The Ladies’ Paradise, Émile Zola: ‘a poem to modern activity’

This was not my first encounter with Zola but it was certainly my first successful one. When I was seventeen I tried to read L’Assomoir in French and, perhaps unsurprisingly, did not get very far. I’ve always been a bit wary of texts in translation for the simple reason that a bad translation can ruin a wonderful book; a wariness much exacerbated by some rather dry, dense translations of Sartre which put me off him for a good while. Brian Nelson’s translation of Au Bonheur des Dames suffers no such impediments and unfamiliar with the story (in spite of the BBCs recent adaptation) I thoroughly enjoyed it, cracking through all 432 pages at speed. It was especially fun to read during a road trip across the south of France which encompassed Zola’s hometown of Aix-en-Provence.

The reader is drawn into the compelling and colourful world of the grand department store, The Paradise, with the same force that it entrances and fascinates our heroine: the young and innocent Denise Baudu. In the opening pages, Denise and her brothers Jean and Pépé arrive in Paris in search of their Uncle and stumble across The Ladies’ Paradise. The effect is immediate and emotional: ‘this building which seemed so enormous, brought a lump to her throat and held her rooted to the spot, excited, fascinated, oblivious to everything else.’ The shop windows are an orgy of energy and colour where the…

…umbrellas, placed obliquely, seemed to form the roof of some rustic hut, beneath which, suspended from rods and displaying the rounded outline of calves, were silk stockings, some strewn with bunches of roses, others of every hue – black net, red with embroidered clocks, flesh-coloured ones with a satiny texture which had the softness of a blonde woman’s skin…

Throughout the novel we are treated to these sensuous, vibrant descriptions of the shop and its wares. Consumption is sexualised to the point of fetishism, the calculating owner Octave Mouret sees his customers – the ladies of Paris ‘pale with desire’ – as objects for seduction: ‘His sole passion was the conquest of Woman.’ The act of selling becomes one of erotic manipulation and the great sales that structure the novel constitute moments of collective abandon, exemplified in the final climactic sale, ‘In the trousseau department’, where:

…all discretion was abandoned: women were turned round and viewed from below, from the ordinary housewife with her common calicoes to the rich lady smothered in lace; it was an alcove open to the public, whose hidden luxury, its platings and embroideries and Valenciennes lace, deprived the senses as it overflowed in costly fantasies.

Mouret’s personal seductions are as numerous and successful as those of his shop, until of course, he meets the steadfast and ‘gentle’ Denise who will not be so easily overwhelmed. Indeed, through Denise ‘the women’ will ‘have their revenge’ as predicted to Mouret himself early in the novel.

Accompanying this strain of eroticism runs a parallel current of violence; the above description of the ‘calves’ is one of many in which the body is distorted and dismembered into fragments: ‘the mirrors made the departments recede further into the distance, reflecting the displays together with patches of the public – faces in reverse, bits of shoulders and arms’. The disturbing image of the mannequins, figures of the female body, decapitated ‘each one had a little wooden handle, like the handle of a dagger, stuck in the red flannel which seemed to be bleeding where the neck had been severed’ is emblematic of the violent commodification of the female body Mouret deals in.

The Paradise itself is figured as a machine, albeit a machine that is ‘based on the flesh and blood of Woman’ and as such it is rendered a symbol of a nascent modernity driven by capital and technology. Zola set out his intentions in his notes; he wanted to write, ‘the poem of modern activity. Hence a complete shift of philosophy: ‘no more pessimism, first of all. Don’t conclude with the stupidity and sadness of life. Instead, conclude with its continual labour, the power and gaiety that comes from its productivity. In a word, go along with the century, express the century, which is a century of action and conquest, of effort in every direction.’ This ‘effort in every direction’ is captured in the relentless expansion of the physical building even at the expense of the old, family shops in the vicinity and of course, at the expense of those families themselves. The new, specifically urban space of the department store is characterised by ‘the crush’ of the crowd and the ‘madness in the air’ that brings with it.

