In Defense of Chick Lit

Today I read an article from Utne on the perils of Chick Lit, books written by women on women-centered topics. The article brings up the usual criticisms of this genre---that it is isn’t serious literature, that it overshadows and dumbs down ‘real’ writing by women, that it threatens the very fiber of feminism.

I, for one, would like to stand up for Chick Lit. Why?

It’s fun. Chick Lit is, at its most surface level, fun. And does that have to be a bad thing? Does reading have to be a painful, tortuous task? I say, No! I say, It is okay to read for the sake of laughter, for the sake of enjoyment, for the sake of escaping from this hectic, stressful, depressing world if only for a moments on the metro or a few hours on a rainy, dateless Friday night. And, really, most of the great works of literature are fun, despite academia’s best efforts to render them joyless through endless dissection involving complicated theories laid out in the most artless prose possible. Shakespeare’s plays, when we stop analyzing their historical contexts, are often goofy romps. Austen and the Brontes wrote romantic comedies.

Literature can---and should---be enlightening, educational, moving, inspiring, radical, informative, and documentary. It also can---and should---be enjoyable. When did fun become a four-letter word?

It’s real. Honesty check: What do you spend more time thinking about during the day---the war in Iraq or the wretched betrayal of your best friend making out with your crush at the bar on Saturday night? What conversation comes up more often over lunch---the subjugation of women by the Supreme Court or the psychotic rants of your high-strung boss? Chick Lit is about the real stuff of our every day lives, only with a lot more humor and way better dialogue. If we are to believe the Ivory Tower crowd---that Chick Lit is shallow and meaningless---then we have to believe that we ourselves are shallow and meaningless. That our lives are worthless and trashy. Because Chick Lit is about our modern lives: stretching paycheck to paycheck, fighting with parents, fighting with siblings, fighting with roommates, negotiating office politics, falling in love, getting hurt, picking ourselves back up again, finding our way through all the complexities of life. This is the stuff of real life, and the Ivories need to pull their noses out of their navels long enough to see the real world around them.

It’s feminist. Chick Lit heroines aren’t the swooning maidens of fairy tales and Harlequins. Nor are they the shrill, bitter, sexless victims of feminist literature. They are independent, intelligent, and fully human women coping with the real issues of being women. They have jobs, homes, families, friends. They have sexist bosses and tradition-bound mothers---and they have supportive friends and loving if imperfect boyfriends and husbands. They struggle with the ideals of beauty and the demands of balancing work and home. They seek the middle ground between their need for independence and their desire for companionship. They are feminists for the real world, which means that sometimes they fall short of the ideal. Or the Ivory Tower ideal, in any case. And they are feminists for the modern world, which means that sometimes they make choices that go against the traditional feminist doctrine. They choose love instead of independence. They decide to have children instead of an executive career. They buy the Jimmy Choos even though high heels are repressive bindings of slavery because, gosh darn it, they look good in them. But these are always their choices---not dictates from men or Ivory Towers.

So let’s hear it for Chick Lit: the literature of real women. Of modern women. Of women who defy simple stereotypes and instead embrace the beautiful, complex world around them with intelligence, strength, and a sense of humor.

And so what if Chick Lit comes wrapped in pretty pastel covers. Isn’t one of the tenets of feminism that we should judge a person by what is inside of her, not by her packaging?