DO WE HAVE a topic specifically about Women Fighting in Literature? I looked around, and thought, probably not. Two books have recently fascinated me, first and most a novel called 'The Fair Fight', by a young contemporary author, Anna Freeman. A novel set in a time over 200 years ago, with a lot of actual historical background (!) in which the main character is a woman who fights, on a stage, in front of an audience!
And then, the crazy, long drawn out washhouse fight scene in a novel by Zola...
If you know of any scenes of fights between women in novels or stories, let's have them here!
The Fair Fight by
Anna Freeman...
...is the author's debut novel set in England at the end of the 18th century and to a large extent evolving around female bare knuckle prizefighting.
The book's style reminds very much of the works of Sarah Waters, telling the story in the first person while shifting between characters (so that you get more than just one perspective of what is going on).
Of course, I like the book's fight scenes, no matter if
Ruth, the story's main heroine, is involved in them or not (in one scene she's only the spectator of a prize fight between a woman who is small but agile and well trained in boxing, and a big, heavy opponent who seems to mock her fighting skills by simply picking her up and slamming her to the ground) - but that is not all. One of the main characters is a 'lady', in the sense of the societal order at the time, who, when taken to a prizefight involving Ruth at a fairground, reacts initially with shock, horror, and disgust while 'averting her face' but gradually can't help staring at the shocking scene in front of her - eventually, while Ruth is being beaten to a pulp in a rigged fight impossible for her to win, the 'lady' watches the scene of mad violence 'repulsed and thrilled at the same time', confused about her own feelings, no longer knowing if she wants 'the girl to be saved or destroyed'. - That's the kind of intricate human psychology which turns me on - what goes on in the women's souls is more important than how much hair they pull or how many punches they throw. The 'lady' later wants to break out of her typical woman's edifice of restrictions imposed on her and ends up being trained by Ruth. She literally replaces her cushion-embroidering with boxing bandages.
Historically, at the time two women competed with each other in a prize fight with an amount of about £10 at stake; to understand what that meant this example of relation is often given: a hard working parlourmaid's earnings were normally about £6 - annually! The prizefighting was often a way out of poverty for prostitutes and other women in poor circumstances; just one boxing match could leave one of the opponents with a suddenly very much changed outlook on her life's future.
If you're mainly or exclusive into 'womanly' and 'feminine' cat fights all about tearing holes into pantyhoses with polished fingernails and smudging each other's lipsticks (while not wanting to face the reality of there being injuries and blood in fights) then this book probably is not for you - but if you're turned on by, and want to enjoy, how real women fight real fights, and by what goes on in their souls and emotions while stepping up to confronting an opponent, feeling the adrenaline rush in the heart and in the head, then 'The Fair Fight' is a must-read!
The author, Anna Freeman, from Bristol in England, UK, seems a tremendously interesting person whom I hope to meet one day while asking her to sign for me a copy of 'The Fair Fight'.
Here is a short but very informative interview with her, mainly about how she came to write the book:
http://www.femalefirst.co.uk/books/anna-freeman-the-fair-fight-512475.htmlAnna Freeman speaking live about 'The Fair Fight':
https://youtu.be/SjlYFPYfSVs...And the second book:
The Washhouse Fight Scene in Zola's 'L'Assommoir'
Above: Public washhouse in Paris, 19th century
The novel 'L'Assommoir' by Émile Zola (1840-1902) is set in Paris of the late 19th century. It is a story about alcoholism and life's general failure amongst the city's poor population at the time.
Gervaise, the novel's female main character, in the following scene has arrived at the busy washhouse to wash her clothes (a long time before washing machines were invented, of course,). There, she has an encounter with
Virginie with whose sister
Adele her husband allegedly cheats on her.
Virginie pokes fun at Gervaise until Gervaise gets so angry at the woman ridiculing her that their initial word slinging match escalates into a fight which begins with throwing bucketfuls of water at each other until their skirts and blouses cling to the two soaked women's bodies but eventually ends with hair pulling, scratching and finally a brutal beating while the other women around them either gleefully watch the battle of the two opponents fuelled by their mutual hatred, or turn away frightened and upset.
A 'beetle' as mentioned in the following text is a large, solid wooden object, also called a 'washing bat', used to 'beat' the dirt out of the wet, soaped clothes. Getting a beating with one of them in a fight would certainly not be any fun for the victim.