The productivity of Mouret’s machine is inextricable from a Darwinian brutality that sustains both the structure and the dominance of the shop. It is destructive and frequently figured as ‘monstrous’ in its mechanisation and power. Even Denise whose ‘coming was to be a revenge’ is shocked ‘by its brutal operation’. Indeed Denise who is characterised throughout as ‘gentle’ and acts as a humanising influence on both man and monster cannot stem the ‘force which was carrying everything before it.’

Inexorable progress and forward propulsion beat through the novel like the shop itself, ‘regulated and organized with the remorselessness of a machine: the vast horde of women were as if caught in the wheels of an inevitable force.’ It surges forward, driven by Mouret’s speculative approach, attention fixed firmly on the future as the present dissipates into money already made and the next sale holds promises of greater profits; The Paradise remains a machine clothed in luxurious silks – and all for a reasonable price.

Feminism, Islam and the importance of complexity

When I sat down to write this post on Saturday morning, it was going to be about literary Christmas presents. Something fun and frivolous for the pleasingly alliterative festive season. However, in my pre-post pottering I came across this article by Laurie Penny. Entitled, ‘This isn’t ‘feminism’. It’s Islamophobia’, it raises various ideas about the assumption of feminist authority by far right commentators to derail and distract from discussions of structural sexism in the West with Islamophobia. I have been following the response she has received – albeit intermittently due to various travels and familial duties –  both on Twitter and in the comments section below the article itself and as such I felt moved to offer my tuppence, however insignificant that tuppence might be.

A great deal of the criticism Penny has received for this article objects to the stereotyping of different gender groups – in particular white men – and expresses outrage that it is not an article condemning oppressive practices at work in the name of Islam. Both these responses, to me, miss the point that Penny is making: this is not an article about radical Islam, nor is it an article about gender stereotyping, it is an article about language and the appropriation of that language in the name of hypocrisy and hatred. This is something she sets out very clearly in the opening paragraph, “the rhetoric and language of feminism has been co-opted by Islamophobes, who could not care less about women of any creed or colour.” Penny is calling out hypocrisy and with it an insidious brand of misogyny that dresses itself up in words like freedom and equality and, in doing so, muddies the inherent value and meaning of those words. The ‘equal’ West and the ‘oppressive’ Middle East is a dangerous and false dichotomy that plays out across a broader media and political narrative but it is particularly infuriating when, as Penny points out, it is crassly politicised by organisations of the far right whose own records on gender discrimination are themselves so questionable.

Any discussion of discrimination leads to stereotyping in some degree: by its very nature it necessitates the catergorisation of groups of people be it white men or Muslim women (though it’s interesting that one is defined by race the other by religion). This is always going to be reductive and until the language of political debate and discourse starts to privilege complexity and nuance over quotability it will continue to be so. I’ve been wanting to write a post about contemporary political rhetoric for some time and whilst the finer details of that future post are still ruminating among cobwebs somewhere dusty at the back of my brain, this article speaks to some of those ideas. I can’t bear watching politicians speak, whether it’s on Newsnight or in the Commons the priority is to deliver simplistic, quotable one-liners that will play well with whichever demographic they are playing to (look at me generalising and stereotyping there…). We should require of our politicians and commentators on both the left and the right (what could be more reductive than that?) that they embrace complexity and nuance; they should be complicating issues not artificially simplifying them. We need complexity and the culture of the soundbyte negates it.

The response to Penny’s article exemplifies this: to identify one issue – the appropriation of feminist language and rhetoric by Western politicians both to propagate Islamophobia and maintain the fundamental inequalities of Western society – does not diminish nor deny the importance of another, let’s say the suggestion of gender segregation in universities or the stoning of women for adultery. It’s not an either-or discussion. It should go without saying that Penny stands against those latter two and, importantly, just because she has written what I think is an articulate and provocative comment piece on the former doesn’t mean she is, necessarily, privileging it.

Journalists like Penny go out of their way to complicate debate and that is exactly what this article is doing. The subtext of “West good Islam bad” that permeates so much of both the media and political narratives (again note the geographic v. the religious there) is not only unhelpfully reductive in the extreme but downright insulting, not just to the women who are still, relentlessly, fighting for a voice and making themselves heard but to those women, like Penny, like Caroline Criado-Perez, who are so frequently told that they have a voice, so why don’t they stop their whining and just shut up?