Examining Hélène Cixous’ Laugh of the Medusa

Dinner with a theorist: An Imagined Dialogue Examining Hélène Cixous’​ Laugh of the Medusa

by Logan Stallings Project Description: In this dialogue, I posed theoretical questions about feminism and feminist rhetoric to Hélène Cixous in an imagined dialogue over dinner. For Hélène Cixous’ answers, I pulled quotes and concepts from her lyrical essay, ​Laugh of the Medusa. ​So, rather than addressing this topic in a dry and flavorless essay, I opted to use call upon two mediums that I am very familiar with: fiction writing and scriptwriting. In this dialogue, I aim to create a droll commentary of modern day feminism in comparison with Cixous’ theories and rhetorics of 1976. *A disclaimer that most if not all of Cixous’ dialogue is either a direct quote or paraphrase information from her essay ​Laugh of the Medusa​; the direct quotes from Cixous’​ Laugh of the Medusa ​are presented in red type for the purpose of clarity and transparency.

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Examining Hélène Cixous’​​ Laugh of the Medusa As soon as I read ​Laugh of the Medusa​, I knew Hélène Cixous was the theorist I wanted to meet with. So there I waited at Frogg’s Cafe and Crepery. I picked the place because it had the best coffee and savory crepes in Texas, which isn’t saying all that much since I suppose Texas is known for Tex-Mex, not French food, but I hoped Hélène would appreciate the gesture albeit perhaps a comical one of the Texan-French cuisine. I sat outside, and it was about 7:30 pm on the cool October evening, and in front of me sat a wooden coaster with a number 76 painted on it in a script white. I waited patiently for my french press coffee and two ratatouille crépes. The café overlooked a small man-made stream with stepping stones that cut across it for children to play on. The patio area of Frogg’s was lit by bistro lights strung from tree to tree, suspended above my head, and the outdoor setting was all but deserted due to the slightly chilly weather. I was sure Hélène, a true francophone wouldn’t mind. Beside my painted order coaster lay a freshly double-sided and stapled print-out of Hélène Cixous’ ​Laugh of the Medusa.​ The door of the café opened, and I looked up to see my old friend, John, carrying out a precariously perched waiter’s tray. The tray contained the two crepes, a fresh and unpressed pot of coffee, two mugs, silverware, a small candle, a lighter, and a black fountain pen. He set out the coffee, mugs, crepes, and other adornments then handed me the candle, lighter, and pen.

“Thank you, John. Let me know if we outstay our welcome,” I said and smiled at my friend.

“Don’t be silly, we’re open late tonight,” John said easily. “You’ll let me know if you or your guest need anything?” he asked with a nod to the candle.

“Of course.” I nodded back.

John turned to head back into the warmly lit cafe, and I placed the candle in the center of the little cafe table I was sitting at, just beside the coffee. I then wrote “Hélène Cixous” on a corner of her printed essay, tore it off and placed it aside for the moment. I’d never executed this ritual before, but John had explained it to me, and it seemed easy enough. I delicately lit the candle, picked up the torn paper name and let it fall into the candle's flame where it was instantly enveloped in a flash of purple smoke.

“Hello, Ms. Cixous! Or may I call you Hélène?” I ask the woman who had immediately appeared in the chair across from me. She looked just like the image results for my previous google searches, fresh from the year 1976, immediately after the publication of ​Laugh of the Medusa​.

“Hélène is perfectly fine. Might I ask where we are… and who you are?” Hélène inquired, her French accent flowing evenly. “Oh, how kind, is this for me?” she then asked with an amiable smile at her plate.

“Yes! Best crepes in Texas,” I said with a laugh, as Hélène began to press the coffee, and I continued. “My name’s Logan, and welcome to Frogg’s Creperie and Cafe. It’s a quaint place,” I said and looked around. “I’m really interested in your work as a rhetorical theorist especially concerning your piece ​Laugh of the Medusa,​ and I’ve brought you here because I’d like to share a conversation over dinner about your theories.” I beamed ecstatically. “Oh, and I should start by saying, I’ve summoned you here by way of candlelight, but you are not in any way inclined to stay if you don’t wish to. This is a conversation candle, and our conversation will last just as long as it stays lit. As soon as it’s burned, blown, or snuffed out, you’ll find yourself back wherever

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you were before I summoned you. Now, I should say, you have been summoned as your 39-year-old self, I hope that’s okay. I just wanted ​Laugh of the Medusa​ to be really fresh on your mind. The candle’s effects are temporary though and, unfortunately, you can’t leave the table.” I took a pause. “And… well, actually, no… That’s everything I think.”

“Ah, a conversation candle, yes I’ve heard of those,” Hélène said easily, obviously in a placid mood. “Pleased to meet you, Logan. I’d love to talk with you.”

“Amazing! So, I know you’re familiar with current events, but there are just a couple of issues I wanted to discuss with you in relation to ​Laugh of the Medusa​. Particularly, I want to talk about the role of Instagram and its censorship in terms of feminine and feminist rhetoric as well as the recent Kavanaugh-Ford Hearing and the rise of the #MeToo movement,” I said, having rehearsed my intro several times.

