persona rescinding her value and personhood. The converging lines of biology, sexuality, reproduction, and womanhood here, typify commodification and marginalization in the body of the bride. The reconstruction of Ofunne’s subjecthood only happens much later in the narrative after she loses her baby to syphilis that she contracts from Oko. Here, she chooses to leave Oko and return to her parent’s home to chart a new future for herself. She refuses her mother’s suggestion to return to Oko, but turns toward her own desires and ambitions, “No, no!” [she] shouted. “You and father have had a good part of my life, whatever is now left of me is mine . . . I was going to start all over again. I would go back to school” (Azuah 2005, 162–63). Ofunne’s reconstruction is italicized in the text to emphasize the return of her personhood, the fully realized womanist who rejects the mountains of patriarchy and tradition by outlining her own trailblazing efforts of carving a “female” tradition for herself which begins with an education, the space she was made to leave to fulfill her role as a bride to the bride-price that was paid for her. In returning to the site of education that she was removed from, the education that had transformed her (see Bryce 2008, 56), Azuah subverts the patriarchal boundaries surrounding female roles, creating a fictional construction for Ofunne to begin rewriting her narrative, as if returning her to the time before marriage but now as a mature woman(ist) rather than a young girl-bride. CONCLUSION Emecheta’s, Okoye’s, and Azuah’s works reflect identical suggestions—that female roles dictated by patriarchy are not fixed but instead constructed sites

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that limit women’s subjectivity. The bride-price practice is deeply steeped in a gendered discourse which confines women and, in the focus of this chapter, the bride. In recognizing this shadowy existence and future experienced by brides, these Nigerian women writers challenge the foundations of the brideprice practice by unmasking its oppressive ploys, offering instead a womanist (re)vision of women who are able to articulate a female consciousness that begins the process of releasing them from the clutches of patriarchy. Each generation of female writers represents stronger female characters, from Emecheta’s character Aku-nna, Okoye’s character Iba, and Azuah’s character Ofunne, brides who recognize discriminatory practices and challenge them. As they become more aware of the patriarchal constructions that marginalize them, these brides refuse to be victims but rather reject such delineations to assert their agency and self-determination despite facing death or abuse.

NOTES 1. In this essay I use the PDF (and hence the numbering in that) of Cheryl Stobie’s article, which is available online, as the journal in which her review work appears is too difficult to attain. 2. In an endnote to my 2018 chapter, “Oppressor or Oppressed: The M(other)in-Laws in Nigerian Women’s Literature, in Representations of the Mother-in-Law in Literature, Film, Drama and Television, edited by Jo Parnell, 37–51. Lanham: Lexington Books, I spoke of the ten articles published by Mao Tse-Tung, several of “advocated feminist views” and called for “the liberation of women in the Chinese society” of his times. 3. For a comprehensive discussion of Walker’s theories see the 1993 edited collection, Alice Walker. Critical Perspectives Past and Present. 4. Eze title: a type of “King” title that commands respect and homage for the owner, as a figure of high social standing and authority.

REFERENCES Adesanmi, Pius, and Chris Dunton. 2008. “Introduction: Everything Good Is Raining: Provisional Notes on the Nigerian Novel of the Third Generation Author(s).” Research in African Literatures, 39(2): vii–xii. https​:/​/ww​​w​.res​​earch​​gate.​​net​ /p​​ublic​​ation​​/2367​​74096​​_Intr​​oduct​​ion​_E​​veryt​​hing_​​Good_​​Is​_Ra​​ining​​_Prov​​ision​​al​ _No​​tes​_o​​n​_the​​_Nige​​rian_​​N​ovel​​_of​_t​​he​_Th​​ird​_G​​enera​​tion Ashraf, Nava, Natalie Bau, Nathan Nunn, and Alessandra Voena. 2015. “Bride-Price and the Returns to Education for Women.” https​:/​/sc​​holar​​.harv​​ard​.e​​du​/nb​​au​/pu​​ blica​​tions​​/brid​​e​-pri​​ce​-an​​d​-r​et​​urns-​​educa​​tion Azuah, Unoma. 2005. Sky-High Flames. Baltimore: PublishAmerica.

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Baffour Adjei, Stephen. 2019. “How ‘Bride-Price’ Reinforces Negative Stereotypes: A Ghanaian Case Study.” The Conversation, July 28. https​:/​/ww​​w​.the​​conve​​rsati​​on​ .co​​m​/how​​-brid​​e​-pri​​ce​-re​​infor​​ces​-n​​egati​​ve​-st​​ereot​​ypes-​​a​-gha​​n​aian​​-case​​-stud​​y​-120​​ 337 Bryce, Jane. 2008. “‘Half and Half Children’: Third-Generation Women Writers and the New Nigerian Novel.” Research in African Literatures, 39(2): 49–67. https:// www​.jstor​.org​/stable​/20109578 Collins Isioma, Anene-Maidoh. 2016. “Periscopic View of Customary Marriage in Nigeria.” Presentation paper. Public and International Law, University of Abuja. https​:/​/ww​​w​.aca​​demia​​.edu/​​11802​​735​/P​​RISCO​​PIC​_V​​IEW​_O​​F​_CUS​​TOMAR​​Y​ _MAR​​​RIAGE​​_IN​_N​​IGERI​A Emecheta, Buchi. 1976. The Bride-Price. New York: George Braziller. Gray, Robert F. 1960. “Sonjo Bride-Price and the Question of African ‘Wife Purchase.’” American Anthropologist, 62(1): 34–57. https://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​/666907 Kaye, Marcia. 2016. “The surprising benefits of bride-price for women.” CIFAR, November 17. https​:/​/ww​​w​.cif​​ar​.ca​​/cifa​​rnews​​/2016​​/11​/1​​7​/the​​-surp​​risin​​g​-ben​​efits​​ -of​-b​​ri​de-​​price​​-for-​​women​ Lowes, Sara, and Nathan Nunn. 2018. “Bride-Price and the Well-being of Women.” In Towards Gender Equity and Development, edited by Siwan Anderson, Lori Beaman, and Jean-Phillipe Platteau, 1–29. Oxford Scholarship Online. doi: 10.1093/oso/9780198829591.003.0006 McCarthy, Joe. 2017. “9 Reasons Why Dowries are Horrible for Women: an ugly and corrosive system.” Global Citizen, June 6. https​:/​/ww​​w​.glo​​balci​​tizen​​.org/​​conte​​nt​ /8-​​reaso​​ns​-do​​wries​​-are-​​​bad​-f​​or​-wo​​men Nadaswaran, Shalini. 2018. “Oppressor or Oppressed: The M(other)-in-Las in Nigerian Women’s Literature.” In Representations of the Mother-in-Law in Literature, Film, Drama and Television, edited by Jo Parnell, 37–51. Lanham: Lexington Books. Ogundipe-Leslie, Omolara. 1993. “African Women, Culture and Another Development.” In Theorising Black Feminisms: The Visionary Pragmatism of Black Women, edited by Stanlie M. James, and Abena P. A. Busia, 105–20. London: Routledge. Ogunyemi, Chiwenye Okonjo. 1985. “Womanism: The Dynamics of the Contemporary Black Female Novel in English.” Signs, 11(1): 63–80. https://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​ /3174287 Okoye, Ifeoma. 1993. “The Pay Packet.” In The Heinemann Book of African Women’s Writing, edited by Ken Macrorie, compiled by Charlotte Bruner, 15–26. (African Writers Series). London: Heinemann. Olomojobi, Yinka. 2016. “Marriage in Nigeria Across Ages: Problems and Prospects.” School of Law and Security Studies, Babcock University. http://dx​.doi​.org​/10​.2139​ /ssrn​.28586y18 Onyango, Emily. 2016. “The Negative Consequences of Dowry Payment on Women and Society.” The Priscilla Papers, 30 (1): 1–4. https​:/​/ww​​w​.cbe​​inter​​natio​​nal​.o​​rg​/ si​​tes​/d​​efaul​​t​/fil​​es​/pp​​​301​_0​​2dowr​​y​.pdf​

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Palmer, Eustace. 1981. “A Powerful Female Voice in the African Novel: Introducing the Novels of Buchi Emecheta.” New Literature Review, 1(1): 21. Princewill, Chitu Womehoma, Tenzin Wangmo, Ayodele Samuel Jegede, Anita Riecher-Rössler and Bernice Simone Elger. 2019. “Bride-price payment and women’s autonomy: Findings from qualitative interviews from Nigeria, Women & Health.” Women & Health, 59(7): 775–88. Rai, Shirin M. 2002. Gender and the Political Economy of Development from Nationalism to Globalization. Cambridge: Polity Books. Research Directorate, Immigration and Refugee Board of Canada, Nigeria. 2000. Prevalence of Arranged Marriage Within the Igbo (Ibo) Community; Description of Traditional Betrothal/Marriage Contract and Marriage; Whether Groom’s Family is Financially Responsible for the Bride Upon Betrothal; State Protection available to women forced into marriage. NGA34670.E. Ottawa, Canada: Immigration and Refugee Board of Canada. https​:/​/ww​​w​.ref​​world​​.org/​​docid​​/3ae6​​ad6f​6​​8​.htm​l Sessou, Ebun, Naomi Tenebe, Abasifiosk Johnson, and Okonkwo Chioma. 2018. “Much ado about bride-price.” Vanguard News, July 26. https​:/​/ww​​w​.van​​guard​​ngr​ .c​​om​/20​​18​/07​​/much​​-ado-​​about​​​-brid​​e​-pri​​ce/ Stobie, Cheryl. 2006. “Fierce, Yet Cleansing Flames.” Review of Sky-High Flames by Unoma Nguema. Stichproben: Vienna Journal of African Studies 11, Special Edition, “Sexuality and Power in African Literature,” edited by Martina Kopf, 115–17. (PDF) 117-19. https​:/​/ww​​w​.sti​​chpro​​ben​.u​​nivie​​.ac​.a​​t​/Art​​ikel/​​Nr11_​​​Rezen​​ sione​n Titilayo Saibu, Cecilia Alero. 2018. “A Cultural Appraisal of the Significance of the Role of the Mother-in-Law in Among the Yoruba people of Nigeria.” In Representations of the Mother-in-Law in Literature, Film, Drama and Television, edited by Jo Parnell, 3–19. Lanham: Lexington Books. Walker, Alice. 1993. Critical Perspectives Past and Present, edited by Henry Louis Gates Jr, and Kwame Anthony Appiah. 1st ed. New York: Amistad.

Chapter 8

The Bride’s Agency East Africa Novelistic and Dramatic Imaginaries Wafula Yenjela

This chapter engages with portrayals of the bride in selected novels and drama from Kenya, Tanzania, and Uganda. I argue that the writers of these works exploit the bride’s unique situation of transiting from singlehood to marriage, which makes her the center of attention to her society, thus infusing her with power as a platform from which to advocate for cultural as well as moral transformations in various spheres, or, in some cases, disrupt seemingly rigid traditions. According to Michelle Nelson and Cele Otnes (2005, 89), “the wedding is a special ritual—a rite of passage that culturally marks a person’s transition from one life stage to another and redefines social and personal identity.” It is the bride who features as the protagonist rather than the groom: perhaps because greater responsibilities of motherhood wait to transform her both socially and biologically. To facilitate a better grasp of the bride’s power in East African literary works, this chapter reads these representations based on the writers’ habitat regions, their choices of genre, and their gender. These three aspects seem to influence the agency attributed to the bride and, importantly, unveil various ideological insights on societal gender perceptions. The bride features prominently in drama by Ugandan male playwrights Austin Bukenya’s The Bride (1987) and John Ruganda’s The Burdens (1972). Focusing on Kenyan female novelists, my chapter engages with portrayals of the bride in Grace Ogot’s The Strange Bride (1989), Margaret Ogola’s The River and the Source (1994), Wanjiku Kabira’s A Letter to Mariama Ba (2005), and Zainabu Burhani’s Mwisho wa Kosa (The End of Wrongs) (1987). Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s “A Wedding at the Cross” in Secret Lives and Other Stories (1975) is also significant in shedding light on how 131

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a bride is imagined by Kenyan male writers with Marxist and postcolonial ideological inclinations. From Tanzania, this essay dwells on representations of the bride by East Africa’s leading detective novelist Mohammed Said Abdulla who, in his novels, captures Zanzibar’s socio-historical realities with precision (see Mbatiah 2016, 133). The bride features in Abdulla’s detective series in Siri ya Sifuri (“The Secret of Zero”) (1979), in which the bridegroom disappears on the wedding day only to be found murdered; in Duniani Kuna Watu (“This World Has Strange People”) (1973), where, in a twisted state of affairs, the bride is wedded to her brother; and in Mwana wa Yungi Hulewa (“Even the Devil’s Offspring Needs Nurture”) (1976), where, like in Duniani Kuna Watu, a brother and sister are engaged before the bride is murdered. These literary works shed light on various East African cultural perceptions of the bride. I categorize cultural perceptions on the bride as loosely reflective of Ugandan, Kenyan, and Tanzanian cultures based on the writers’ backgrounds. This is because, due to diversified cultural practices embraced by numerous ethnic nations in the region, there is no homogeneous national culture in the countries that make up East Africa. Tony Afejuku (1995, 211) observes (albeit in another context) that a literary work of art is categorized as African “because its sentiments, contents, imageries, metaphors, verbal structures or setting derive from the African local or communal milieu, or because [the writer] writes mainly to mirror conditions of his or her community.” This is so despite Ugandan playwright Bukenya’s (1987, vi) contestation in his critical introduction to The Bride, that his play should not be read as an “anthropological” piece for “‘exotic’ details than for the creative vigour in” it; rather, that his work is a product “of the imagination . . . based on generally recognisable African realities and concepts, like the attainment of maturity through initiation . . . and the crucial role of parents in the marriage of their children” (1987, v). Indeed, the central role of parents in their children’s marriages cuts across the region’s cultural matrix. Yet Bukenya’s admission that “factual findings are only raw materials for the artist” (1987, vi) can be relied upon as a window to read actual cultural perceptions in the playwright’s bearing. Bukenya’s compatriot, the playwright Ruganda, depicts the plight of the bride in Ugandan culture even though the setting of his plays is claimed to be an unnamed country in post-independent Africa. Kenyan female novelists depict the bride in various levels of agency that reflect their ethnic cultural practices: Ogot’s bride is drawn from Luo mythology; Ogola’s from Luo marriage traditions; Kabira’s from Kikuyu marriage traditions; and Burhani’s from the Swahili practices of veiling whereby Swahili and Arab women are “covered in black buibuis from head to ankle to reinforce the image of inaccessibility” (Kasfir 2004, 327). In wa Thiong’o’s story, the bride is depicted at the heart of cultural conflict whereby

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the seemingly rich endorse marriage only when it is a church wedding, thus attempting to invalidate marriages contracted according to traditional Kikuyu customs: wa Thiong’o’s portrayal is a case where Christianity is identified not only with the colonialist’s mission of erasing African cultural values (see Afejuku 1998, 510) but also a protest against class stratification since the church wedding is seen as a preserve for the social and political elites, especially in the first decade of post-independent Kenya. Categories such as gender and ideological orientations of the writers coupled with their choices of genre seem indispensable in shaping the agency of the portrayed brides. The works read here demonstrate cases where the bride turns into a site of contest between elderly men, seemingly custodians of rigid cultural practices, and the youth in love with the bride and, consequently, in opposition with the traditions. In Marxist works, the bride seizes the opportunity to unmask social stratification by denouncing a union right at the altar. Some feminist writers depict the bride as lamenting the onset of her imprisonment, the end of her freedom. Further, through magical realism mode, an otherworldly bride rejected by her parents-in-law-to-be emerges as the cause of tremendous change in human affairs when she breaks taboo by working a magical hoe hence ending her people’s idyllic life of letting the gods work for them. In the detective novels, despite inheritance and succession conflicts featuring as immediate motives for criminal acts, the social crimes committed appear to have a deeper reach into inhibitive cultural practices against courtship/marriage traceable to the veiling tradition. THE TRANSFORMATIVE KENYAN BRIDE The represented Kenyan bride can be defined by virtue of her beauty, which she exploits to unsettle various customary practices. In some cases, her beauty affects the bride-price she fetches for her family. Though perceived as a very significant rite in many African customary marriage contracts, brideprice has been constructed as “commoditization of wives” with “deleterious social impacts, in terms of increased domestic violence and male power over women” (Hague et al., 2011). Linguère Mously Mbaye and Natascha Wagner (2017) also link bride-price payments to fertility decisions whereby the woman’s say on the number of children in a marriage would be invalid. However, representations of the bride among the Luo of the Lake Victoria Basin demonstrate that the cultural worth and honor of a bride is proportional to the bride-price paid for her (see Nadaswaran, chapter 7, this book). In most cases, the groom paying the bride-price perceives it as a sacrifice for love. Furthermore, the bride-price process seems a turning point, a memory marker, in the life of the bride as it defines her transition from singlehood

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to marriage (see Nadaswaran, chapter 7, this book). Indeed, bride-price is the seal of customary marriages (see Nadaswaran, chapter 7, this book). It appears that bride-price culturally empowers the bride to address many issues affecting the society. Margaret Ogola’s The River and the Source (1994) The story opens with the birth of a baby girl in the home of “the great chief Odero Gogni of Yimbo” on the Lake Victoria basin in the mid-nineteenth century. Upon the birth of the girl, who will be named Akoko, the chief remarks: “a home without daughters is like a spring without a source” (1). This remark, though intended to conceal the chief’s disappointment on failing to father another son, is prophetic as Akoko grows up to be the source of tremendous cultural changes and an inspiration to her daughters and granddaughters who similarly rise above patriarchal constrictions. Even though many weddings take place in the novel in a manner reflecting generational changes among the Luo of Western Kenya, it is the wedding of Akoko to Chief Owuor Kembo at the close of the nineteenth century that I focus on here: We have come to see Odero the son of the great Chief Gogni Adinda for the purpose of betrothing our family to his for . . . we have heard of the beauty and the spirit of his eldest daughter. We would have come earlier . . . but we came as soon as we could for my nephew Owuor Kembo, now chief in his father’s place, urgently seeks a wife. It is unthinkable that a chief should be unmarried, a situation that has arisen only because of the sudden death of his father—the young chief himself being only twenty seasons old. (1994, 18–19)

In this proposal, the spokesperson articulates all the desirable qualities to impress the family of the bride. He shows that the bride would be lucky to marry an unmarried young chief, thus “hold the envious position of mikai, the first wife, whose house would hold the centre stage directly facing the gate” (19). Despite the suitor’s entourage efforts to demonstrate that they are the best match for Akoko, given that twelve suitors had been turned away already, Chief Odero seizes the opportunity to test their worth. When speaking to his council in confidence, he asks his spokesperson to set the brideprice at thirty head of cattle, three times the norm because he “would like to trim their arrogance a bit” (20).1 Furthermore, chief Odero wants the suitor’s entourage to prove that his “daughter is not going to starve in that wasteland they call a home” (21). However, Owuor Kembo chooses to pay the stated bride-price without a bargain in order to express his love for his bride. This shocks not only his entourage but also the bride’s family who had expected a spirited bargain.