So, here is the very detailed description of the fight between Gervaise and Virginie in the washhouse's wet, hot, steamy surrounding:
Excerpt from 'L'Assomoir' - Émile Zola:"She's laughing at seeing you cry, that heartless thing over there. I'd stake my life that her washing's all a pretence. She's packed off the other two, and she's come here so as to tell them how you take it."
Gervaise removed her hands from her face and looked. When she beheld Virginie in front of her, amidst three or four women, speaking low and staring at her, she was seized with a mad rage. Her arms in front of her, searching the ground, she stumbled forward a few paces. Trembling all over, she found a bucket full of water, grabbed it with both hands, and emptied it at Virginie.
"The virago!" yelled tall Virginie.
She had stepped back, and her boots alone got wet. The other women, who for some minutes past had all been greatly upset by Gervaise's tears, jostled each other in their anxiety to see the fight. Some, who were finishing their lunch, got on the tops of their tubs. Others hastened forward, their hands smothered with soap. A ring was formed.
"Ah! the virago!" repeated tall Virginie. "What's the matter with her? She's mad!"
Gervaise, standing on the defensive, her chin thrust out, her features convulsed, said nothing, not having yet acquired the Paris gift of street gab. The other continued:
"Get out! This girl's tired of wallowing about in the country; she wasn't twelve years old when the soldiers were at her. She even lost her leg serving her country. That leg's rotting off.”
The lookers-on burst out laughing. Virginie, seeing her success, advanced a couple of steps, drawing herself up to her full height, and yelling louder than ever:
"Here! Come a bit nearer, just to see how I'll settle you! Don't you come annoying us here. Do I even know her, the hussy? If she'd wetted me, I'd have pretty soon shown her battle, as you'd have seen. Let her just say what I've ever done to her. Speak, you vixen; what's been done to you?"
"Don't talk so much," stammered Gervaise. "You know well enough. Some one saw my husband last night. And shut up, because if you don't I'll most certainly strangle you."
"Her husband! That's a good one! As if cripples like her had husbands! If he's left you it's not my fault. Surely you don't think I've stolen him, do you? He was much too good for you and you made him sick. Did you keep him on a leash? Has anyone here seen her husband? There's a reward."
The laughter burst forth again. Gervaise contented herself with continually murmuring in a low tone of voice:
"You know well enough, you know well enough. It's your sister. I'll strangle her—your sister."
"Yes, go and try it on with my sister," resumed Virginie sneeringly. "Ah! it's my sister! That's very likely. My sister looks a trifle different to you; but what's that to me? Can't one come and wash one's clothes in peace now? Just dry up, d'ye hear, because I've had enough of it!"
But it was she who returned to the attack, after giving five or six strokes with her beetle, intoxicated by the insults she had been giving utterance to, and worked up into a passion. She left off and recommenced again, speaking in this way three times:
"Well, yes! it's my sister. There now, does that satisfy you? They adore each other. You should just see them bill and coo! And he's left you with your children. Those pretty kids with scabs all over their faces! You got one of them from a gendarme, didn't you? And you let three others die because you didn't want to pay excess baggage on your journey. It's your Lantier who told us that. Ah! he's been telling some fine things; he'd had enough of you!"
"You dirty jade! You dirty jade! You dirty jade!" yelled Gervaise, beside herself, and again seized with a furious trembling. She turned round, looking once more about the ground; and only observing the little tub, she seized hold of it by the legs, and flung the whole of the bluing at Virginie's face.
"The beast! She's spoilt my dress!" cried the latter, whose shoulder was sopping wet and whose left hand was dripping blue. "Just wait, you wretch!"
In her turn she seized a bucket, and emptied it over Gervaise. Then a formidable battle began. They both ran along the rows of tubs, seized hold of the pails that were full, and returned to dash the contents at each other's heads. And each deluge was accompanied by a volley of words. Gervaise herself answered now:
“There, you scum! You got it that time. It'll help to cool you."
"Ah! the carrion! That's for your filth. Wash yourself for once in your life."
"Yes, yes, I'll wash the salt out of you, you cod!"
"Another one! Brush your teeth, fix yourself up for your post to-night at the corner of the Rue Belhomme."