“I am familiar with the rise of New Media, particularly Instagram and the #MeToo movement, but I’m, admittedly, less familiar with the Kavanaugh-Ford Hearing, though I did follow it during its height,” Hélène said and poured my cup full of the freshly pressed coffee.

She then picked up her knife and fork and began to dig in.

“Well, it’s really recent and aggressively American, I think,” I said and began to cut into my crepe as well. “I think it really goes hand in hand with your rhetorical feminine theories in Laugh of the Medusa​. I’d like to know what you think personally about the issues of Instagram censorship and the Kavanaugh-Ford Hearing and how they are current issues for women. Would it be alright if I asked you some questions about it?”

“Of course!” Hélène said. “​Laugh of the Medusa​ was written in 1975, which was a very different time… but in many ways, not that different.”

“So, I’m curious about your take on how ​Laugh of the Medusa​ fits into the societal context of 2018,” I said. “So, what I gather from your work exclusively in ​Laugh of the Medusa is that there is a strong connection between women's bodies and their freedoms rhetorical or otherwise. There seems to be a real connection, and you’ve identified it as female bodies being a site for rhetorical discourse.”

“Yes. Physically, yes, oppression of women can certainly be traced back to the physical form. The female body is, of course, strength, and woman has been taught to be ​ashamed of her strength. ​She is often ​kept in the dark about herself, and led into self-disdain ​because her body has been demonized since ​always​ by men.” Hélène scoffed.

“And do you think we see that in New Media like Instagram?” I asked. “​Or, you’re familiar with Instagram and the censoring that’s going along with it, I mean.”

“You mean the feminist initiative to free the nipple! Hah! Yes, I am familiar with that particular movement. Now is the future, technically, since I wrote ​Laugh of the Medusa​, and I had proclaimed that ​the future must no longer be determined by the past, ​but it seems we’re still in the same rut. The rut of the female body as shameful,” ​Hélène said.

“The issue, as I’m sure you know, is that men on Instagram can show their naked chests, but because women’s breasts are sexualized, they are not allowed to show them fully on Instagram. This seems a little brash, but I wanted to get your opinion on it. Do you think it’s important to end the censorship of the female breast on Instagram and, well, free the nipple?” I asked.

“Of course! We need to show that ​beauty will no longer be forbidden,​ and stop sexualizing the female body. It’s the truth. It’s ​the true texts of women–female-sexed texts, the kind men are scared of​,” said Hélène. “But it’s horrible because women have ​been given a

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deadly brainwashing.​ They’ve been taught that the female body is shameful, that the poor ​little girls and their ​ill-mannered bodies​ need to be hidden away, and because of that, ​men have committed the greatest crime against women. Insidiously, violently, they have led [women] to hate women, to be their own enemies, to mobilize their immense strength against themselves, to be the executants of their virile needs, ​and it’s all because the female body has been used to suppress women,” ​Hélène said.

“So then would you say New Media like Instagram is writing? I know you present the idea in ​Laugh of the Medusa ​that writing is the way for women to reclaim the female body, but, in your opinion, is social media writing?” I asked.

“Well, ​there has not yet been any writing that inscribes femininity,​ because the feminine world is so massive and immeasurable and broad, but I do think that social media like Instagram is on the right path. ​By writing her self, women will return to the body which has been more than confiscated from her, ​and ​her body must be heard. ​Since ​her flesh speaks true,​ I think yes, uncensorship on Instagram in regards the female body is feminine writing since it is honest, and it is reclaiming that which was confiscated. If you think about it, if we end censorship of the female body, we step toward ending that sexualization which caters to the desire of men. It would be ​the destruction of their enticement machine, ​and the female body won’t exist as inappropriate in any place that isn’t in a man’s bedroom anymore. We can take that back since woman has always functioned within the discourse of man,​ but women are ​dazzling, more than naked underneath the seven veils of modesty. ​Modesty is a manmade prison, after all.” Hélène sipped her coffee.

“Oh, if I might, I’d like to jump off of what you just said, how ​woman has always functioned within the discourse of man. ​Now, I’m honestly a fan, but I think that’s the idea that really made me understand why this oppression is still so present.” I said. “It’s a man’s world. It wasn’t made for women. In this man’s world, femininity is a downgrade, it’s lesser, and we’re trying to carve out a place for ourselves as women, but it’s hard. I’d like to pivot to the Kavanaugh-Ford Hearing, now if that’s okay.” I look at the candle. “We’ve burned through at least half of our time, and I want to get your opinion on this recent business. So you’re familiar with the #MeToo movement,” I prompted.

“Yes, adamantly.” Hélène nodded.