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In supporting the decision, Owuor’s spokesperson constructs the decision to pay high bride-price as a masculine expression, an assertion of “honour” (23). Indeed, cultural demands that a chief must be married also play a part in Owuor’s decision. Years later, Owuor’s community puts pressure on their chief to marry a second wife. The pressure is mostly influenced by survival anxieties of the patrilineal hereditary chiefdom, but also by normalized polygamous lifestyles of chiefs. This is heightened by Akoko’s “slow pace” in delivering children (two boys and a girl born at an average interval of five years). To the chief’s council’s insistence that he acquires a second wife, the narrator captures Owuor’s reflections: “How could he tell them that since he married his wife, he had profoundly lost interest in all other women? . . . . However, a monogamous man was an unknown animal and every man worth his salt tried to marry at least two wives” (30–31). To maintain his monogamous marriage, Owuor highlights the significant cultural position that the mikai (a man’s first wife) holds (38). While some scholars are apprehensive on the bride-price custom, Ogola demonstrates ways in which the custom can be culturally powerful in carving the position of the bride as she transits to marriage. For instance, Akoko’s bride-price is not bargained—an attempt at refuting claims that bride-price practice commoditizes the bride. Here, bride-price is the seal of marriage as well as the families of the bride and the groom. Ogola further exploits the Luo cultural value system to construct Akoko’s agency: a woman born in the royal family of Chief Odero Gogni; a woman whose bride-price was thrice the norm; the first one-and-only wife to a chief in a polygamous society. Essentially, Akoko’s agency as a bride prefigures her transformative participation in Luo cultural practices: she embraces the practices only if they exemplify her dignity as a woman but rebels when she perceives them oppressive. When her father asks for an exorbitant brideprice, Akoko is afraid that she may never get married: “at this rate I shall never leave this house” (22). But later, she leaves her matrimonial home when Owuor’s relatives accuse her of bewitching her husband to remain monogamous. Through her extraordinary confidence when she shows herself to her suitor during the bride-price rite, on her “wedding” day Akoko participates in the mock bride kidnap where, at dawn, “warriors” from her suitor’s clan “kidnap” her from her grandmother’s hut as her brothers and relatives pretend to counterattack: Akoko let out one piercing yell after another. Let it never be said that she left her father’s house willingly. It was interesting that nobody actually got hurt in the [wrestling duels], its purpose being purely ceremonial, but the uninitiated might have thought that all were intent on actual bodily harm if not murder. (27)

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This performance seems symbolic of the severance of the bride’s attachment to her family/community. On the journey to her matrimonial home, the men who “kidnap” her tell villagers “the tale of their vanquishing of Yimbo men with such embellishment that one would have thought that the girl had been grabbed from the jaws of a determined dragon” (27). Writing on the fatherdaughter bond in Shakespearean works, Lynda Boose (1982, 326) argues that the marriage ritual permits “a limited transgression of its otherwise universal taboo against human eroticism” as well as serving “as an especially effective substructure for the father-daughter relation because within its pattern lies the paradigm of all the conflicts that define this bond at its liminal movement of severance.” In the case of the Luo community represented in Ogola’s novel, the severance of the communal bond, not merely the father-daughter bond, is enacted through a mock raid. Yet, it appears that the bride’s proclamation that she has been forced out of her father’s home is a reminder that marriage is not banishment. Wanjiku Kabira’s A Letter to Mariama Ba (2005) While Ogola presents a wedding as a momentous transition in the bride’s life, in A Letter to Mariama Ba (2005), a fictionalized memoir that scripts Kikuyu women’s struggles against colonialism and patriarchy, Kabira is cynical of the wedding and marriage in general. As a crusader of radical feminism in Kenya, Kabira (2005, 29, 14) suggests that women should liberate themselves from marriage in similar ways they liberated themselves from colonialism. Such acts would demonstrate that the “ordinary humble women . . . have sworn their loyalty to life and to freedom”; as single parents they would be “independent of male presence in their lives and hence, independent of male shepherding” (14). Thus, in Kabira’s representations, the bride incubates her agency for future action as she participates in the marriage ritual: to fulfil the cultural rite of marriage but also disrupt it through severance of the marriage ties. Kabira encodes the life of Margaret wa Ndegwa who “was the talk of the village when she got married in 1960”: Her beauty as “Muhiki” (the bride) was exquisite (13). This beautiful bride “who was not yet twenty years by then, was the flower that Ndegwa had plucked from Ngarariga, a neighbouring ridge” (13). Here, the marriage ritual is bleakly depicted as destructive of that which is beautiful. This is affirmed in the passage of time when the flower that has been plucked withers: Ten years later, Margaret was a mother of five children and a widow. The physical beauty had gone! The glitter in her eyes had gone! She was now a woman with determination to survive poverty and create a life for her children. (13)

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More poignantly, Kabira undercuts the value of the marriage ritual through the Kikuyu bride’s song—Kiririro, a song that a Kikuyu bride traditionally sang to lament her fate of getting married. This is brought out through Kabira’s reflections on Auntie Muthoni wa Wilson, who reenacted to Kabira the Kiririro she sang on her wedding day to bind her to marriage but later rebelled due to domestic violence: “she was not bound to stay in bondage by the Kiririro she sang when she got married” (20). Muthoni’s Kiririro spells doom and would best be a dirge. It narrates how she is now in strange lands and is lonely away from her home village, that she has “gone away,” died, “dried” up with “the river” when it dried up (19). In the same way that Margaret Ndegwa, who had been “plucked” from Ngarariga and kept in seclusion for eight days, was lonely as a bride, so is Muthoni of Gituamba village, who through the Kiririro outlines her entry into the circle of strangers. Indeed, this Kiririro could have been read as the marriage vow—for better, for worse—considering Waceera’s resolution to drown in the river and dry up with it, except it absolutely remains a bleak portrayal of marriage, the damnation and death of a bride. Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s “Wedding at the Cross” (1975) Like Kabira’s text, wa Thiong’o’s “Wedding at the Cross” also uses the marriage ritual as an opportunity for divorce. The Kikuyu’s disenchantment with marriage as reflected in literary works can also be glimpsed in real life as they constitute the highest prevalence of single motherhood in Kenya (see Clark et al. 2017, 1191). In his 1975 short story wa Thiong’o presents the intersection between bourgeois ideals and Christianity that stand in conflict with peasant ideals and their sects. The conflict foments when Wariuki, a peasant and a clown, falls in love with Miriamu, the daughter of Douglas Jones who belonged to the “Christian and propertied class” in an imaginary Kenya colony (91). Marriage between Wariuki and Miriamu occurs through elopement, which the narrator fashions as a heroic way of upsetting bourgeois and Christian values. Douglas Jones is portrayed as an exemplar of mimicry in the way he organizes his life according to European values: he dispensed with his African name; he brought up his children “with rules straight out of the Rt. (Right) Reverend Clive Schomberg’s classic: British Manners for Africans”; his family was “looked on with favour by white farmers around,” and “the District Officer would often stop by for a casual greeting” (90). According to Homi Bhabha (1994), “mimicry is the desire for a reformed, recognizable Other, as a subject of a difference that is almost the same, but not quite [since it] continually produce its slippage, its excess, its difference” (122). In wa Thiong’o’s 1975 story, Douglas Jones’s “good Christian home . . . objected to their daughter marrying into sin, misery and poverty” (90).

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In order to permanently sever the unwelcome union, Jones “summoned Wariuki, his ‘Our would-be-son-in-law’ to his presence. He wanted to find ‘the young man’s true weight in silver and gold’” (91). Jones’s capitalist cruelty is further revealed in his “cold steel cut deep and clean” interrogation of Wariuki (91). The verdict he gives at the end, which his fellow church elders in attendance agree with, is: “we do not object to this wedding. But it must take place at the cross. A church wedding, Wariuki, costs money. Maintaining a wife also costs money. Is that not so?” (91) This is the ritual that dramatically leads to Wariuki and Miriamu’s marriage as both these lovers walk out of the meeting in rebellion. A glimpse at Wariuki’s financial status at the time he marries Miriamu reveals the misery that Jones feared (89). Yet, the idea here is to demonstrate not only the oppressive nature of bourgeois system but how the oppressed can rise against it. As a bride to Wariuki through elopement, Miriamu asserts her agency by unsettling the bourgeois regime through her rebellion against her father and his business class. As if to reiterate her commitment to the peasants, Miriamu severs her bond from Wariuki, who has, over the years, worked his way to the bourgeois class. It is only when he had become rich that Wariuki’s in-laws sought for a reunion. In joining the bourgeois class, Wariuki, too, undergoes tremendous transformations: he “cast away Wariuki and became Dodge W. Livingstone Jr.” (97); he joined the church and rose through the ranks to become a senior elder; he too started perceiving workers on his estates as “a lazy lot” (98). To complete the transformation, he needed a Christian wedding: “A proper wedding at the cross of Jesus would make their lives complete” (100). Miriamu objects to the wedding because she was aging and didn’t see sin in her life-long traditional marriage. As a bride at the altar, Miriamu, once again, upsets the mimicry embedded in the wedding she has been forced to undergo. This is a wedding graced by “MPs, priests and businessmen [while] workers and not so important people sat outside” (102). While Wariuki, or Livingstone, rejoices at the prospects of the wedding, Miriamu agonizes over it. For Wariuki, the humiliation he faced before Douglas Jones would not heal until he matched the propertied men’s stature (96). As for Miriamu, she had spent her childhood and part of her youth “in the sterile world of Douglas Jones” (90), and the elopement was her salvation. Thus, despite her efforts to show herself as a model Christian wife, she finds it repugnant to wed her husband who had since secured a seat at the bourgeois table: Miriamu now stood before the cross: her head was hidden in the white veil. Her heart pounded. She saw in her mind’s eye a grandmother pretending to be a bride with a retinue of aged bridesmaids. The Charade. The Charade. (102)

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When it is her turn to take the vows, Miriamu gives an emphatic “No” and provides an explanation: “I cannot marry Livingstone . . . because . . . because . . . I have been married before. I am married to . . . to . . . Wariuki . . . and he is dead” (103; original ellipses). Beyond the absurdism of the wedding, wa Thiong’o uses the bride to contest Christianity’s cultural extermination of African value systems as well as the entrenchment of capitalism that masquerades as civilization. THE SACRIFICIAL BRIDE In “The Bride of Hades,” H. J. Rose (1925, 238) writes: “In a well-known passage of Sophocles, Antigone, going to her death, declares to the chorus that her bridal shall be with Acheron; and [there exist] several epitaphs [that] call the death of an unmarried girl her wedding” (238). Drawing extensively from classical literature, Rose provides evidence that links a wedding to a burial. If located in this context, Muthoni’s Kiririro in Kabira’s A Letter to Mariama Ba, in that it is a dirge, acquires more meaning. Similarly, Akoko in Ogola’s The River and the Source appears part of the spoils of war in the symbolism portended by a mock raid, thus socially dead (see Patterson 1982, 5). Importantly, Rose (1925, 241) shows that several ancient cultures practiced “annual human sacrifice of the fairest youth and the fairest maid . . . to promote the fertility of crops.” The choice of the human sacrifice was “a bridal pair, whose youth and beauty seem to point them out as particularly likely to have noble offspring” (241). Grace Ogot’s The Strange Bride ([1983] 1989) The uncanny postures to human sacrifice of the bride are quite strong in Ogot’s magical-realist novel.2 According to Alex Wanjala (2016, 179), The Strange Bride “should be read as a historical novel, without distinguishing between the aspects of culture presented in a mimetic manner and the externally analogous elements” since such a reading facilitates “the continuity of the oral tradition in the written form of the novel.” In the novel, Ogot portrays the bride’s agency in a seemingly conservative society. This happens when Nyawir disrupts the idyllic life of Got Owaga, a community that entirely relies on the gods for survival. Theirs is to offer worship and sacrifices to Were Nyakalaga, their God, and in return, a magical hoe cultivates their fields and a magical axe fells trees for their use. While still a newlywed bride, Nyawir manipulates her mother-in-law, takes the magical hoe to the farms against the customs of Got Owaga, and commits an abomination by working the hoe. This marks the end of direct divine intervention to the people of Got Owaga.