They ended by having to refill the buckets at the water taps, continuing to insult each other the while. The initial bucketfuls were so poorly aimed as to scarcely reach their targets, but they soon began to splash each other in earnest. Virginie was the first to receive a bucketful in the face. The water ran down, soaking her back and front. She was still staggering when another caught her from the side, hitting her left ear and drenching her chignon which then came unwound into a limp, bedraggled string of hair.
Gervaise was hit first in the legs. One pail filled her shoes full of water and splashed up to her thighs. Two more wet her even higher. Soon both of them were soaked from top to bottom and it was impossible to count the hits. Their clothes were plastered to their bodies and they looked shrunken. Water was dripping everywhere as from umbrellas in a rainstorm.
“They look jolly funny!" said the hoarse voice of one of the women.
Everyone in the wash-house was highly amused. A good space was left to the combatants, as nobody cared to get splashed. Applause and jokes circulated in the midst of the sluice-like noise of the buckets emptied in rapid succession! On the floor the puddles were running one into another, and the two women were wading in them up to their ankles.
Virginie, however, who had been meditating a treacherous move, suddenly seized hold of a pail of lye, which one of her neighbors had left there and threw it. The same cry arose from all. Everyone thought Gervaise was scalded; but only her left foot had been slightly touched. And, exasperated by the pain, she seized a bucket, without troubling herself to fill it this time, and threw it with all her might at the legs of Virginie, who fell to the ground. All the women spoke together.
"She's broken one of her limbs!"
"Well, the other tried to cook her!"
"She's right, after all, the blonde one, if her man's been taken from her!"
Madame Boche held up her arms to heaven, uttering all sorts of exclamations. She had prudently retreated out of the way between two tubs, and the children, Claude and Etienne, crying, choking, terrified, clung to her dress with the continuous cry of "Mamma! Mamma!" broken by their sobs. When she saw Virginie fall she hastened forward, and tried to pull Gervaise away by her skirt, repeating the while,
"Come now, go home! Be reasonable. On my word, it's quite upset me. Never was such a butchery seen before."
But she had to draw back and seek refuge again between the two tubs, with the children. Virginie had just flown at Gervaise's throat. She squeezed her round the neck, trying to strangle her. The latter freed herself with a violent jerk, and in her turn hung on to the other's hair, as though she was trying to pull her head off. The battle was silently resumed, without a cry, without an insult. They did not seize each other round the body, they attacked each other's faces with open hands and clawing fingers, pinching, scratching whatever they caught hold of. The tall, dark girl's red ribbon and blue silk hair net were torn off. The body of her dress, giving way at the neck, displayed a large portion of her shoulder; whilst the blonde, half stripped, a sleeve gone from her loose white jacket without her knowing how, had a rent in her underlinen, which exposed to view the naked line of her waist. Shreds of stuff flew in all directions. It was from Gervaise that the first blood was drawn, three long scratches from the mouth to the chin; and she sought to protect her eyes, shutting them at every grab the other made, for fear of having them torn out. No blood showed on Virginie as yet. Gervaise aimed at her ears, maddened at not being able to reach them. At length she succeeded in seizing hold of one of the earrings—an imitation pear in yellow glass—which she pulled out and slit the ear, and the blood flowed.
“They're killing each other! Separate them, the vixens!" exclaimed several voices.
The other women had drawn nearer. They formed themselves into two camps. Some were cheering the combatants on as the others were trembling and turning their heads away saying that it was making them sick. A large fight nearly broke out between the two camps as the women called each other names and brandished their fists threateningly. Three loud slaps rang out.
Madame Boche, meanwhile, was trying to discover the wash-house boy.
"Charles! Charles! Wherever has he got to?"
And she found him in the front rank, looking on with his arms folded. He was a big fellow, with an enormous neck. He was laughing and enjoying the sight of the skin which the two women displayed. The little blonde was as fat as a quail. It would be fun if her chemise burst open.
"Why," murmured he, blinking his eye, "she's got a strawberry birthmark under her arm."
"What! You're there!" cried Madame Boche, as she caught sight of him. "Just come and help us separate them. You can easily separate them, you can!"
"Oh, no! thank you, not if I know it," said he coolly. "To get my eye scratched like I did the other day, I suppose! I'm not here for that sort of thing; I have enough to do without that. Don't be afraid, a little bleeding does 'em good; it'll soften 'em."