“So, women are stepping out into the light to speak out against sexual assault and misconduct. Recently, a man named Brett Kavanaugh decided to run for the supreme court. If he were elected, he’d receive a lifetime appointment to the highest court in the land. When she saw he was running, Dr. Christine Blasey Ford came forward with a story that Brett Kavanaugh had sexually assaulted her when they were in high school. Dr. Ford gave a testimony that was broadcasted live across the nation. She was cool and collected as she recounted the trauma, her voice wavered, but she remained steady throughout her testimony. I think this is important to talk about in regards to ​Laugh of the Medusa ​because it was clear to me that Dr. Ford was giving her testimony ​within the discourse of man. ​She recounted her trauma and stayed collected because if she broke, she would be discredited as overly emotional, crazy, or nasty, and in this way, her body was a platform for rhetorical discourse, as is every female body while it exists in the man’s world and is put on display, especially nationally. When it was Brett Kavanaugh’s turn to speak and give his testimony, he was an emotional wreck. He was rude to the female questioner, rude to anyone against him, crying, shouting, and ultimately behaving in a way only men are allowed to behave in any similar situation,” I said. “And it did ​not ​discredit him.”

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“I agree. ​Woman has never her turn to speak,​ and when she does, she must fit herself into the discourse of man,​ which is exactly what Dr. Ford had to do to even be heard let alone believed,” Hélène said. “This is because a woman doesn't have a place in which she can exist fully. Women's writing does not yet exist, and ​nearly the entire history of writing is confounded with the history of reason.​ It isn’t ​reasonable​ to ask a woman to exist in the discourse of man.

Every woman has known the torment of getting up to speak. Her heart racing, at times entirely lost for words, ground, and language slipping away–that’s how daring a feat, how great a transgression it is for a woman to speak–even just open her mouth–in public,​ and even then her words may ​fall upon the deaf male ears, which hear in language only that which speaks in the masculine.​ So, I think about that, and I think how incredibly brave Dr. Ford had to be to not only speak but speak trauma and horror recounted for men who might not even hear her,” Hélène said.

“But I do think that Dr. Ford presented herself eloquently ​in the masculine,​ as you said.

The mere fact that she was able to keep her emotions in check is a testament to that,” I said.

“She did indeed. She was logical as she had to be. She did very well, I think, in ​seizing the occasion to speak, hence her shattering entry into history, which has always been based on her suppression.​ You look at Dr. Ford and ​she physically materializes what she’s thinking: she signifies it with her body,​ through body language and translation from the feminine to the masculine as is necessary to be heard as a woman in this world,” Hélène said.

“She was practical in just the way she had to be in order to be taken seriously. I think that’s how she managed to make Kavanaugh so volatile because he was mad that she was fluent in the male discourse and therefore a real threat,” I said.

“For a woman to make her own place in discourse, ​she will bring about a mutation in human relations, in thought, in all praxis.​ I think that’s where we’re headed now: Praxis,” said Hélène.

“I know we’re quickly running out of candlelight, Hélène, so I want to ask you, how do these two topics come together, and what can it mean for a feminine rhetoric?” I asked.

“Well, ​men say that there are two unpresentable things: death and the feminine sex.

That’s because they need femininity to be associated with death… they need to be afraid of us.

But, the feminine sex is life. How hypocritical of men to shove it into the same box as death. It’s the feminine sex that gave them life! ​We’ve been turned away from our bodies, shamefully taught to ignore them, to strike them with that stupid sexual modesty… but a woman’s body, with its thousand and one thresholds of ador will make the old single-grooved mother tongue reverberate with more than just one language.​ If we release the body, we release women, and therefore the female language,” Hélène said.

“And we can release the body through writing, and in this current time, New Media can be that writing?” I prompted.

“Yes,” Hélène answered.

“And to release the woman is to release her from the prison of a male discourse and let her truly fly.”

“Yes.” Hélène nodded.

“Thank you, Hélène, for talking with me over dinner.” I look down at our empty mugs, coffee pot, and plates. She must have liked the food. I felt relieved.

“Thank you for dinner, Logan. It was a pleasure.” Hélène leaned forward, kissed my cheeks, as is the French custom. Then, with a smile, she licked her fingers, and instead of waiting

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for the candle to poof her back from whence she came, she took it upon herself to extinguish the flame herself with thumb and forefinger. In a puff of purple smoke, Hélène was gone.

I heard thunder rumble overhead as the first drops of an autumn storm began to fall, then I heard the café door swing open, and John emerged.

“Wow, perfect timing!” John called, holding the door open as I grabbed my things and hurried inside. “Did you have a good visit?” he asked.

“You know, John, I really did.” I smiled and, standing in the open doorway, stared at the now glistening cafe patio. “I think we’re on the right track.”

“The right track for what?” he asked.

“An untethered femininity.” I smiled and the door swung shut.

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Works Cited Cixous, Hélène, et al. “Laugh of the Medusa.” Signs, vol. 1, no. 4, 1976, pp. 875–93. https://stedwards-primo.hosted.exlibrisgroup.com/primo-explore/fulldisplay?doci d=TN_mla0000212885&context=PC&vid=01SEU_INST_V1&search_scope=Sea rch_Everything&tab=search_pc_and_catalog&lang=en_US Andermatt Conley, Verena. “HÉLÈNE CIXOUS (1937- ).” ​Stanford Presidential Lectures and Symposia in the Humanities and Arts,​ Stanford, 1991, https://prelectur.stanford.edu/lecturers/cixous/conley.html