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Nyawir’s strangeness is embedded in her mysterious childhood as she disappeared into the underworld only to reemerge in the prime of her youth. Min Ogisa, the community’s diviner offers explanations to Nyawir’s bewildered parents Opolo and Awino, upon Nyawir’s mysterious return: It was Awinja, your mother, who died a long time ago who came and took away your daughter because she was lonely. . . . I have seen her sitting under a tree while a little girl chases locusts and brings to her to roast. It shows that your mother loved this child very much [but returned her because] she’s tired of Awino’s daily lamentations. (26)

This excerpt reveals the community’s powerful attachment to the spiritual world of ancestors as well as anxieties against their children marrying partners whose histories are unknown or shrouded in mystery. Indeed, Nyawir’s case is similar to the ogbanje in Igbo mythology (of Nigeria) who “cycles back and forth between the worlds of humans and spirits,” a seemingly “sublime explanation for the high rates of child mortality” (Aji and Ellsworth 1992, 171). Nevertheless, Ogot exploits the magical-realist mode to foreground Nyawir’s especial transformative powers in her natural world which, in Luo mythology, is depended on imagined superior powers of the underworld. When Owiny, Were Ochak and Lwak’s second-born son, expresses his interest to betroth Nyawir whose beauty was the talk of Got Owaga, his mother Lwak is shocked. Lwak dissuades Owiny thus: “But the beauty of the body alone cannot make you marry a girl whose life we still don’t understand” (35). She warns him that Awino mourned Nyawir and that the claim that she was at her relatives was invalid. Even on the wedding day, Lwak laments to Ochak that Nyawir’s beauty is ominous: “But this beauty of my daughter-in-law does not seem to be for nothing” (59). Ochak, too, is suspicious of Nyawir’s life. As the chief and priest of Got Owaga, he is also opposed to Nyawir’s disruption of the customs of the people of the mountains. Nyawir had introduced a new hairstyle in which the girls could keep long hair and decorate it with cowries. On Owiny and Nyawir’s wedding day, Ochak appears to endorse his wife Lwak’s anxieties on Nyawir’s beauty by claiming that “the beautiful one reveals ugliness in other ways” (59). The bride’s dreaded beauty is symbolic of radical transition, cultural transformation. This is revealed when Nyawir treads on sacred matters of the people of Got Owaga as she probes Owiny on matters surrounding the magical hoe. She then remarks: “We cannot keep doing things by our ancestors’ old method of leaving a hoe in the farms and waiting for it to till them” (72). This is shocking to Owiny, who rebukes her for transgression: “Who are you to alter what Were Nyakalaga himself planned for our ancestors?” (72) This is the point at which the bride’s agency manifests: “How could Owiny scold

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her like that when she was still new in wedlock and was, therefore entitled to soft treatment?” (72) Her belief that the “tremendous energy which Were Nyakalaga had” bestowed upon humanity should be put to good use drives her to transgress the customs of Got Owaga by working the magical hoe (74). This leads to tremendous changes as Were Nyakalaga retreats from the mountain and abandons the people of Got Owaga to their own devices. In this case, Nyawir exploits her status as a bride to orchestrate a shift from bondage to the gods to the sovereignty of human reason. After her “abomination,” Owiny and Nyawir are banished only for Owiny to disappear into the underworld for a few days during which time Nyawir dares to climb the sacred mountain where she is consumed. Owiny re-emerges with modern farming methods that transform Got Owaga. According to Wanjala (2016), “Ogot subtly hints that it is indeed women who are behind major changes in society although due to its patriarchal nature, men would want to be credited with them” (181). THE VEILED SWAHILI BRIDE Fatema Mernissi (2011) traces the histories of veiling among Muslims to the seventh-century pre-Islamic Mecca, where “indiscriminate group sex was practised by many” and, consequently, “women reduced men to anonymous sexual commodities and denied them the right to fatherhood” (2). During the same period, only the aristocratic clans had the right to circle the temple in clothes while non-aristocratic clans were forced to circle the temple in the nude (2–3). Reflecting on this history, Mernissi asserts that “the woman’s veil came to emphasize the quasi-sacred duty to control the desire to consume sexual pleasures (hawa) in order to build an invisible universal community that needs no physical police to maintain its survival” (4). Citing Susan Hirsch (1998), Corrie Decker (2015, 45) writes: “‘The veiling of women on the Swahili coast—and here veiling is used in a broad sense to mean the shielding of women from public view—represents the concealment of ‘family secrets.’” These views demonstrate that veiling is more than a mere sartorial practice; it greatly represents a people’s worldview, their notions of chastity and piety. However, the represented veiled Swahili bride seems a being hemmed in secrecy due to thorough sexual policing. This is not to suggest her presumed inferiority, for, as Mernissi (2011, 8) argues: “What was, and is still, at issue in Morocco and other Muslim societies is not an ideology of female inferiority, but rather a set of laws and customs that ensure that women’s status remains one of subjugation. Prime among these are the family laws based on male authority.” In Pronouncing and Persevering, Susan Hirsch (1998)

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demonstrates Swahili women’s agency through their recourse to legal processes to transform their domestic spaces, which disrupts the idea that their male counterparts need only pronounce divorce while they can only suffer in silence till then. Since the Swahili are a seemingly homogeneous community that predominantly occupy the East African coast constituting of Somalia, Kenya, Tanzania, and Mozambique, I read here Burhani’s (Kenyan) Mwisho wa Kosa (1987) and Abdulla’s (Zanzibari) three detective novels—Duniani Kuna Watu (1973), Siri ya Sifuri (1974), and Mwana wa Yungi Hulewa (1976). In depicting the bride in the Swahili veiling tradition, both Burhani and Abdulla demonstrate the bride’s power, occasioned by her unique position, to navigate patriarchal spaces. In Mwisho wa Kosa (1987), Burhani explores the challenges facing arranged marriages whereby parents betroth their children to their friends’ children. This tradition is disrupted by educated youth who begin questioning it as they attempt to chart new paths for their own lives. However, it appears veiled brides are the ideal. For instance, the character Sara who later marries Ali is veiled; she stays indoors and only peeps outside through the curtains (165). Burhani portrays her as representative of the Swahili ideal femininity. In contrast, the character Monika, who embraces Euro-American values, where she studied her higher education, is portrayed as a pervert in her elusive quest for sexual freedom, and one of the characters who come to the end of their wrongs. In Abdulla’s detective novels, the bride is portrayed amid tussles involving inheritance and the secrecy surrounding the acquisition of their fathers’ wealth as well as their births. The protagonist in all Abdulla’s seven (and more) novels is Bwana Msa, whom Bernth Lindfors (1994, 87) describes as Sherlock Holmes in Zanzibar due to his “keen observation, phenomenal reasoning powers, insight, foresight, courage, coolness, infallibility” and extraordinary “mental gymnastics.” In Abdulla’s Duniani Kuna Watu, for example, the narrator states that Bwana Msa is a man endowed with mental powers capable of cracking life’s complex riddles (105). The detective novel comes in handy due to complex family secrets embodied in the veiling tradition. The title of Abdulla’s Duniani Kuna Watu, for instance, alludes to the strangeness of familial secrets. Here, a wealthy Hakimu Marjani dies of a heart attack, but his money could not be traced except for a minimal amount to be used for his burial. Bwana Msa’s intervention reveals a web of familial secrets, including secret weddings. This is discovered in Marjani’s old Quran in which he had used coded language to direct whoever is ingenious enough to where his wealth is hidden—in a cave by the river—and also who his actual children are, and the reasons for

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ensuring Kassim, his adopted son, does not inherit even a morsel. His first marriage to Shena had suffered childlessness for over five years during which Shena decided to adopt Kassim, who is kept in the dark about his origins. Marjani takes up the pseudonym Abdalla Salum, marries Mariam Mkembe in a secret wedding, and succeeds in begetting a biological son, Saleh. Later, Shena gives birth to a daughter, Selume. In a strange twist of events, Saleh would end up as Marjani’s driver and marry Selume in a secret wedding overseen by a certified imam and Marjani himself. Selume’s agency is seen when she proposes marriage to Saleh, whom she loves despite their apparent class differences. She further takes the initiative to contract the marriage by persuading her father to join them in marriage (26). This incestuous marriage is one of the secrets that Bwana Msa exposes when investigating the disappearance of Marjani’s wealth. However, Bwana Msa demonstrates that neither the couple nor Marjani was aware of the blood relations and, hence, the marriage is canceled in secret and pardoned according to Islamic law (95). Siri ya Sifuri, too, is structured on familial secrets (62). Hafifu Mfuko, a strange fellow, lives in poverty in a shack beside a bungalow, where lives another strange fellow, Wasiwasi Malifedha. It is Bwana Msa who cracks the riddle that Mfuko is the owner of the enormous wealth. The secrets are revealed after Saidi, Mfuko’s firm treasurer had been murdered. Saidi was engaged to Mfuko’s beautiful daughter, Mwanatenga, and by virtue of his impending marriage, the seemingly worthless Mfuko would have made him and Mwanatenga enormously rich. The secrets in this family include Mwanatenga being kept in the dark on her birth as she grows up thinking she is Malifedha’s daughter until the avaricious Malifedha proposes to marry her. Similarly, Mwanatenga and Saidi’s courtship is kept secret, and, when Mfuko discovers it, he plans a secret wedding for the two. This is because the agreement for Malifedha’s tenure as the custodian of the wealth states that he would be so until Mwanatenga marries or reaches the age of twenty-one. Ensuing events highlight Mwanatenga’s agency as the bride when she solicits Bwana Msa’s help; Malifedha had successfully duped the police that Saidi had stolen the firm’s money and fled. Furthermore, Mwanatenga’s agency is weaved on textual significance as the central character affected by social injustices against and around her. Familial secrets are also the cornerstone of the conflict in Mwana wa Yungi Hulewa. This is a text structured on the significance of nurture as a human right. In a preface, Abdulla explains the Zanzibari saying on which the narrative is weaved, which I translate as, “If the devil’s offspring needs nurture, how much more the worldly child?” This is in reference to children abandoned in foster homes due to the cruelty of the veiling tradition. Here, Bibie Shali, who is utterly secluded by her conservative parents, finally has

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a Goan man sneaked into her chamber by a domestic servant Twajuana Binti Abdalla. This results in two secret children, Amanullah and Sichana. As fate would have it, Amanullah and Sichana eventually marry. Worse, with her knowledge of the deep love between brother and sister, Amanullah and Sichana, Abdalla manipulates Sichana to marry a criminal, Juma Jeuri. Twajuana’s evil intention is to disinherit the two by fomenting a love triangle tragedy in which either both Sichana and Amanullah are killed or one is killed and the other is jailed, and this succeeds. As a secret bride, Bibie Shali reflects on veiling which has caused her untold anguish and desolation: I, my dear, grew up in total seclusion, but I managed to get out—if you know the meaning of getting out for a woman whose place is inside. My dear, when I reached puberty, I wore the buibui, black veil—I don’t mean the actual veil, that’s just a parable, neither do I want to suggest that there’s something ominous in a veil, but that a veil is not worn inside; and if you see a woman in a veil, then know that that woman goes out. (39; my translation from Kiswahili)

Bibie Shali narrates her woes to Mwanatenga whose life I highlighted above. The motivation for her secret life is that her powerful parents could have used their influence to cause irreparable damage to anyone who accessed their daughter except through approved Islamic channels (38). Indeed, veiling in which Swahili and Arab women are “covered in black buibuis . . . reinforce the image of inaccessibility” (Kasfir 2004, 327). Even though Abdulla’s character Bibie Shali lives a desolate life and her children suffer greatly, her agency manifests in the brokerage of intimacy, thus upsetting the regimented veiling tradition. In an attempt to right the wrongs caused by the veiling tradition, she facilitates Amanullah and Mwanatenga’s wedding after Bwana Msa has intervened in the murder case facing Amanullah and proved that Juma Jeuri strangled Sichana to death, and Sichana, using her last breath, stabbed him in the back with Amanullah’s sword. THE UGANDAN ROYAL BRIDE The Kasubi Tombs site in Kampala, Uganda, is on UNESCO’s (2001) world heritage sites which underscore its significance in Uganda: “The site is the major spiritual centre for the Baganda where traditional and cultural practices have been preserved.” One of the cultural practices that remains silent is brides for dead kings who reside in the palaces at Kasubi since, as I noted on my visit to the site in April 2019, in the Baganda beliefs, a Kabaka does not die.3

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Austin Bukenya, The Bride (1987); John Ruganda, The Burdens (1972) While Bukenya’s play can be read as a critique of the ideas of the royal bride among the Baganda, Ruganda’s play gives the reader glimpses into Baganda’s beliefs that they are brides of their Kabaka (king). Ruganda’s The Burdens (1972) employs a story within the play to memorialize Kabaka Muteesa II’s exile in London during Uganda’s political and constitutional crisis (see Summers 2017). In Ruganda’s play, Tinka, a disgraced minister’s wife and now a slum dweller, narrates to her son Kaija how a storm wrecked a palace. Weaving her life in the life of Nyenje, a royal bride in the story she narrates, Tinka exalts ideas of royalty over democracy. In the narration, she sings him a song titled “Guns to Play the Drums” (14–15): “Your father, dear son, has gone away/ . . . to the land of light./ . . . where the earth doesn’t grow/ . . . where guns play drums on the snow/” (15). In this song, Tinka portrays herself as the exiled Kabaka’s bride. Before the storm, “there was excitement in that palace! Drumming and dancing and singing” (15). It is in the absence of Kabaka that a royal bride is married to a “leper, stinking with leprosy and commonness” (17). This happens when Nyenje’s father embraced ideas of fairness to the public at the expense of auctioning his own daughter: he “sent word that whoever wanted his beautiful daughter had to prove his prowess by climbing a very tall tree and bringing down, in one piece, the gourd containing her umbilical cord” (15–16). In this case, Ruganda uses the bride to contest the European imposition of their system of governance to the Baganda people. While Ruganda endorses royalty, if Nyenje’s section in The Burdens is read in the context of Kabaka Mutesa II’s exile when the Baganda showed that they are his brides, Bukenya, in his play The Bride (1987), appears to present a dissenting perspective on customs. In the play, Lekindo is the leader of the newly initiated age group, the rika of Albinos. He steers the young people against out-dated cultural practices. He challenges his fellow initiates to embrace change (2). When Namvua, a beautiful girl who is discriminated against by the community because her parents are migrants, Lekindo urges his fellow initiates to embrace her: “What keeps us together is the rope of our love and the knowledge of a shared childhood and youth” (6). Lekindo falls out with his father for welcoming a stranger (Namvua) into the new age group. Shundu, his father, vehemently rebukes him for transgressing cultural taboos: “we did not initiate that foreign girl because Merio, her father, does not belong to us; we don’t know his ancestors, or where they are buried. We had no spirits to invoke over that girl’s head and no gods to supplicate for her blessings” (15). But Lekindo courageously defends his beloved: “Why should you always think of the dead and the gods before you even notice the breathing, living

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people around you?” (15) Furthermore, Lekindo leads his age group to rebel against warring against foreigners as a way of cleansing the land according to the dictates of Lerema, their chief priest: “Rika of the Albinos, take up your spears; raise them before Wanga’s load and before the elders . . . . Here, before the father of Days and all the plains, we swear: WE WILL NOT KILL” (31). The climax of the play is when Lekindo and his fellow initiates save Namvua from being married to a skull according to Baganda belief that the chief priests and their families do not die (34). Furthermore, it is believed that a Lerema is ageless: “A Lerema has no rika; my son is alone in his age-group and may choose his bride wherever he likes” (35). Due to the prestige that comes with familial networks with those at the shrine, Merio accepts to marry his daughter to a “deceased” Lerema. Namvua’s mother protests: “My daughter living a perpetual virgin in the shrine, married to a heap of cold bones?” (41). It is Lekindo and his fellow initiates who storm Lerema’s shrine on the wedding night and dashes the preserved skull into pieces before the people of the plains: The plains have been told a lie. You are dancing over death . . . . This is Lerema’s son: for a Lerema does not die. Is that reason enough to condemn this girl, our age-mate, to such a marriage? We are for life, and death we shall destroy, even in Wanga’s shrine. (55)

It is at this point that a defeated Lerema joins Lekindo and Namvua in marriage: Shundu’s son, if you promise life, Wanga needs you to guard the plains. . . . Behold Wanga’s beloved. . . . Celebrate, therefore, the marriage of his Chosen. (55)

In this case, Bukenya dramatizes intergenerational conflicts occasioned by resistance against cultural transition. It is through the bride, Namvua, that Lekindo finds the energy to fight for change, for life. It appears that Bukenya is cautiously critiquing the Baganda tradition whereby long-dead Kabaka’s still have brides at Kasubi Tombs since a Kabaka does not die. CONCLUSION In the selected works in this chapter, the agency of the represented East African bride manifests in her attempts to transform culturally sanctioned practices such as polygamy by entirely transforming a society’s way of life. Furthermore, the writers exploit the bride’s agency by portraying them as ideological vessels that disrupt mimicry. The represented brides also embody radical feminist ideologies that are skeptical of marriage; they mourn on their wedding days to signal their resistance to the marriage institution and eventually divorce. Through lateralization and dramatization of the traditions the

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writers and playwrights call attention to gendered injustices precipitated by patriarchy and some culturally powerful beliefs.

NOTES 1. Conversely, in Grace Ogot’s (1966) The Promised Land, a hike in bride-price causes anguish in the groom, and the bride. Also, since the exercise is communal, any slight against the groom is also a direct assault to the groom’s community especially if the groom hails from a humble background. 2. The book was first published as Miaha (The Bride) (1983), in Dholuo, and translated to English by Okoth Okombo as The Strange Bride (1989). 3. Writing on Britain’s deportation of Kabaka Mutesa II (1953–1955), Carol Summers (2017, 109) shows that the Baganda consider themselves wives of the king. They refer to Kabaka as “Ssabataka, or head of clans and thus head of country’s families from the ancestors to their descendants”; as “Ssabasaja, the man of men who stood for masculine power”; as “Mawanda, the beautiful one imbued with the power of seduction and persuasion; [as] Omufumbo, husband to his loyal subjects and wives.”