The concierge then talked of fetching the police; but the mistress of the wash-house, the delicate young woman with the red, inflamed eyes, would not allow her to do this. She kept saying:
“No, no, I won't; it'll compromise my establishment."
The struggle on the ground continued. All on a sudden, Virginie raised herself up on her knees. She had just gotten hold of a beetle and held it on high. She had a rattle in her throat and in an altered voice, she exclaimed,
"Here's something that'll settle you! Get your dirty linen ready!"
Gervaise quickly thrust out her hand, and also seized a beetle, and held it up like a club; and she too spoke in a choking voice,
"Ah! you want to wash. Let me get hold of your skin that I may beat it into dish-cloths!"
For a moment they remained there, on their knees, menacing each other. Their hair all over their faces, their breasts heaving, muddy, swelling with rage, they watched one another, as they waited and took breath. Gervaise gave the first blow. Her beetle glided off Virginie's shoulder, and she at once threw herself on one side to avoid the latter's beetle, which grazed her hip. Then, warming to their work they struck at each other like washerwomen beating clothes, roughly, and in time. Whenever there was a hit, the sound was deadened, so that one might have thought it a blow in a tub full of water. The other women around them no longer laughed. Several had gone off saying that it quite upset them; those who remained stretched out their necks, their eyes lighted up with a gleam of cruelty, admiring the pluck displayed. Madame Boche had led Claude and Etienne away, and one could hear at the other end of the building the sound of their sobs, mingled with the sonorous shocks of the two beetles. But Gervaise suddenly yelled. Virginie had caught her a whack with all her might on her bare arm, just above the elbow. A large red mark appeared, the flesh at once began to swell. Then she threw herself upon Virginie, and everyone thought she was going to beat her to death.
"Enough! Enough!" was cried on all sides.
Her face bore such a terrible expression, that no one dared approach her. Her strength seemed to have increased tenfold. She seized Virginie round the waist, bent her down and pressed her face against the flagstones. Raising her beetle she commenced beating as she used to beat at Plassans, on the banks of the Viorne, when her mistress washed the clothes of the garrison. The wood seemed to yield to the flesh with a damp sound. At each whack a red weal marked the white skin.
"Oh, oh!" exclaimed the boy Charles, opening his eyes to their full extent and gloating over the sight.
Laughter again burst forth from the lookers-on, but soon the cry, "Enough! Enough!" recommenced. Gervaise heard not, neither did she tire. She examined her work, bent over it, anxious not to leave a dry place. She wanted to see the whole of that skin beaten, covered with contusions. And she talked, seized with a ferocious gaiety, recalling a washerwoman's song,
"Bang! Bang! Margot at her tub.
Bang! Bang! Beating rub-a-dub.
Bang! Bang! Tries to wash her heart.
Bang! Bang! Black with grief to part."
And then she resumed,
"That's for you, that's for your sister.
That's for Lantier.
When you next see them,
You can give them that.
Attention! I'm going to begin again.
That's for Lantier, that's for your sister.
That's for you.
Bang! Bang! Margot at her tub.
Bang! Bang! Beating rub-a-dub—”
The others were obliged to drag Virginie away from her. The tall, dark girl, her face bathed in tears and purple with shame, picked up her things and hastened away. She was vanquished. Gervaise slipped on the sleeve of her jacket again, and fastened up her petticoats. Her arm pained her a good deal, and she asked Madame Boche to place her bundle of clothes on her shoulder. The concierge referred to the battle, spoke of her emotions, and talked of examining the young woman's person, just to see.
"You may, perhaps, have something broken. I heard a tremendous blow."
But Gervaise wanted to go home. She made no reply to the pitying remarks and noisy ovation of the other women who surrounded her, erect in their aprons. When she was laden she gained the door, where the children awaited her.
“Two hours, that makes two sous," said the mistress of the wash-house, already back at her post in the glazed closet.
Why two sous? She no longer understood that she was asked to pay for her place there. Then she gave the two sous; and limping very much beneath the weight of the wet clothes on her shoulder, the water dripping from off her, her elbow black and blue, her cheek covered with blood, she went off, dragging Claude and Etienne with her bare arms, whilst they trotted along on either side of her, still trembling, and their faces besmeared with their tears.
Once she was gone, the wash-house resumed its roaring tumult. The washerwomen had eaten their bread and drunk their wine. Their faces were lit up and their spirits enlivened by the fight between Gervaise and Virginie.