REFERENCES Abdulla, Muhammed Said. 1973. Duniani Kuna Watu. Nairobi: East African Publishing House. ———. 1976. Mwana Wa Yungi Hulewa. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers. ———. 1979. Siri Ya Sifuri. Nairobi: East African Publishing House. Afejuku, Tony E. 1995. “The Style of African Autobiography.” Prose Studies 18(2): 211–26. https​:/​/ww​​w​.tan​​dfonl​​ine​.c​​om​/do​​i​/abs​​/10​.1​​080​/0​​14403​​59508​​58655​​4​?j​ou​​ rnalC​​ode​=f​​prs20​ ———. 1998. “Autobiography or History? Lawrence Vambe’s ‘An Ill-Fated People.’” Research in African Literatures 19(4): 508–19. Aji, Aron, and Kirstin Lynne Ellsworth. 1992. “Ezinma: The ‘Ogbanje’ Child in Achebe’s ‘Things Fall Apart.’” College Literature 19(3): 170–75. Bhabha, Homi K. 1994. The Location of Culture. Oxon: Routledge. Boose, Lynda E. 1982. “The Father and the Bride in Shakespeare.” Modern Language Association 97(3): 325–47. Bukenya, Austin Lwanga. 1987. The Bride. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers. Burhani, Zainabu. 1987. Mwisho Wa Kosa. Nairobi: Longhorn Publishers (K) Ltd. Clark, Shelley, Sangeetha Madhavan, Cassandra Cotton, Donatien Beguy, and Caroline Kabiru. 2017. “Who Helps Single Mothers in Nairobi? The Role of Kin Support.” Journal of Marriage and Family 79(August): 1186–204. https://doi​.org​ /10​.1111​/jomf​.12404

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Decker, Corrie. 2015. “The Elusive Power of Colonial Prey: Sexualizing the Schoolgirl in the Zanzibar Protectorate.” Africa Today 61(4): 42–60. Hague, Gill, Ravi K Thiara, and Atuki Turner. 2011. “Bride-Price and Its Links to Domestic Violence and Poverty in Uganda: A Participatory Action Research Study.” Women’s Studies International Forum 34(6): 550–61. https​:/​/do​​i​.org​​/10​.1​​ 016​/j​​.wsif​​.201​1​​.06​.0​​08 Hirsch, Susan. 1998. Pronouncing and Persevering: Gender and Discourses of Disputing in an African Islamic Court. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kabira, Wanjiku. 2005. A Letter to Mariama Ba. Nairobi: University of Nairobi Press. Kasfir, Sidney L. 2004. “Tourist Aesthetics in the Global Flow: Orientalism and ‘Warrior Theatre’ on the Swahili Coast.” Visual Anthropology 17(3–4): 319–43. https://doi​.org​/10​.1080​/089460490468171 Lindfors, Bernth. 1994. Comparative Approaches to African Literatures. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Mbatiah, Mwenda. 2016. Riwaya Ya Kiswahili: Chimbuko Na Maendeleo Yake. Nairobi: Jomo Kenyatta Foundation. Mbaye, Linguère Mously, and Natascha Wagner. 2017. “Bride Price and Fertility Decisions: Evidence from Rural Senegal Bride Price and Fertility Decisions.” The Journal of Development Studies 53(6): 891–910. https​:/​/do​​i​.org​​/10​.1​​080​/0​​02203​​ 88​.20​​​16​.12​​08178​ Mernissi, Fatema. 2011. Beyond the Veil: Male-Female Dynamics in Muslim Society. Saqi. London: Saqi Books. Nelson, Michelle R, and Cele C Otnes. 2005. “Exploring Cross-Cultural Ambivalence: A Netnography of Intercultural Wedding Message Boards.” Elsevier: Journal of Business Research 58: 89–95. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/S0148​ -2963(02)00477-0 Ogola, Margaret A. 1994. The River and the Source. Nairobi: Focus Publishers. Ogot, Grace. 1966. The Promised Land. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers. ———. 1989. The Strange Bride, edited and translated by Okoth Okombo. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers. Patterson, Orlando. 1982. Slavery and Social Death: A Comparative Study. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Rose, H. J. 1925. “The Bride of Hades.” Classical Philology 20(3): 238–42. Ruganda, John. 1972. The Burdens. Nairobi: Oxford University Press, East African Limited. Summers, Carol. 2017. “All the Kabaka’s Wives: Marital Claims in Buganda’s 1953-5 Kabaka Crisis.” Journal of African History 58(1): 107–27. UNESCO. 2001. “Tombs of Buganda Kings at Kasubi.” https://whc​.unesco​.org​/en​/list​/1022/ wa Thiong’o, Ngugi. 1975. “Wedding at the Cross.” In Secret Lives and Other Stories, by Ngugi wa Thiong’o, 89–103. Nairobi: East African Educational Publishers. Wanjala, Alex. 2016. “Historiography or Imagination? The Documentation of Traditional Luo Cultural Memory in Kenyan Fiction.” In The Language Loss of the Indigenous, edited by G. N. Devy, Geoffrey V. Davis, and K. K. Chakravarty, 159–82. London: Routledge: Taylor & Francis Group.

Chapter 9

Advertising the Bride in Southeastern Indian Ocean Islands Zoly Rakotoniera and Gladys Abdoul

In a globalized context, the roles and status of women in the Southeastern Indian Ocean Islands have considerably evolved. In Madagascar and Mauritius, for example, the number of women having access to paid jobs in the twenty-first century marks a significant milestone in women’s affairs (Nordman 2010, 193). As in some other countries, in these island nations women’s perceptions of marriage have also undergone a noticeable change (Ramchurn 2018, 22–21, 25): fewer women marry, and many who do, choose to do so later in life (Glapka 2014, 1–2, 103, 150; Binet and Gastineau 2008, 41, 43, 46, 48). Nevertheless, Malagasy and Mauritian women are bombarded by the media with publications, magazine articles, and other promotional material and advertisements for bridal and wedding paraphernalia (Glapka, 2014). Then there are the videos posted on YouTube by wedding business operators as well as Facebook notes, photoshoots, and blogs by beauty salons—such as the locally famous Charm’elle (Label Pictures, 2015) for instance—that specialize in bridal hair-dos, bridal makeup, and bridal hand, nail, and body decoration (Coiffure, 2017; Kousoulas, 2001). All this alluring and highly persuasive material constantly presents the viewer with images of young, beautiful, and happy women seeing their lives’ dreams come true: being the bride. Such a discrepancy between reality and its representation confronts viewers with competing ideologies surrounding the figure of the bride. BACKGROUND AND METHODOLOGY The dichotomy between tradition and female empowerment has long been among feminist concerns in the global South (Moghadam, 2007). Many 149

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forms of violation of women’s rights, such as female genital mutilation (Nour, 2008), virginity testing, and primogeniture, to name only a few, are grounded in tradition and culture (Maharajh and Amin 2015, 94). The institution of marriage and the wedding ceremony are among those traditions even though their impacts are more subtle and seemingly relatively less harmful, though not always (Gastineau and Gathier, 2012). Importantly, the freedom to choose whether to marry is a major aspect of female agency brought about by feminism (Glapka 2014, 5). For women of the global South marriage can be an objectifying experience as to a certain extent it is still underpinned by patriarchal norms (1–2). The bride aptly captures this situation: on the one hand she is celebrating a moment of self-fulfillment; and on the other hand, her emotional language tacitly expresses the opposite. In this interplay of cultural representations, women are put center stage of the socially, politically, and economically meaningful ritual called “wedding.” The Southeastern Indian Ocean Islands cover a vast area in which there are numerous diverse cultures (Hoarau 2013, 50). This chapter refines the study and aims at analyzing the representation of the bride in Hindu Mauritian1 and Malagasy Merina2 cultures. In this chapter we examine the cultural traditions, facts, and realities of the bride in the Madagascan and Mauritius societies. These communities place families and the preservation of traditions at the center of their lives (Binet and Gastineau 2008, 43–47, 43–47; Nave 2000, 329, 332, 335–36). In this light, contemporary marriages, as the sacred continuation of the lineage and the reflection of the community’s identity, are still negotiated among family elders, hence ensuring the safekeeping of the integrity of the communities (Nave 2000, 336–37, 339–42; Binet and Gastineau 2008, 44–45; Boodhoo 1993, 643). This chapter is based on a study of video advertisements produced by Mauritian and Malagasy wedding business operators. A bulk of ten videos of Hindu Mauritian weddings were selected for inclusion. These videos are produced by various professionals in the wedding industry, namely beauty salons, photographers, wedding planners, video producers, hairdressers, caterers, and hotel managers. For the Malagasy part, a bulk of fifteen videos were selected. These videos showcase weddings that take place in Antananarivo. Eighty-five percent of the videos are based on trailers of real-life wedding ceremonies; the remainder are based on advertisement shootings that follow the conventions of professional fashion shoots with some features of media reportage. The India Wedding Lounge Mauritius series: 1) Akiavelic (2011); 2) soujay singh (2016); 3) Photographe​.​mu (2016);

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4) CineStyle Weddings (2017); 5) Kalpana Production Creations (2015); 6) Refleksyon Studio (2013); 7) HysteriaProds (2014); 8) TellyMasala (2016); 9) Extinct Production (2019); 10) Ritesh Soorkia (2017). The Madagascan Le Salon du Mariage series: 1a) Frank Lii Photography (2018); 2a) Masy Andriantsoa (2016); 3a) Coiffure du Monde Madagascar (2017); 4a) Label Pictures (2015); 5a) Miharimanana fabrice (2017a); 6a) Miharimanana fabrice (2017b); 7a) Miharimanana fabrice (2018); 8a) Print Agency (2017); 9a) Dina Andriamihajamanana Rajaonah (2019); 10a) Dina Andriamihajamanana Rajaonah (2018a); 11a) Dina Andriamihajamanana Rajaonah (2018b); 12a) Dina Andriamihajamanana Rajaonah (2018c); 13a) Harry Rakotomalala (2015); 14a) Studio41 Madagascar (2019); 15a) Unity Vidéaste & photographe (2016). Produced between 2011 and 2019, these videos are on open access (YouTube) and are meant primarily to attract future clients. The qualities of the videos vary considerably according to the level of professionalism of the producers and the materials they use; viewed overall, the videos showcase more or less the same moments of emotional and religiously significant moments of the wedding ceremony. Similar patterns are repeated and reenacted, allowing viewers some hints as to the key parts of the rituals. Through the figure of the bride, these videos shed light on women’s identities, marriage as an institution, and the wedding ceremony in its contemporary version in the Malagasy and Mauritian context. In these multiracial island nations, the respect of tradition that is carried out within the rituals layered into the wedding ceremony take on full meaning as they contribute in preserving the cultural heritage and identity of the families and the community as a whole (Binet and Gastineau 2008, 46–49). As the videos in this chapter show, great effort is invested in making the wedding event a success in all aspects; and hence, by default, a financial bounty for the operator and the wedding professional alike.

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The wedding operation in Mauritius and Madagascar has become an increasingly practiced rite and a thriving business (Burch 2019, 384–86). Given the conciseness of the videos, producers generally carefully select the scenes to be included and the amount of time allotted to each. Further, the frames chosen for splicing and inclusion in the wedding videos implicitly contain embedded explicit discourse that is revelatory of the lives of the producers of the videos. The Malagasy Merina wedding videos, for instance, afford the viewer the opportunity to discern the individual wedding operators’ backgrounds and interests through their prioritization of the particular businesses they favor. For example, video 15a, Unity Vidéaste & photographe (2019), is foremost an advertisement video for the photography business that produced the video. In this Madagascan video the viewer first sees a still of the bride’s shoes as if displayed in a cobbler’s window; in the second still one sees the “linked” wedding rings displayed as if in a jeweler’s window. The following snip is of the bride having her make-up done; next is the groom donning his attire, the camera lingers on the cut of his shirt and suit; the viewer then gains glimpses of the bridal gown—clearly the bride’s dress, and hence the designer and the dressmaker, is of less importance than the groom’s wedding attire, and hence the tailor. Next, the camera briefly focuses on the shoes once again, together with the bride’s perfume; then, in turn, on the bridal flowers, the wedding venue decorations, the musicians, the dancing, the wedding cake, and the pouring of (one assumes) champagne by the bridal couple with which to toast each other. Thus, the viewer can discern that these wedding operators have clearly prioritized their interests in the particular businesses involved in the proceedings of this particular wedding, with the cobbler being first, and the jeweler being next, followed by the bridal beautician then the tailor, and so on. In showcasing the world of bridal outfits and wedding ceremonies, these videos can inadvertently foster understanding that the figure of the contemporary bride may not always meet society’s expectations. As the videos show, some modern elements are also introduced in this centuries-old institution and are thriving alongside tradition in a rather intricate way (Nave 2000, 338– 45, 348; Binet and Gastineau 2008, 43–47). The bride embodies traditional and modern ideals related to femininity, marriage, family, and society as a whole. On one level, the bride’s beauty, sexuality, and social roles represent modernity; and on another level, the figure of the bride conveys the traditional values of a patriarchal and mercantile society. Both the bridal appearance and her bridal outfit, and the details of the wedding rituals are full of meanings and symbolized cultural and religious markers (Bonnefemme, 2017; “Attire,” 2017; “Hindu,” 2019). These references are part of a given language expressing the roles and places society has assigned to each protagonist in this well-orchestrated show (Ramchurn 2018,

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19–23). Hence, a heavily weighted event such as a wedding ceremony is the most indicated space to discuss women’s social status and cultural representations as seen through the media, or more precisely, within the world of advertisement in the wedding market. WOMEN: PILLARS OF CULTURAL HERITAGE IN THE MAURITIAN CONTEXT Despite a clear improvement of women’s status within the economic sphere and the fact that women are now undertaking higher studies and taking paid employment, the Mauritian context has not evolved much. In terms of life companion choice, for instance, Hindu women still have to rely on family rules (Bonnefemme, 2017). Like many religious and tradition-oriented societies, the Mauritian culture places marriage at the center of social interactions (Maharajh and Amin 2015, 80–81; “Hindu” 2019). Mauritians rarely marry outside their community (Boodhoo 1993, 125, 633–34; Nave 2008, 332). Family preferences and religious belongings define Mauritian marriages from the choice of bride or groom to the way the wedding ceremony is conducted: “Western-style dating is rarely practiced. Rather, marriages will be arranged by the parents” (“Mauritian Culture,” 2019). Quite often, young couples meet each other for the first time on the wedding day in a “first glance” ceremony where they will be asked to accept one another during the exchange of vows (Bonnefemme, 2017). This is a rather radical concept compared to the romantic world of dating, and ideals of love and happiness as depicted in globalized popular culture. Although social analysts consider Mauritian marriages as strictly endogamous (Nave 2000, 331–32; Boodhoo 1993, 125, 633; “Mauritian,” 2019), two of the videos in the chapter showcase the opposite: video 3, Photographe​ .​mu (2016), shows a Mauritian Hindu bride being married to a European groom; video 7, HysteriaProds (2014), shows a European bride being wed to a Mauritian Hindu groom. In wedding videos such as these, the traditional Hindu rituals and blessings have been observed, yet the priests appear to be less stern, their expressions less strict. Throughout the ceremonies there is much laughter, and among some of the European guests there is almost an air of circumspection. Cases like this demonstrate allowances for both modernity and differences, and hence allude to the potential for at least some cultural flexibility in an otherwise strict and closed community. For the Hindu bride, the wedding constitutes an important passage freeing her from her parents’ protective authority as her now husband’s and her inlaw’s appendage (Burch 2019, 392). Covered by and well-disguised behind

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a period of celebration and merriment, the bridal moment is short-lived and is marked by signs of a much heavier pressure: the bridal moment preludes a life of submission and the pressure of procreation asking the bride to say goodbye to her “self” as an expression of personal aspirations (Maharajh and Amin 2015, 80). This moment indeed foreshadows self-abnegation as the bride “firmly closes the ring of her inner world around her husband, his life, his interests” (Bonnefemme, 2017). Noticeably, in most of the Mauritian videos, even though the wedding is generally considered as the time of her life, the bride’s facial expression rarely relates that sensation of bliss and utmost joy. Rather the Hindu bride’s mitigated smile speaks of the emotional height and the stress of the moment. The bridal tears often seen at the separation from her own family (Doli time) are quite revealing; they are an expression of the bride’s torn feelings between the excitement of a new phase in her life as a woman (“Goodbye,” 2010), and the element of resentment that surely must accompany the imposed denial of her “selfhood,” and the apprehension that alludes to married life (Paul, 2000).3 These tears appear only once in the Mauritian videos. In video 9, Extinct Production (2019), the bride appears to be tearful, apprehensive almost, and yet seemingly joyful, as she and her parents say goodbye and the groom ushers her into the car that will drive her to her new home. Nothing would express this double-edged sensation of joy and sadness as much as the bridal tears which signal the closing of the bride’s moment of glory and her ushering into the blunt reality of married life (“Hindu,” 2019; “Attire,” 2017; Bonnefemme, 2017). Still, the bride’s entire childhood and upbringing would have been a preparation for this one moment where she becomes more than her individuated self (Burch 2019, 384–85). Everything around the Hindu bride is a subtle reminder of the duties and responsibilities awaiting her within her new home (Bonnefemme, 2017). Not only does the bride need to be pretty and spotless for her husband (Bonnefemme, 2017), she also has to be strong and resourceful. In a sense, the bride becomes an ambassador for her family to the outside world and mainly to her in-laws (Boodhoo 1993, 372, 491, 550). There is no “bailing out” for the Hindu bride because the marital ties she has contracted through the sacred spoken vows engage her entire family’s pride and honor, and, socially speaking, embodies the family’s worth (Nave 2017, 337, 339–40, 341; Boodhoo 1993, 178). In the Madagascan videos, the most recurrent rituals involve the mother’s bride and other elderly female relatives, the bouquet tossing, the bride’s church entrance, and the unveiling. In some video trailers, the viewer sees the mother or other elderly women adjusting a hairpin, holding a veil, fastening a ribbon, and so on. Their presence at the bride’s side is an allusion to the role of women as responsible for intergenerational value transmission in the

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Indian Ocean context (Malbert and Pithon 2015, 112). Many of the Mauritian videos, too, capture the bride at the moments she is surrounded by women of her family, preparing her for ritual, applying or retouching her make-up, and helping her to dress. In both contexts this is a rich moment of female solidarity and of knowledge or value transmission. She is the thread that keeps the continuity that stretches between the past (her ancestors) and the future (her potential descendants), all of which is but the expression of her natural role (“Hindu,” 2019; Ramchurn, 2018, 17–25; Maharajh and Amin 2015, 77). Thus, as she is being made ready for her wedding, the Hindu bride, and likewise the Merina bride, as the immanent wife-to-be, is already being introduced to her future position as the center of the family’s welfare. WOMEN’S STATUS IN THE MERINA CONTEXT The two cultures, the Mauritian Hindu and the Malagasy Merina, intersect on their emphasis on the role of wedding ceremonies as a rite of passage introducing the bride to wifedom. Little has been written about the contemporary wedding ceremony in Madagascar; however, due to weather cycles, the most popular months for weddings are November, December, and January (“Commune Urbaine,” 2017). Couples who want to get married at the biggest Christian churches in the city must book six months to a year in advance; similarly, the wedding hall reservation must be confirmed six months to a year ahead of the wedding (“Salle de mariage,” 2019). Religious, cultural, and societal ideologies behind the Hindu wedding traditions dictate the ritualistic transfer of women through marriage (Burch 2019, 391, 392–93); this to ensure the well-being, community status, and continuity of the family, and hence the continuity of the race, and hence the preservation of the culture (Burch 2019, 385). In a similar vein, in the Madagascan context, brides and grooms are carefully chosen as they are more than simple life companions; they are partners who will become family extensions (Bloch 1978, 24, 27–29; Binet and Gastineau 2008, 48, 50, 51). Among the most salient aspects of the Merina wedding ceremony are the rituals representing the idea of the transfer of people (Bloch 1978, 21; Burch 2019, 392–93). The bride must perform several rituals showing that she will have to act as “a daughter to two different sets of persons” (Bloch 1978, 30) once she is married. Many positive and negative aspects of married life are also performed during the wedding ceremony through games, songs, and oratory (28–29). In Merina culture, the wedding is a family moment representing several aspects of parent/child relationships as well as social values and norms (Binet and Gastineau 2008, 47, 48–49). As parental success is estimated on a daughter’s wedding; the bride, through her looks and the rituals she goes through during

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the ceremony, must honor her family’s religion, moral values, and identity (Binet and Gastineau 2008, 48–49; Burch 2019, 384–85). Moreover, since weddings have become a focal point for conspicuous consumption (Brennan 2019, 2), the bride must go to great lengths to show her family’s prosperity. As well, some Madagascan Merina (and likewise Mauritian Hindu) families use a daughter’s marriage to acquire possible economic or political privileges (Burch 2019, 385). Much has been achieved in the status of Malagasy women in general, as revealed by the ratification of significant international treaties such as CEDAW, The Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women,4 and PANAGED, The National Gender and Development Action Plan.5 These treaties have led to several forms of female empowerment, most notably in terms of employment, schooling, and reproductive health. Despite advances such as this, a few aspects of women’s lives are still ruled by patriarchal privilege and male behavior (Gastineau and Gathier, 2012; Ramchurn 2018, 17–25). An excerpt from chapter 2 of the 2003 United Nations report on gender relations in Madagascar, translated from the French into English, reads: At the end of a long historical process of evolution, transformation and coexistence of norms, images and cultural references relating to genres, the Malagasy woman finds herself in a state of subordination with respect to man. This unequal situation has been perpetuated and continues to persist because the entire social structure serves as both a bedrock and an instrument for disparities to reproduce and strengthen. (Rapport 2003, 40)

As with the Mauritian Hindu culture, in the Malagasy Merina culture marriage has remained the locus of such unequal power relations: it is a sacred institution in which a woman’s role is essentialized to be a mother (Rakotoniera 2016, 5). Traditionally, “the control of marriage and fertility by the family and the community was of collective use in protecting an economic, social and demographic balance” (Binet and Gastineau 2008, 47). The wife’s main role in these cultures was and still is the continuation of lineage; “from childhood, the daughter is initiated by her mother into her future role as a mother . . . and to assume her role as a wife” (Ravelomanana 2005, 73). The wedding is but one step in the accomplishment of the lineage continuation process; the performance of marriage rituals is a necessary condition for the union (Binet and Gastineau 2008, 47). In the more modern day, the most common type of wedding ceremony in the Merina context includes a church celebration, a practice that started with the advent of Christianism in Madagascar (Rasamimanana 2011, 47–50). The major rituals enacted in the

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Malagasy videos symbolize this mission. In these videos, the symbol of the Christian Cross hanging on the wall behind the altar of the church is clearly visible.

HERE COMES THE DRESS, AND HERE COMES THE BRIDE INSIDE THE DRESS The Mauritian Hindu Bride’s Status The Mauritian Hindu bride’s attire is undoubtedly what most expresses her status. The bridal dress is a symbolic token (Burch 2019, 391); beyond the piece of cloth, beyond the design, the expert cutting, and the careful fitting to the bride’s body, it embodies the bride’s identity; the one that she envisions and creates, and also the one that social conventions have drawn for her: “Clothing is related to cultural identity or even a religious one . . . . It is full of hidden symbols and meanings, from ornaments people wear to the type of cloth they use to make the clothes” (Ramchurn 2018, 19). The most recurrent patterns in the Mauritian Hindu videos show the traditional bridal combination of red and golden colors that symbolize longevity and prosperity. No matter what type of cloth is used, light veiling, gauze, or fluffy tissue, the colors are usually bright, though some contemporary brides opt for tonal variations. For one example, in video 7, HysteriaProds (2014), the elegant bride wears a dress of muted autumnal tones, with touches of silver, gold, and reddish browns; for another example, video 6, Refleksyon Studio (2013) an advertisement video for a bridal fashion fair,6 showcases bridal dresses in all shades from the traditional bright reds and golds through to interpretations (both pastel and vibrant) of the traditional colors. In all the videos in this chapter the designs of the wedding dresses are clearly sophisticated and follow the latest fashion trends. As seen in many of the Mauritian videos, the golden colors, the heavy bridal jewelry (multiple necklaces, bracelets, head and nose chains, toe rings), and the visually imposing ornamentation on the bride’s and the groom’s wedding attire, together create a modern effect while yet evidencing traditional oriental inspiration. Even if the patterns of the modern-day gowns are moving away from the traditionally strict lines, the symbolism of gold and red colors that meet the exuberance of this festive event is intact. The gold strike that is so predominantly visible in all the videos is a symbol of wealth and meant to attract luck in business and prosperity for the bride and groom (“Hindu,” 2019). Most often associated with weddings, mehndi7 are celebratory body adornments: this age-old tradition is inextricably linked to myths, spirituality, and religious beliefs, and imbued with magical meanings (Kousoulas, 2001;

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“Hindu,” 2019). Worn by the Hindu bride, the symbolic patterns have a mystical resonance that associates with the mysterious value of beauty and womanhood and are a literal sign that she will carry the weight of marriage (Burch 2019, 382; “Attire,” 2017). By symbolically covering her hands and feet with henna patterns, the Hindu bride visually redefines her bodily appearance to fit her new status of a married woman (“Hindu,” 2019; Kousoulas, 2001). Beyond the exotic meaning represented by the tattooed designs, most couples find it an attractive expression of respect and tender attachment (Kousoulas, 2001). The most recurrent patterns for mehndi consist of a combination of floral and geometrical design; examples are seen in video 4, CineStyle Weddings (2017), and video 7, Hysteria Prods (2014). Sometimes, the bride uses the tattooed motifs to pass a message to her groom. Video 8, TellyMasala (2016), is one example: the bride has worked her picture and that of the groom, and their initials, into the mehndi patterns on her hands and arms; she presents her hands and arms as a love-token to her obviously thrilled groom. Like the exchanged floral garlands that the young couple will wear throughout the ceremony, the mehndi motifs symbolize the start of a new love with their acceptance of one another and married life (“Hindu,” 2019; Kousoulas, 2001). The Merina Bridal Body: A Locus of Patriarchal Power The status of women in the Merina community is reflected in the Madagascan wedding videos. In each of these advertisement videos the camera close-ups of her bridal cosmetic requirements, her bridal outfit, and accessories, all serve to reveal her womanliness but in the Beauvoirian sense. Simone de Beauvoir (1949) argues that the female body and everything that is related to it, including clothes and cosmetics, contribute to the construction of woman as object. Beauvoir (1949) maintains that in a patriarchal society woman is made “to identify herself with her whole body” (648). She is also taught to only see her body as “a carnal object” or “carnal passivity” (718), terms that Beauvoir (1949) associates with a bodily configuration, appearance, movements, and a well-defined bodily relationship with man. In terms of appearance, Beauvoir (1949) argues that the feminine body represents delicacy, fragility, and lightness: “the feminine body is asked to be flesh, but with discretion; it is to be slender and not loaded with fat, muscular, supple” (277). Her body language should be in tune with such a physical pattern as she must walk, move, and behave like a woman—that is, discreetly and delicately (278). Clothes and make-up also are meant to highlight one trait in particular: “men have long begged women not to give up long skirts, petticoats, veils, long gloves, highheeled shoes: everything that accentuates difference in the Other” (203). This type of typically “feminine” outfit contributes to hobbling woman in her

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movements and physical activities, thus reinforcing her meekness and passivity (204). The type of bride chosen for the wedding advertisement videos discussed in this chapter reveal a preoccupation with the patriarchal concept of femininity: in the main, the videos display women in their twenties, of light complexion, straight hair, and slender body. The characteristics which immediately strike the viewer are youth, the softness of skin and hair, and absence of fat, the exact referents of the delicacy of patriarchal femininity posited by Beauvoir (1949). The preparation of the bride is presented as an elaborate ritual (Glapka 2014, 80) in which numerous multifarious cosmetic products and beauty treatments are applied to the skin and the hair for the general purpose of having shiny and fragrant hair and a clean, hairless, perfumed body. The body that the bride aims to achieve from this endeavor is one devoid of all traces of bodily excrements or excesses such as hairs, sweat, and smell, all of which are incompatible with the delicate texture of a feminine body and virginal purity (Burch 2019, 390–91). According to Germaine Greer (1970, 78), a hairy body or untamed hair on a woman can be seen as a form of furriness and is therefore an index of bestiality. The emphasis placed on softness is allimportant: softness must be shown on the skin as well as on the hair; blowdrying in particular is allotted considerable amount of time in the videos. The act of giving the body a soft texture can thus be interpreted as an essential way of inscribing femininity on it. The delicacy of the bridal body is likewise enhanced by the wedding outfit. At or near the start of the Malagasy wedding videos, the bride’s gown—a material symbol of the bride as a bride, and more importantly a cultural symbol of the bride as an object of beauty and purity—is usually featured first as an exhibit hanging on the wall, then photographed again after it is donned by the bride on her wedding day. Contemporary Malagasy Merina bridal gowns shown in the videos mainly come in white, off-white, or ecru, and are usually sleeveless, embroidered on the bodice and the hem, fitted with ribbons and laces, and mostly either bouffant or have a train. The wedding gown pattern as well as its fabric is reminiscent of the Western princess figure (Glapka 2014, 61, 63–64). Such an image is reinforced by reproductions of typical scenes involving fairy-tale princesses: waving at the window of a castle or looking at her empire (63). Noticeably, the bridal accessories evidenced in the videos contribute to this princess-like appearance: tiaras, white gloves, and white umbrellas are all deployed as semiotic resources that recall the figure of a queen or a princess. Clearly, what Ewa Glapka (2014, 98) refers to as the “royal narrative of patriarchal and heterosexual gender order is present” here. In fact, the wearing of the long gown, the high heels, and the accessories, limits the bride in her movements. In that sense, it could be said that she is physically the passive and submissive princess to be attended to.

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As demonstrated in the videos, the royal atmosphere of the ceremony is reinforced by its lavishness and by the evident expensiveness of the bridal accessories. The opening sequences of each of the Malagasy videos show the bride’s perfumes, make-up kit and jewelry, as well as their brands. We live in Madagascar and can say from firsthand experience that the most popular perfume brands for brides are Armani and Dior. A bottle of Dior or Armani perfume costs around Ariary 300,000, which is half of the monthly salary of the average civil servant. The bridal jewelry is mostly gold or pearl, bought from the most expensive upmarket shops in the city. Most Malagasy Merina brides wear veils, only one bride out of sixteen does not. In Madagascar, bridal veils come in all colors and in varying lengths; the Malagasy bride chooses a veil in a color matching that of the dress. The wedding veil has various meanings according to context, but in feminist thought, as posited by Elaine Showalter (1981, 145), the veil is “associated with female sexuality and the veil of the hymen. The veil thus represented feminine chastity and modesty; in rituals of the nunnery, marriage, or mourning, it concealed sexuality.” In the Malagasy context unveiling can be regarded as the formalization of the sexual act that is going to take place between the bride and groom and therefore drives home the idea of lineage continuation (Binet and Gastineau 2008, 47). In a similar vein, throughout the Mauritian Hindu wedding ceremony the bride keeps her veiled head bowed as a sign of respect in a religious and cultural sense (Ramchurn 2018, 18–19). This subdued position is also a reminder of the values that are commonly associated with the feminine role within the home: she is expected to be a caring and supportive wife, and to be submissive, humble, and vulnerable while displaying natural strength and discernment (Glapka, 2014; Burch 2019, 390–91). As with many cultures, the bride’s face is kept covered, or partly so, by some sort of veiling, until the point in the proceedings where she is “unveiled” by her now husband and presented to her in-laws, her new family: this “unveiling” ritual is also a symbolic reminder of the unveiled future that is awaiting the bride (Burch 2019, 388–92). The bride’s spatial position and body language throughout the wedding ceremony in both the Malagasy and the Mauritian contexts, as evidenced in the videos in this chapter, convey a story of self-erasure and subordination. THE HINDU BRIDE: AN EMBODIMENT OF A FEMININE IDEAL Like the Malagasy bride, the Mauritian bride is enfolded in fantasy during the preparations for her nuptials. Regardless of the pre-marital negotiations and arrangements where her intervention is permitted to be so minimal that

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is seemingly non-existent, her persona becomes prominent and central the moment she becomes a bride (Burch 2019, 384, 385). The attention of both her own family and that of soon-to-be in-laws are concentrated on displaying her as the image of perfection. Everything about the bride is meant to be an ideal embodiment of “beauty” (“Attire,” 2017). Beyond her external appearance which is meant as a “pleasure for the eyes,” the Mauritian bride must be the epitome of the feminine gender, the picture-perfect representation of the ideal woman according to society and the milieu in which she lives (Brennan, 2019). Her physical appearance must symbolize the bridal role in the wedding rituals, and convey the bridal qualities—frailty, sweetness, softness, caring, tenderness, brightness, fertility, humility, and warmth (Brennan, 2019). Culturally speaking, the bride is the embodiment of her community’s expectations (Binet and Gastineau 2008, 44; “Hindu,” 2019). Her appearance carries so many various symbolic meanings that her attire has come to be identified with her whole personae and the ceremony itself (“Hindu,” 2019; Bonnefemme, 2017; Ramchurn 2018, 20–21). Groomed and pampered, the bride is made to radiate beauty and prosperity (Boodhoo 1993, 288). Her most precious and delicate features are put forward before she is exhibited like a trophy, an object of pride and honor for both hers and her groom’s families (Bonnefemme, 2017; “Hindu,” 2019; Burch 2019, 396). This concentration of the Mauritian bride’s identity solely upon her physical countenance joins what has been said about the Malagasy bride; in one way, the bride is a construction of women’s status as a sociocultural and religious object in the Beauvoirian sense. Unlike the “cleansed and purified” carnal vessel requirement imposed on the Malagasy bride, though, the Mauritian Hindu bride’s intimate hygiene and bodily details remain a purely personal and taboo subject not even evoked in any of the videos. Rather she is expected to accomplish a culturally perfect performance through her mehndi tattoos and her wearing of an opulence of jewelry, and other heavy external ornaments hung on her body (Ramchurn 2018, 19–21; Burch 2019, 384–86). Everything about the bride, from the design of her bridal dress, the dominance of red and gold colors, the specific patterns of the mehndi on her hands and feet, the jewels, and the accessories express so much more than simple beauty ornaments (Kousoulas, 2001; “Attire,” 2017). Her beauty is her first and foremost quality, as well as an expression of her social worth (Burch 2019, 383). A beautiful daughter is generally considered as the pride of her family and constitutes one of the main reasons put forward as to why she has been chosen by her future husband’s family (383). As evidenced by the videos in this chapter, the putting on of make-up is a major step in the wedding ritual. On a cultural level, the use of make-up gives the bride an opportunity to reveal what is considered to be her main quality, her physical

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beauty: yet it could also be suggested that this ritual contributes in stressing the universalized notion that beauty requires some work and effort. Each detail of the rituals and prayers heard during the marriage ceremony has been carefully chosen to express longevity, fertility and, by extension, preservation of the lineage (“Hindu,” 2019; “Attire,” 2019; Burch 2019, 382). All the videos consecrate the major part of the film to the wedding blessings; it is the third most outstanding step in the Malagasy wedding videos after an exhibition of the bridal dress, and the bride’s cosmetic make-over process. In both the Madagascan and Mauritian contexts, the blessings bestowed on the bridal couple during the nuptials initialize the bride and groom for imminent placement into their culturally traditional and natural role of procreators (Burch 2019, 382, 395). In the Mauritian context video 9, Extinct Production (2019), in particular, explores the meaningful moment where the bride and groom receive their elders’ blessings. The ritualistic turmeric ceremony (Haldi ceremony), the application of a yellow paste on the couple’s faces as shown in some of the Mauritian videos translates, on the one hand, as the visible reminder of the sun, which symbolizes fidelity, and, on the other hand, it is a prayer sent to accompanying both bride and groom on their new journey (“Hindu,” 2019; “Attire,” 2017). As with all the rituals in the Hindu wedding ceremony, this ritual is one and the same with the voiced-wishes of luck and prosperity expressed in the exchange of the wedding vows (“Hindu,” 2019; “Attire,” 2017; Bonnefemme, 2017). Excluding the Indian Wedding Lounge productions—video 5, Kalpana Production Creations (2015) and video 6, Refleksyon Studio (2013)—which consist of purely commercial content, these rituals are also recorded in many of the Mauritian wedding videos— video 2, soujay singh (2015); video 3, Photographe​.​mu (2016); video 4, CineStyle Weddings Studio (2017); video 8, TellyMasala (2016); and video 10, Ritesh Soorkia (2017). Thus, the main bulk of the Mauritian wedding ceremony videos, and likewise those in the Madagascan context, capture and contain the wedding blessings; hence, in a way and in a contemporary sense, each of these videos is also a prayer sent to accompany the bride and groom on their new journey. CONCLUSION In both the Malagasy and the Mauritian contemporary contexts, the wedding ceremony constitutes a defining moment for the bride. In both cultures, the wedding ceremony symbolizes that the bride is merely espousing the roles that society has tailored for her gender throughout centuries of well-preserved traditions. As expressed in the semiotics of the wedding interplay, the bridal

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rituals represent a sacred scene where the bride is enacting the very essence of patriarchy, which imprisons women in the predefined roles of wife and mother. Even the words of the marriage blessings and sacred vows constitute some concretized expressions of woman’s subordination and passive acceptance. For women in these cultures there do not seem to be any other acceptable alternatives. Marriage is her only key to social acceptance and inclusion. Nevertheless, in recent times these cultures do show signs of encouraging women to further their education and take paid employment. Two of the Mauritian videos show cross-cultural weddings; these videos carry the implication that even within traditional unions there can be allowances for both modernity and differences. Such cases demonstrate a promise of cultural flexibility in an otherwise closed community. Unlike the Hindu bride who carries her family pride and honor on a permanent basis, the Malagasy bride seemingly enjoys more space for self-making as she moves forward into her new life. Despite the geographical closeness between Mauritius and Madagascar, and some cultural resonance that characterize the Southeastern Indian Ocean Islands, from studying the wedding videos of the Mauritian Hindu and those of the Malagasy Merina, we found that in these particular Southeastern Indian Ocean Island nations, the world of bridal representations and the wedding industry indicate the promise of a certain upbeat in terms of woman status and consideration.

NOTES 1. One of the largest religious group in this multi-ethnic and multi-cultural country, the Hindu of Mauritius constitutes about 48.54 percent of the total population (2011 census). Hinduism originally came to Mauritius mainly through Indians who worked as indentured laborers on the island following the abolition of slavery. 2. The Merina is the largest ethnic group in Madagascar. Of Austronesian descent, they speak the Merina dialect which is the official Malagasy language of Madagascar. Their dominant religion is Christian. 3. Sheryl Paul (2000), marriage counselor, notes that for the bride, and as the new wife, there are many pitfalls and conundrums that need to be skillfully stepped over or solved, and anxieties to be dealt with. As Paul implies, these issues would be applicable to almost any bride of any culture, of any society. 4. CEDAW. Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination against Women: an international treaty adopted in 1979 by the United Nations General Assembly. Described as an international bill of rights for women, it was instituted on September 3, 1981, and has been ratified by 189 states. 5. PANAGED. National Gender and Development Plan of Action Plan: provides for two specific programs which aim at redressing situations of flagrant inequality

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observed in the context of the elaboration of the National Policy for the Advancement of Women in Madagascar. 6. A main strategy of the wedding planners to drum up business is organizing fashion shows. These fairs take place on an annual basis and gather big crowds. These events are financed by wedding operators in cooperation with the fashion houses (Rasoanaivo 2015). 7. Mehndi is the traditional art of painting the hands, feet or body of Hindu or Muslim brides with a paste made from the powdered, dried leaves of the henna plant (Botanical name: Lawsonia Inermis). Usually, it stains a cherry-red to brown color.

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Rakotoniera, Zoly. 2016. “‘The Joys of Motherhood and Ny Zanako [My Child]’: Changing Images of the Mother in African Literature.” Glocal Colloquies : An International Journal of World Literatures and Cultures, 2(1): 1–14. Ramchurn, Rashila Vishneshwari. 2018. “The role of Hindu women in preserving intangible cultural heritage in Mauritius.” Journal of Foreign Languages, Cultures and Civilizations, 6(2): 17–26. https://doi​.org​/10​.15640​/jflcc​.v6n2a3 Rapport National sur le Développement Humain. 2003. “Chapitre 2: Genre et Développement humain à Madagascar.” United Nations Development Programme. UN & International Organization: Madagascar. http:​/​/www​​.genr​​eenac​​tion.​​net​/I​​MG​ /do​​c​/RND​​H​_​200​​3​_1_.​​doc Rasamimanana, Gilbert Augustin. 2011. “L’indissolubilité du mariage et ses impacts dans le contexte malagasy, en particulier chez les Betsimisaraka (c. 1056).” PhD diss. University of Ottawa. http://hdl​.handle​.net​/10393​/19919. http://dx​.doi​.org​/10​ .20381​/ruor​-791 Rasoanaivo, Anjara. 2015. “Canal 7 Events: Salon du marriage et du bébé.” Midi Madagascar, March 14. http:​/​/www​​.midi​​-mada​​gasik​​ara​.m​​g​/cul​​ture/​​2015/​​03​/24​​/ cana​​l​-7​-e​​vents​​-salo​​n​-du-​​​maria​​ge​-et​​-du​-b​​ebe/ Ravelomanana, Jacqueline. 2005. “Les débuts de l’enseignement à Madagascar et sondéveloppement de 1820 à 1916.”  Tsingy 2. https​:/​/ww​​w​.afr​​icabi​​b​.org​​/rec.​​php​ ?R​​ID​​=A0​​00036​​26 Refleksyon Studio. 2013. “India Wedding Lounge.” YouTube video, 7:18, posted by “Refleksyon Studio,” October 2. https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=dTX​​​3jtqI​​ C1Y Ritesh Soorkia. 2017. “Mauritius Engagement Ceremony—Yovin & Mahishi.” YouTube video, 7:26, posted by “Ritesh Soorkia Productions,” January 30. https​:/​ /ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=u9u​​​tT​-Jf​​rtg Salle de mariage Antananarivo—Wedding studio. 2019. https​:/​/ww​​w​.wed​​ding-​​studi​​o​ .net​​/deco​​uvrez​​-tout​​es​-le​​s​-sal​​les​-d​​e​-mar​​iag​es​​-a​-an​​tanan​​arivo​ Showalter, Elaine. 1981. “Feminist Criticism in the Wilderness.” Critical Inquiry 8(2): 179–205. http://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​/1343159 soujay singh. 2016. “Dipti & Adhir Mauritian Hindu Wedding | Mauritius | 13.12.15.” YouTube video,10:02, posted by “soujay singh,” May 13. https​:/​/ww​​w​ .you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=9Z2​​​pH1Xa​​-bs Studio41 Madagascar. 2019. “Mariage de Mahefa & Anjara by Studio41.” YouTube video, 4:04, posted by “Studio41 Madagascar,” February 28, 2019. https​:/​/ww​​w​ .you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=30Y​​​dWhcA​​JlA TellyMasala. 2016. “Divyanka Tripathi Wedding | Exclusive Chat with Divek before Sangeet Ceremony | Full HD 2016.” YouTube video, 6:53, posted by “Telly Masala,” July 7. https​:/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=Q74​​​FG6FC​​Yq8 Unity Vidéaste & photographe. 2019. “Le Mariage de Andry & Manitra by Unity.” YouTube video, 4:03, posted by “Unity Vidéaste & photographe,” March 13. https​ :/​/ww​​w​.you​​tube.​​com​/w​​atch?​​v​=9io​​​THjia​​Ikc

Index

Abdel Aal, Ghada, 78–79 abortion: Indian couples, complex issue of, 43, 44, 45; Indian women, selfperception and, 43, 44, 46, 47 Abu al’Arousah (Father of the Bride) (Mansour), 77–78; changing equation in marriage in, 78; “worthy” bride in, 77–78 Abu-Lughod, Janet, and Lucy Amin, 81 Adorno, Theodor, 82 adsectatio (harassment), 11n4 Afejuku, Tony, 132 agency: the bride and, xiv, xxi, 118, 120, 121, 124, 127, 131, 132, 133, 136, 138, 139, 140–42, 146; feminism and, xxi, 136; women and, xvii, xviii–xix, xx, 38, 115, 119, 125, 126, 135, 141–42, 143, 144; women’s roles and, 113, 114, 124. See also female agency Alam Ara (Irani), 53 American cinema/American culture: Catholic Spain’s views of, 28; contemporary Egyptian film and, 78, 79, 80; Indian film and, 64 America (US)-Spain 1953 commercial agreement, 28; Spanish political and economic recovery and, 28 Amorós, Andrés, 23

ancillae (slave women), 5 arranged marriage: Egypt and, 73–74, 80–81; India and, xviii, 38, 56, 62, 63, 64; Kenya, Mozambique, Somalia, Tanzania and, 142; Mauritius and, 153; Nigeria and, 124, 125–26; Tajikistan and, 100–101, 103, 106, 108 arus (a bride, fiancé, unmarried). See arus/kelin Arusi Zamonavi (A Modern Bride) (Pirmatov), xx, 104–7; bride as symbol of Tajik nation-building and unity in, 104; symbolic shifts between European clothes and national dress in, 105, 106; Tajik definitions of a modern bride in, 104–7; union of modern ways and traditional Tajik customs in, 106 arus/kelin, 97–98, 104, 105, 107, 109 Ashraf, Nava, et al., 124–25 Awqat Fara’gh (Spare Time) (Moustafa), 84; defilement of a female in, 84; female virginity as honor and social standing in, 84; forced marriage and divorce in, 84; the “worthy” bride in, 84 Ayza Atgawez (I Want to Get Married) (Emam), 78–79; young women’s fear

169

170

Index

of looming spinsterhood in, 78–79; societal and cultural pressures on young Egyptian women to marry in, 78–79 āzāwāǧ ʿalā ālṭryqah ālḥdyṯha (Getting Married the Modern Way) (Karim), 81; challenge to Egyptian conventions of traditional marriage in, 81; the ideal bride in, 81 el Azhar el momitah (The Deadly Flowers) (Karim), 73 Baganda royal brides, 144, 145–46 bahū (daughter-in-law), 35, 38–39, 40, 42, 45, 47 Bandaranaike, Sirimavo, 67 Baṛe ghar kī beṭī (daughter of an important household) (Premchand), 35, 40–41, 47; the “ideal” woman in, 40, 41; Indian joint-family structures in, 40–41; submissive roles of daughters-in-law in, 40–41 the Basmachi movement, 93 Beauvoir, Simone de, 158–59 Beauvoirian sense, woman as object in, 158, 159 Bedouin and ancient Egyptian figures, Egyptian cinema use of, 73, 76 Bentein Men Misr (Egyptian Maidens) (Amin), 79–80; aspiring brides’ marriage-worth in, 79–81; singlegirls’ humiliation of “arranged” marriage processes in, 80; startingage for spinsterhood in, 79; virginity and morality in, 80 Beso a usted la mano, señora (I Kiss Your Hand, Madam) (O’Neill as Noves), 27; failed revenge of female on a male for his treatment of women in, 27; message to women who resort to using trickery and game-playing on men in, 27 betrothal/engagement, Spanish postcivil war, 21–22; “marriage school”

and, 21; rules for women/brides in, 21–22; time length of, 21, 29–30 bindi dot, 57 Boehmer, Elleke, 79, 86 Bollywood cinema: Indian perception of authenticity in, 53; Indian society/ societal structure and, 53–54; Western and global influences on, 53–54, 55, 56, 57–58, 59 Bollywood cinematic stars, Indian audience adoration of, 53–54 Boose, Lynda, 136 border conflicts and patrols, Tajikistan and, 94 bridal jewelry, cosmetics and attire, symbolism and meaning in, xxi, 3, 56–57, 59, 65, 98–99, 149, 152, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162 the bride: age and, xiv, xix; “auspicious” gift to husband-to-be in, xviii, 38; community/family expectations of, 38, 40–41, 67, 84, 155, 156, 161; community/family identity and, 151, 152, 155–56; family pride in, 75, 136, 154, 160–61, 162, 163; ideal embodiment of “beauty” in, 161 The Bride (Bukenya), 131, 132, 145–46; the bride and intergenerational conflicts in, 146; the bride and resistance against cultural transition in, 146 Bride and Prejudice (Chadha), 54, 66 The Bride Price (Emecheta), 114, 118– 20; effects of bride-price on young bride in, 118–20; “forced” marriage in, 119, 120 buibui/s, the wearing of, 144; image of female inaccessibility in, 132 The Burdens (Ruganda), 131, 145–46; dissenting perspectives of customs in, 145; European imposition on the Baganda people in, 145 Calle Mayor (Main Street) (Bardem), 18, 29, 30, 31; Francoist Spain’s

Index

censorship and, 29; male cruelty towards spinster as hopeful bride-tobe in, 29; spinster as social comment on the single woman in, 29 Casina (Plautus), xvii; contemporary Roman attitudes to brides/female slaves in, 2, 4, 5, 7, 10; crossdressing male as bride in, 7; forced/ enforced sex in, 7, 8, 9; illa (“that woman”) and, 14n34; intention to rape in, 7, 8, 9, 11 CEDAW (Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women), 156, 163n4 censor, censors, censorship: Egyptian television show Sabe’a Gar and, 82; Indian film and, 54; Spanish literature and film and, 23, 28, 29, 30–31n2 Census of India (2011–2020), 37, 48 Charaf El Badawi (The Honor of the Bedouin) (Karim, 73 Chatterjee, Esha Bhattacharya, 53 the childless bride, 45, 97, 143 child-marriage/ early marriage, practice of, 94, 103, 123, 124, 125, 126 Chiquita Cocinera (The Art of Stewing Within the Reach of Girls) (Illán), 25 Chiquita en Sociedad (Chiquita in Society) (O’Neill as Noves), 25–26; change of voice to address girls from different social classes in, 25–26; tones of address as covert subversion to Francoist rhetoric in, 25–26 Chiquita modista (Petite Dressmaker) (O’Neill as Noves), 25 Chiquita se casa (Chiquita is getting married) (O’Neill as Noves), 25, 26; covert warning to women readers as future brides in, 26 civil marriage, 19, 94, 107 Cleuziou, Juliette, 94–95, 108 clothing and hairstyles (female): cultural identity in, 157; patriarchal concepts

171

of “ideal” femininity in, xxi, 158–59; Tajikistan, European influences on, 98, 101, 106; Tajikistan, national identity and, 98 colonialism, post-colonialism: African cultural values, Christianity and, 132, 133, 138–39; British rule and effects on traditional Indian cultures of, 53, 55, 56; Egypt, and oppression by, 86; Kenyan brides/women, oppression and, 114–15, 136, 138 contubernium (“marriage”/union of slaves), 13n20 COVID-19, brides during pandemic of, xvi cultural and religious markers, importance of, 96, 152–53 cultural flexibility, mixed marriages as potential for, 153, 163 customary marriage, xiv, 133–34 Daman: A Victim of Marital Violence (Lajmi), xviii, xix, 55, 61–63; aggressive patriarchy in, 61; cultural concepts of “widow” in, 61; runaway bride in, 61; themes of forced marriage in, 55; vulnerability of women as brides in, 62 date, dating: Egyptian cultural mores and, 75; Mauritian culture and, 153; modern Tajikistan and, 105 daughters as possessions, 39; economic and moral burdens in Egyptian and Arab culture of, 77; Egyptian parents perceptions of responsibilities towards, 74; Nigerian marriage practice of profiteering from, 114, 116–17, 118, 124 daughter/s-in-law, mother-in-law fear of, 38–39, 105, 140 Decker, Corrie, 141 Devdas (Chattopadhyay), 38; affirmation of arranged-marriage in, 38 Dial M for Murder (Hitchcock), 55, 58

172

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disintegration of Soviet Union (USSR), Tajikistan and, 94, 104 divorce, divorced, divorcees, xx, 19, 48, 49, 60, 75, 82, 84, 86, 94, 95, 97, 99, 108, 137, 141–42, 146 Doli time, 154 domestic violence, xxi, 47–48, 55, 133 dowry, 37, 39, 47–48, 75–76, 113, 116. See also mahr dukhla baladi (defloration ceremony), 87 Dulhin (The Bride) (Mudgal), 36, 43–47, 48; middle-aged people’s sexuality in, 45, 46; portrayals of joint residency system in, 43–47; social and familial roles of brides/married women in, 46 Duniani Kuna Watu (“This World Has Strange People”) (Abdulla), 132, 142; fine portrayal of Zanzibar’s socio-historical realities in, 132 dwʿāʾ ālkārwān (The Nightingale’s Prayer) (Baraka), 82–84; female body as Foucauldian model in, 83; Marxist delineation of objectified female in, 83; societal crime against women in, 83 Dwyer, Rachel, 58 Elephantine Papyri, xiv elite/s, elitist: Ancient Rome, misbehavior in marriage of, 11n5; Egyptian socio-economic factors and, 77–78; Indian society, class division and, 37; Kenya society, class stratifications and, 133; Tajikistan, cultural views/classifications of, 95–96, 104, 106–7 empowerment, female, xxi, 44, 56, 149, 156 endogamous marriage, 153 Escuela Municipal del Hogar (Municipal School of the Home), 20 exogamy, 101

eyebrows (Tajikistan), 105–6; cultural marker of beauty in, 105; marital status and, 105. See also Qoshi Tillo (Golden Eyebrows) Eze title, 118, 127n4 fairy-tale Western princess bride figure, xxi, 159–60 Falange movement, 19, 24 fake hymen/s, unlicensed Egyptian gynecological clinics and, 87. See also dukhla baladi family poverty: absence of Tajikistan’s migrant workers as cause of, 94–95; Egypt, suitors perceived as alleviation of, 75, 76 El-Farah (The Wedding) (Abdelaziz), 86–87; the bride as allegory of social discrepancies in, 86–87; dark aspects of Egyptian society in, 86–87 el-farah (wedding party, happiness), 86 father-daughter bond, 136 female agency, feminism and, 150 female genital mutilation, 150 Fergana Valley, 101 “first glance” ceremony, 153 flagitium (public disgrace), 8, 10, 13n26, 14n34 flammeum (the bride’s veil), 3 forced marriage, 55, 62, 84, 100, 119, 138 Franco, General Francisco, 17; starvation, overcrowded prisons and daily executions under, 23; suffering of women and Spanish population under, 17–18; “triumphant” years of, 19 Francoist Spain, sexual liberties permitted men in, 22 Gandhi, Indira, 67 Gandhi, Rajiv, 43 Gawaz ‘Ala wara’ Solofan (Marriage on a Wrapping Paper) (Karim and

Index

al-Ghazali), 85–86; Orfi marriage and, 85–86 Geller, Markham J., xiv geopolitical borders, UzbekistanTajikistan and, 93, 94, 101. See also Fergana Valley ghar (household meant as one’s home), 39 girls’ education, parental investment in, 124–25 Glapka, Ewa, 159 Gopal, Sangita, 56 Gorno-Badakhshan region, Tajikistan, 93, 94, 95 “greenhouse teachings,” 20–21 Greer, Germaine, 159 “Gulkī Banno” (Gulki, the Bride) (Bharati), xviii, 36, 41; abused and abandoned bride in, 41; social pariahs in, 41 hadith, 74 haram (forbidden), 85 Harris, Collette, 95–96 Hassan Arbakesh (Hassan the Charioteer) (Kimyagarov), 100–101; child-/girl-brides, and arranged marriages in, 100–101; communist collectivism in Tajikistan and, 101; Tajik girls/women hair styles as marital-status markers in, 100; Tajikistan’s traditional life-styles versus Soviet industrialization in, 100–101; warnings about dangerous freedom to Tajik girls/women in, 100–101; Western influence on girls’/women’s physical appearance and conduct in, 100 Heliopolis, inhabitants of, 77 hinobandon (pre-wedding bachelorette party ritual), 98 holy orders, prestige and, 21 honor killing, xix, 82–83 Horkheimor, Max, and Theodor W. Adorno, 79

173

housing: Egypt, high cost of, 84, 87; Francoist Spain, shortages of, 19, 21, 30; India, urban lack of, 36 Humraaz (Abbas-Mustan), xviii, 55, 58– 60, 63, 64, 66; duality of traditional marriage rituals and pretense in, 60; gender politics in, 60; message to viewers on love and marriage in, 38; tension between the traditional and the modern in, 58 the ideal bride, cultural criteria for and concepts of, 22, 75, 79, 81, 82, 87, 142 ideal femininity, 46, 142, 161 the ideal woman, cultural concepts of, 20, 40, 41 immoral, immorality, 21–22, 81–82 the India Wedding Lounge Mauritius video series, 150–51 iniuria (“personal injury”), 11n4 intergenerational knowledge and value transmission, the bride as receptor of, 154, 155 Jameson, Frederic, 86, 89 joint family, India, moral and social economy of, 35, 36, 37, 38, 40 joint residency system, India. See the normative Indian household Joshi, Priya, 66 Kabaka Mutesa II (1953–1955), 145, 147n3 kalym (bride-price/ransom), 96–97 Kantian terms, dichotomy in, 74 Kasubi Tombs, Uganda, 144, 146 katb kitab (“wait”/ “waithood”), 87–88 kelin (newlywed bride/daughter-in-law/ married). See arus/kelin El Khachab, Walid, 76 khonadomod (matrilocal relocation), 105 kidnap, kidnapping, marriageable girls/ women and, 119, 135–36

174

Index

King Alfonso XIII of Spain, 17 Kiririro bride song, 137, 139 kiss, kissing, 21–22, 23 “ladkilit” (South Asian women’s marriage fiction), 38 Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India (Gowariker), 55 landmines, 94, 101, 102. See also geopolitical borders, UzbekistanTajikistan Layla (Amir, Orfa, and Rosty), 73, 76; cultural and social warning to women in, 76; underlying themes of Egypt’s social problems in, 73 legal marriage, cultural definitions/ views of: ancient Roman society and, 3, 6; Catholic Spain’s Francoist years and, 19; Egyptian civil law and Islamic Shari’a law and, 85; Kenya and, 132–33, 134, 137–39; Nigeria, bride-price and, 117–18; Tajikistan, civil law and, 94, 102, 106, 107, 108 A Letter to Mariama Ba (Kabira), 131, 136–37, 139; Kikiyu women’s struggle against colonial transition and patriarchy in, 136; lamentation of marriage in, 137; women’s potential for agency in, 136 Lindfors, Bernth, 142 Los muertos también hablan (The Dead also Speak) (O’Neill), 25 love marriage, 38 Lykke, Nina, 83–84 maang tikka (bride’s amulet), 57, 59, 61 the Madagascan and Mauritian wedding advertisement videos: effort invested in, 151; embedded discourse in, 152–53; recurrent patterns in, 151, 152, 157 the Madagascan Le Salon du Mariage video series listed, 151

Madagascar and Mauritius, wedding business operators in, 149, 150, 151–52 mahr (dowry), 75. See also dowry maikā o māykā (natal family of bride), 39 Malagasy Merina wedding ceremonies, symbolization of Christianity in, 156–57, 163n2 mandap (wedding-awning ceremony), 57, 60 mangalasutra (necklace), 57 Margi Begunoh (The Sinless Death) (Yusupov), 103: intermarriage in, 103; rape and ruined weddings in, 103; tragedies of Tajikistan’s Civilwar in, 103 marigolds, 57, 62, 64 marriageable women’s “worth” and Egyptian society’s measurement of, 74–75 marriage of offspring, central role of parents in, 132 Martin Gaite, Carmen, 20–21, 24 Marxist delineation of objectified female, 83 Marxist ideological inclinations, 132, 133 masks, 11n6 matrilineal communities, existence of, 35 matrimonium (legal marriage), 6, 13n20 Mbaye, Linguère Mously, and Natascha Wagner, 133 mehndi (henna art body tattoos), practice of, 56, 157–58, 161, 164n7 Mernissi, Fatema, 141 Mesopotamia, evidence of first recorded marriage in, xiv miai (“looking at the bride’s face” ritual), 99 migration, singles/ workers/ families and, xx, 36, 63–64, 81, 94–95, 107 mikai (first wife), Luo people of Western Kenya and, 134, 135

Index

Milnor, Kristina, 11n1 misogynistic perspective of women, 63 misogyny: Egyptian society and paradoxes of, 87; Sobti’s assaults on, 41–42; women’s violence against women as, 38–39, 47–48 Mitro marjānī (Tohellwithyou Mitro) (Sobti), 36, 42; double standards of patriarchy in, 42; portrayal of young woman’s sexuality and social myths in, 42 Monsoon Wedding (Nair), xix, 55, 61, 63–67; arranged marriage, painful family secrets, and patriarchy in, 55, 64 mother-in-law/daughter-in-law rivalry, 39 mother-in-law projected oppression of daughters-in-law, 38 Mwana wa Yungi Hulewa (“Even the Devil’s Offspring Needs Nurture”) (Abdulla), 132, 142, 143–44; depictions of the veiled Swahili bride in, 142; female agency in, 141–42, 144; veiling as symbolism of familial secrets in, 143–44 Mwisho wa Kosa (The End of Wrongs) (Burhani), 142; exploration of challenges facing arranged marriages in, 142; female character used as comment on Euro-American values in, 142; representation of Swahili ideal femininity in, 142 Nair, Mira, 66, 67 Neecha Nagar (Anand), 54; portrait of India’s social problems in, 54 Nelson, Michelle, and Cele Otnes, 131 New Cairo, gated communities of, 77 “New Wave” filmmaking, 54, 68n2 nikah (Muslim wedding rite), 94, 102–3, 106–7 the normative Indian household, 35, 37, 38, 39–40

175

Nourzhanov, Kirill, and Christian Bleuer, 95 novam nuptam deducere, (a formality undertaken in legitimizing marriage), 6 nova nupta (genuine bride/ newly married/ “veiled” woman), 3, 4, 12nn14–15 Nowruz, Malikai Nowruz, 99 NRI (Non-resident Indians) international community, 64, 67 nuclear family/families, 36, 40, 96, 104 Ogundipe-Leslie, Omolara, 114, 115, 119, 121, 123, 124 Ogunyemi, Chikwenye Okonjo, 114, 115 ōm ālʿarousah (Mother of the Bride) (Salem), 77; struggles of middleclass family of 1960s Nasserist Socialist Egypt in, 77 Orfi marriage, xix, 84–85 Organización Sindical of Nationalist Spain, 18 the “Oriental Woman,” Soviet-initiated politics of liberation of, 100 Palmer, Eustace, 119 PANAGED (The National Gender and Development Action Plan), 156, 163n5 Parallel Cinema, 54, 58, 67–68, 68n1 paranja (traditional burqa-like robe), 100, 101 paraye ghar kī beṭī (the daughter of an Indian household), 37–38, 39, 40 Pardell, Agnes, 19 parental approval/consent, engagement and marriage and, 22, 85, 86–87, 108. See also arranged marriage Paul, Sheryl, 163n3 The Pay-Packet (Okoye), 114, 120–23; abuse of women/brides in marriage in, 121, 123; gendered discourse as framing device for women’s

176

Index

role in development and, 120; marginalization of women through marriage and bride-price in, 121; patriarchal and societal oppression of Nigerian women in, 122; refashioning of patriarchal power relations in, 123 Perestroika era, 102–3 pir-dukhtar, (spinster), 99. See also spinster, spinsterhood El Pisito (The Little Apartment) (Ferreri and Ferry), 18, 29, 30; housing shortage in Francoist Spain in, 30; working-class loss of soul under Franco’s regime and, 30 polygyny, polygynous marriage, 94, 99, 106–7, 108 pompa (wedding parade of bride or groom and attendants), 3, 6 Princewell, Chitu, et al., 122 probra (scandalous), 13–14n31 The Promised Land (Ogot), 147n1 Prophet Mohammed, 74 prostitute, prostitutes, 11n4, 22, 63 Provintsial’nye Mechtateli (The Provincial Dreamers) (Shoazimov), 108; bride as change between traditional and contemporary Tajikistan in, 108; comic play on suitability of would-be suitors in, 108; parental approval/disapproval of would-be grooms in, 108; parental fear of daughter becoming pirdukhtar in, 108; Tajik traditional custom of arranged marriage in, 108 pudor (shame), 10 Qiyami Roz (True Noon) (Saidov), 101, 102; close friendship between Russia and Tajikistan in, 101; portrayal of traditional exogamy in, 101; Tajikistan’s and Russia’s reliance on each other in, 101–2; tragedy of border controls between Uzbekistan and Tajikistan in, 101–2

Qoshi Tillo (Golden Eyebrows), 106. See also eyebrows ¿Quiere usted ser mi marido? (Do You Want to Be My Husband?) (O’Neill as Noves). 18, 27–28, 33; marriage of convenience for economic reasons in, 27; message to female readers on codes of behavior in, 27–28; representation of young brides/ brides-to-be in, 18 Rai, Aishwarya, 67 Rao, Shakuntala, 53 rape, raped, xvii, 1, 7, 8, 9, 11, 11n4, 12n17, 83, 100, 103, 115, 119 Raqsi Zindagi (The Dance of Life) (Sattori), 107–8; negative impact of male seasonal worker migration on Tajik families in, 107–8 reality and its representation, discrepancy between, 149 regional identity, Tajikistan and, 96 regulations for women’s dress codes, Tajikistan’s government and, 98, 104, 106 Rivera, General Miguel Primo de, 17 Rivera, Pilar Primo de, 19 The River and the Source (Ogola), 131, 134–36, 139; patrilineal hereditary chiefdom, survival anxieties in, 135; portrayal of polygamous society in, 135; monogamy in, 135; the wedding as momentous transition in bride’s life and, 136 Roche, Sophie, 98 Roche, Sophie, and Sophie Hohmann, 107 Rose, H. J., 139 ruibinon ritual (unveiling of the bride’s face), 99, 101 Russian migration laws, Tajikistan’s laborers and, 107. See also seasonal workers, Tajikistan

Index

Sabe’a Gar (the Seventh Door Neighbour/ The Farthest Neighbour) (Amean, Nadine Khan and Heba Khan), 81–82; challenges to marriage conventionality and ideological representations in, 82–83; cultural concept of the ideal bride in, 81, 82 safe values, Egyptian film and, 76 Salaam Bombay! (Nair and Taraporevala), 54 Sallabandon {rite-of-passage ritual), 97 Samay sargam (The Music of Solitude) (Sobti), 36, 42, 48; collective portrait of sharing solitude and growing old in megapolis in, 42; elderly Indians, marriages made in old age in, 42, 48 sangeet (pre-wedding party), 56, 59 saptapadi (wedding ceremony ritual), 57, 60, 65, 66 sarshuyon ritual (washing of the bride’s hair), 98 sasūral (the natal family of the groom), 39, 40, 41 sati, (ritual of mandatory widow selfimmolation), 56 “Schools for Brides,” Uzbekistan and, 99 seasonal workers, Tajikistan and, 94–95, 107 Sección Femenina de la Falange, 19 Sedki, Zeinat, 78 sexual abstinence, Francoist Spain and pre-wedding importance for brides of, 21–22 Sharpe, Jenny, 64, 65 Showalter, Elaine, 160 sindoor dye, 57 singlehood, single, 27, 29, 42, 48, 56, 80, 82, 121, 131, 133–34, 150 single motherhood, Kenya and, 136, 137 Siri ya Sifuri (“The Secret of Zero”) (Abdulla), 132, 142, 143; effects of social injustice on central character in, 143; familial secrets and revelation in, 143

177

Sky-High Flames (Azuah), 114, 123–26; interrogation of dominant male social order in, 124, 125; negative effects of traditional bride-price practices on girls in, 124, 126; transformative benefits of education for girls in, 124 Slumdog Millionaire (Boyle), 54, 66 social acceptance and inclusion, marriage as key to, 58, 163 societal and cultural mores, Egyptian girls and, 84–85 solterona (spinster/s), 21. See also spinster, spinsterhood Southeastern Indian Ocean Island women’s perceptions of marriage, changes in, 149 Soviet Tajikistan, industrialization and, 93, 94 Spanish film and literature, “new voices” in, 28 spinster, spinsterhood, xix, 21, 27, 29, 73, 78, 80 sponsa (betrothed), 5 Stobie, Cheryl, 123 The Strange Bride (Ogot), 131, 139–41; bride’s dreaded beauty as symbol of radical cultural transition in, 139–41; manipulation by daughter-in-law of mother-in-law in, 139; mother-inlaw suspicion of beautiful daughterin-law in, 140; mysterious bride’s disruption to the customs of the mountain people in, 139–41 suitor, suitors: the bride-to-be and selection of, 74, 75, 79, 80, 81, 85, 134; female criteria to attract, 74–75, 80, 81; female failure to attract, 74, 80–81; marriageable women and choice of, 74, 75, 80, 81, 84, 108, 134, 135; syphilis, 126 “time of Saturnalia” (master-slave exchange of place), 11–12n8 traditional Indian music, hybridization of, 53

178

Index

Tres hombres y una mujer (Three Men and One Woman) (O’Neill), 30–31n2 Tomás, Cardinal Isidro Gomá y, 20 transition, female and, 45, 97, 98, 113, 126, 131, 136 trivialization of women’s powerlessness, 38 Tse-tung, Mao, 114, 127n2 tumeric, pre-wedding traditional Haldi ceremony ritualistic use of, 162 Turaeva, Rano, 97 United Nations report on gender violence, Madagascar, 156 “unveiling” of bride’s face, symbolism in ritual of, 99, 101, 160 the “unworthy” bride, definitions of, 75, 85, 86 uxor (the bride as legally defined wife), 3, 12n15 uxorem accipere (a formality undertaken in the marriage ritual), 6 Varia, Kush, 57–58 veil/s, veiling: inhibitive cultural practices traceable to traditions and, 133; patriarchal overtones and undertones in traditions of, xxi, 6; Swahili women and cruelty in tradition of, 141, 143–44; symbolism in, xxi, 60, 99, 103, 138, 139, 141, 154–55, 160; women/brides social and marital status and, 3, 5–6, 12n10, 60, 61 El Verdugo (The Executioner) (Berlanga), 18, 29, 30; examination of ethical principles in, 30; socio-

economic conditions in Francoist Spain in, 30 vir (groom/husband), 12n14 virginity, girls’/women’s loss of, xix, 21, 64, 65, 73, 75, 76–77, 80, 82, 83, 84, 100, 119. See also Dukhla Baladi virginity tests/testing, 80, 150 Walker, Alice, 115, 127n3 Wanjala, Alex, 139, 141 “A Wedding at the Cross.” (Thiong’o), 131, 132–33, 137–39; the bride as heart of cultural conflict in, 132–33; intersection of bourgeois and Christianity ideals and values in, 137–39 the wedding ceremony, ritualistic transfer of girls/women through marriage in, 65, 155 women “out of control,” Ancient Rome and, 2 women’s rights: addressing inequality and, 123, 156, 163–64n5; feminist concerns and, xxi, 149, 150, 163nn4– 5; loss/denial of, 18–19, 20, 85, 94, 126; violation of, 100, 149–50 the worthy bride, xix, 25–26, 74, 75, 77–78, 84 Yusufbekova, Zinatmo, 105 Zhivoy Bog (The Alive God) (Vasiliev and Verner), 100; child-bride as symbol of Tajikistan’s old world and old traditional practices in, 100; subplot of girl-child’s rescue and education by Soviet society in, 100

About the Contributors

Kevin Hall is Senior Deputy Vice-Chancellor and Vice-President Global Engagement and Partnerships, Global Engagement and Partnerships Division at the University of Newcastle, Australia. Professor Kevin Hall has had a distinguished academic career, holding senior academic leadership roles in universities in Australia and Canada. He gained a BSc and a MSc from Queen’s University, Canada, and completed his PhD in Civil Engineering at the University of New South Wales, Australia. Professor Hall spearheaded the University of Newcastle’s entrepreneurship and innovation initiatives, leading the establishment of the Integrated Innovation Network (12N) across the Hunter region, NSW. He was also instrumental in acquiring State funding for the Hunter Innovation Project, including the University of Newcastle’s new Innovation Hub. A highly respected leader in the Australian higher education sector, Professor Hall has been appointed to the Australian Research Advisory Council and has also taken on a national role in developing industry and innovation policy, serving as an invited member of the Australian Research Council’s steering committee for Industry Engagement and Impact Metrics. He is also a founding board member of the Sydney School of Entrepreneurship and a member of the NSW Minister for Health’s China Advisory Committee. Professor Hall has been a board member on eighteen State and National corporations and not-for-profit entities. Jo (Joan-Annette) Parnell is Conjoint Research Fellow to the Faculty of Education and Arts, School of Humanities and Social Science, University of Newcastle, Australia. Jo holds a Dip. Fine and Visual Arts (Penrith TC); a BEd from (NCAE) the University of Western Sydney; a BA in English, and a BA Honors in English and Creative Writing, an MPhil in English, Literature, and Writing, and a PhD in English from the University of 179

180

About the Contributors

Newcastle, Australia. Jo’s main research interest, literary docu-memoir, involves the creative-nonfiction writer audio-taping ordinary people for their unusual life experience, thoughts, and feelings, as resource material for a literary production. Jo’s publications include “Translating and Conveying the Damaging Childhood in Our Kate,” in Catherine Cookson Country: On the Borders of Legitimacy, Fiction and History (Ashgate, 2012); Representations of the Mother-in-Law in Literature, Film, Drama, and Television (Lexington Books, 2018); and New and Experimental Approaches to Writing Lives (Macmillan International Higher Education, Red Globe Press, 2019). Josephine (Jo) May is Conjoint Associate Professor at the University of Newcastle, Australia, where she previously gained her BA (Honors), a Dip. Ed., and PhD. She has variously served the university as acting Head and Deputy Head of School, Humanities and Social Science; Deputy Director, English Language and Foundation Studies Centre (now PALSC); and Deputy Dean of Students. She was inaugural Chair of the Editorial Board of the Dictionary of Educational History in Australia and New Zealand; former President and Secretary of the Australian & New Zealand History of Education Society; former national secretary of International Australian Studies Association; and is currently on the Editorial Board of the top-tier journal History of Education Review. Her publications include Reel Schools: Schooling and the Nation in Australian Cinema (Peter Lang, 2013); (with Tanya Fitzgerald) Portraying Lives: Headmistresses and Women Professors 1880s-1940s (Information Age Publishing, 2016); and the Foreword in Representations of the Mother-in-Law in Literature, Film, Drama and Television (Lexington Books, 2018). Jane Bellemore is Conjoint Senior Lecturer in Ancient History at the University of Newcastle, Australia, where she has lectured for nearly two decades and before that at the University of Western Australia and the Australian National University. Jane has taught courses on the mythology and history of Greece from the Bronze Age to the fifth century BC; the history of Rome from its origins to the end of the Eastern Roman Empire; and Classical literature on translation. Jane holds a BA (Honors) and an MA from the University of Western Australia, and a PhD from the University of London, England. Her main research interests are the historiography of the Late Roman Republic and the Julio-Claudian period. Her publications include Nicolaus of Damascus: Life of Augustus (Bristol Classical Press, 1984); (with Mr Terry Ryan of the University of Newcastle) “Mothers-in-Law in Latin Literature and Roman Society,” in Representations of the Mother-in-Law in Literature, Film Drama and Television (Lexington Books, 2018).

About the Contributors

181

Rosana Murias (Rosana Murias Carracedo) is Associate Professor and Lecturer at Saint Petersburg State University (SPBU), Russia, where she teaches Spanish language and literature. She holds a BA in Romance Philology and a BA in Hispanic Philology from the Santiago de Compostela University, Spain; and a PhD in Spanish Literature from the UNED-Madrid. Rosana is Member of the “Unidad de Estudios Biográficos” (Barcelona University UB); the SELITEN@T (UNED- Madrid); and the “Seminario Permanente sobre Literatura y Mujer” (UNED- Madrid). Rosana’s publications include “Carlota O’Neill censurada: la novela inédita Tres hombres y una mujer (1945).” Signa 25, 2016; “Carlota O’Neill: La escritura como acto,” in Ecos de la memoria (UNED, 2011); “Recovering Memory. Two Proposals: El triángulo azul of Laila Ripoll and Mariano Llorente and Ligeros de equipaje of Jesús Arbués,” in El teatro como documento artístico, histórico y cultural en los inicios del siglo XXI (Editorial Verbum, 2014); and Carlota O’Neill. El impulso autobiográfico (Visor Libros, 2016). Alessandra Consolaro is Associate Professor of Hindi Language and Literature at the University of Torino, Italy. She holds an MA in Sanskrit from the University of Milan, Italy, an MA in Hindi from the University of Torino, Italy; and a PhD in History, Institutions and International Relationships from the University of Pisa, Italy. A 1991 Fulbright scholar, Alessandra studied at the Jackson School of International Studies (South Asia), University of Washington, Seattle. She was visiting researcher at the University of Uppsala, Sweden, in 2010, and the University of Kolhapur, Maharashtra, India, in 2016. Her field of interest is based on feminist and gender critique. Her publications include: Premcand, शत, I giocatori di scacchi/ ‫شطرنج کی بازی‬, La partita a scacchi (Three lingual edition, AOriente!, 2015); और (Techniques, methods and approaches to teach Hindi language abroad) (Notnul, 2017); and Angor/Brace, Italian translation from Hindi of Jacinta Kerketta’s poems (Miraggi, 2018). Andrew Howe is Professor of History at La Sierra University, California, and Director of Honors, Professor of History. He teaches American history, popular culture, and film studies. Andrew holds a PhD in English from the University of California, Riverside, USA. His publications include “Cold Springs: Cinematic Portraits of Sara Roosevelt,” in Representations of the Mother-in-Law in Literature, Film, Drama, and Television (Lexington Books, 2018); “Partial Eclipse: Harry Potter and the Popular Culture of Tomorrow,” in Transforming Harry: The Adaptation of Harry Potter in the Transmedia Age (Wayne State University Press, 2018); “Burning Bright: Samuel Fuller’s  Tigrero  and Accidental Ethnography,” in ShadowCinema: The Historical and Production Contexts of Unmade Films (Bloomsbury

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About the Contributors

Press, 2019); “Survival of the Fittest: Gendertopia and the Women of The 100,” in Handmaids, Tributes, and Carers:  Dystopian Females’ Roles and Goals (Cambridge Scholars Press, 2019); and “‘From Hell’s heart, I Stab at Thee’: Villain Typologies of the Delta Quadrant,” in Star Trek: Voyager Collection (McFarland Press, 2020). Azza Harras is part-time Assistant Professor to the Department of English, Culture and Communication, Royal Military College of Canada, and Director, Arts and Cultural Center, Cultural Unit IMESC (Institute of Middle Eastern Studies) (London, UK) Ontario, Canada. Azza holds a BA and a Masters in English and Humanities from Cairo University; and a PhD in Humanities, Cultural and Postcolonial Studies from the University of Kent, UK. Her research interests include Middle Eastern and Islamic studies; Palestinian / Israeli literature; Zionist literature and history; and British imperial history and Neo-American colonialism with special focus on reading the other, diaspora, hybridity, and assimilation. Her main focus is on the intersection between politics and culture and the representation of political conflicts in cultural productions. One of her projects, Theatrical Performance and the Israel Palestine Conflict: Identity Resistance and contested Narrative (I.B. Taurus-Bloomsbury), a monograph that tackles the theatrical representations of the Palestinian/Israeli conflict in Postcolonial terms, is forthcoming in 2021. Sharofat Arabova is Film Director at the State Tajikfilm Institution and Lead Researcher at the National Academy of Sciences of Tajikistan (formerly the Academy of Sciences of Republic of Tajikistan). She holds a PhD in History from the Institute of History, Archaeology and Ethnography, A.Donish, Academy of Sciences of Republic of Tajikistan. Sharofat’s films that won awards include Khayolfurush (The Illusion Seller), (Marudhar Arts and Tajikfilm, 2017), received the Jury Special Award at the fourth Kashmir World Film Festival (India, 2018), and the Golden Begonia Award at the seventh Asian Micro Film Art Festival in Lincang (China, 2019); Tasfiya (Purification) (Vard Simo, 2014), received Award of Film Critics of Tajikistan at the 6th Didor International Film Festival (Tajikistan, 2014); In Between (Film and Television Institute of India, 2013), received Grand-Prix at III International Film Festival of countries of CIS, Baltic and Georgia; “Kyrgyzstan—the Land of Short Movies” (2013), received Best Upcoming Film at VI International Jaipur Film Festival (India, 2014). Shalini Nadaswaran is Senior Lecturer in the English Department, Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, University of Malaya, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Shalini holds a BA (Honors) and an MA in English from the University

About the Contributors

183

of Malaya, Malaysia, and a PhD in English (African Literature) from the University of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia. Shalini’s research examines the intersecting and evolving trends in African literature in local and global spaces, and cultural formations, modern-day slavery, African literature and injustice, and postcolonial women’s literature. Shalini’s publications include “Udenwe’s Satans and Shaitans and Amadi’s Ada.” Wasafiri 87, 2016; “‘Drug Mules “Not” Queen Pins,’” in Writing Contemporary Nigeria: How Sefi Atta Illuminates African Culture and Tradition (Cambria Press, 2015); “Breaking Illusions: Contradictory Representations of African Childhood,” in The Routledge Companion to International Children’s Literature (Routledge 2016); and “Oppressor or Oppressed: The M(other)in-Law in Nigerian Women’s Literature,” in Representations of the Motherin-Law in Literature, Film, Drama and Television (Lexington Books, 2018). (David) Wafula Yenjela holds a PhD in African Literature from the Stellenbosch University, South Africa; and a BA in Literature and Linguistics and an MA in Literature, from the University of Nairobi, Kenya. He teaches literature at South Eastern Kenya University, Kitui. His research interests include race and gender activism and the Kenyan novel’s literary histories. Christened and educated as David Wafula Yenjela, he publishes under his preferred name, Wafula Yenjela. He is published in journals such as Mwangaza, Journal of African Literature Association; Eastern African Literary and Cultural Studies; and Oxford Research in English. Two of his book chapters are “Mother-in-Law Soap Opera: Redefining the Mother-inLaw, Redesigning the Kenyan Nation,” in Representations of the Mother-inLaw in Literature, Film, Drama and Television (Lexington Books, 2018) and “Sycophants in a Cannibal State: Kenya in Ngugi wa Thiong’s Wizard of the Crow,” in Cultural Archives of Atrocity: Essays on the Protest Tradition in Kenyan Culture and Society (Taylor & Francis Group, 2019). Zoly Rakotoniera is Lecturer in Anglophone Literary and Cultural Studies, at the University of Antananarivo, Antananarivo, Madagascar. Zoly holds a PhD in Women Studies from the University of Antananarivo, Madagascar; an MA in Interpretation and Translation from the Université Sorbonne Nouvelle, Paris III, France; and an MA in American Studies from University of Antananarivo, Madagascar. Her research interests are in Comparative Literature, Women and Gender Studies. Zoly publications include “‘The Joys of Motherhood and Ny Zanako [My Child]’: Changing Images of the Mother in African Literature.” Glocal Colloquies: An International Journal of World Literatures and Cultures 2 (2016); “Hilariously Queer: The Transsexual and Transgender Body in Malagasy Culture,” CODESRIA Bulletin 1 (2018); “Elle au printemps: the Bildungsroman of an Immigrant Girl,” in

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About the Contributors

Invisible Girl: “Ceci n’est pas une fille” (Umea University, Sweden, 2012); and “Dorothy Cannell’s How to Murder Your Mother-in-Law: Women, Sisterhood, and Feminism,” in Representations of the Mother-in-Law in Literature, Film, Drama and Television (Lexington Books, 2018). Gladys Abdoul is a teaching and research assistant in the Anglophone Studies Department, at the University of Antananarivo, Madagascar, where she is a second-year PhD candidate. Her field of research is in the values transmission and early childhood education. Gladys’s publications include “Bridging Narratives: Intergenerational Transmission of Knowledge in the Care and Education of Children from Birth to Three in Madagascar,” in Early Childhood Care and Educations at the Margins: African Perspectives on Birth to Three (Routledge, 2018); “Slam et vécus féminins malgaches: à mi-chemin entre traditions et revendications’ a section of Les arts comme vecteurs et créations de médiations” (with M. Martineau, A. Lamothe, J. Fauteux, M. Simard, and F. Ranaivo Rahamefy) in Femmes et féminismes en dialogue, enjeux d’une recherche-action-médiation (L’Harmattan, 2019); “Espace Indianocéanique et jeunes Malgaches: représentations et dynamique d’appropriation,” in Définis-moi l’. University of Indianocéanie, actes de colloque de l’Université de la Réunion (Epica Editions, 2019).