Bachelor’s Thesis

“Grab Life by the Balls, Dear.”Neoliberalism, Feminism, and Freedom 

in The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

1. Introduction

You have worked so hard for a life so grand. And now all you want are the smallest freedoms.                                                                                              – Taylor Jenkins Reid, p. 176

One cannot be free alone: freedom is collective.                                   – Dr. Angela Davis, 2021

What is true freedom? A query of four words, seemingly simple, has been the subject of scholarly debates for the entirety of humanity’s philosophical existence - since it turned out to be virtually impossible to answer. Questions of freedom come with an inherent complexity that is always contingent on who attempts a reply and in which context such an attempt is made. Under patriarchal capitalist systems, notions on freedom are defined by the self-sustaining ideology they are produced in and center a marketized, white male perspective. Therefore, freedom has historically been unequally distributed, with marginalized groups facing various forms of oppression, including systemic restrictions. These inequities have sparked liberation movements such as feminism, concerned with the fight for equal freedoms and equal access to them. Questions of freedom are therefore always simultaneously questions of equality and questions of hegemony.

However, the landscape of liberation movements has been significantly altered by the emergence of neoliberalism in the late 20th and 21st century and postfeminist sensibilities in the 1990s and early 2000s. Concepts of freedom were increasingly marketized and individualized, leading liberation movements to align their goals with neoliberal capitalist values. This development presumably enabled the emergence of a new, depoliticized form of contemporary feminism: neoliberal feminism. It promotes the idea that empowerment and liberation can be achieved by anyone within neoliberal capitalist patriarchal societies through economic success and self-optimization – obscuring the need for systemic critique and by extent collective action and structural change. The hyper-individualization of feminist agendas under neoliberalism that increasingly equates liberation with market-based success has sparked a new wave of cultural products reproducing and exploring this redefined perception of freedom.

One of the most prominent and successful examples is the New York Times bestselling novel The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid. The novel’s attempted critique of neoliberal feminism exemplifies how neoliberal influences on liberation movements, such as feminism, LGBTQ+ causes and so forth, ultimately uphold neoliberal capitalist, patriarchal hegemony, thus being inherently inadequate in offering freedom to the

marginalized. However, the novel ultimately fails in its criticism, which speaks to the ideology’s pervasiveness. These limitations and conflicts between neoliberalism, feminism, and freedom are deconstructed by drawing on scholarly discourses, particularly those using a Foucauldian and Marxist approach. In this context, specific focus will be paid to Catherine Rottenberg’s critique of neoliberal feminism and the creation of a new feminist subject, while also drawing on other scholar’s examinations of a neoliberal resignification of terms and concepts central to liberation movements. Furthermore, contemporary literature’s connection to capitalist realism and its resulting entanglement with neoliberal capitalism will be explored. After this iteration of the underlying theoretical framework, the protagonists’ own negotiations with freedom in The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and how the novel ends up perpetuating what it seemingly tries to critique is analyzed in detail. Not only does the novel exemplify the limitations of neoliberal feminism, especially for multiply marginalized identities, but in its paradoxical inability to ‘drive the point home’ it also unintentionally serves as a signifier of the omnipresence and current inescapability of neoliberalist ideology, thus inadvertently further popularizing its ideas.

2. Theoretical Framework

2.1. Neoliberalism and Freedom

Neoliberalist thought has invaded nearly every social sphere imaginable. It has become so normalized in capitalist countries of the Western hemisphere, particularly in North America and Europe, that most would not even be able to identify its influences on their own worldview and values. As David Harvey argues in his book A Brief History of Neoliberalism, it has essentially become “hegemonic as a mode of discourse” (3).

Starting out as an economic theory, coined “most famously by Milton Freeman and the ‘Chicago School’ of economics in the 1970s”, neoliberalism signified a shift back to free- market values (Roderick A. Ferguson and Grace Kyungwon Hong ix), advocating for little state involvement, deregulation, competition, and individualism (Julia Schuster 30). However, social and cultural theorists such as Michel Foucault and Wendy Brown have argued for a broader definition of neoliberalism (Ferguson and Hong ix). According to them, the economist logic inherent to neoliberal thought is also applied “to every sector of culture” (Ferguson and Hong ix). But how does this come to be? How does an economic concept turn into a pervasive ideology shaping most economic, cultural, social, and political practices and thought?

David Harvey awards this, mostly, to neoliberalism’s compelling fundamental ideals of human dignity and individual freedom, which appeal to anyone valuing the freedom “to make decisions for themselves” (5). He states that when certain “ways of thought” become dominant due to their appeal, they “become [...] embedded in common sense” (5) – essentially describing some of the inner mechanisms of ideological modes of action. According to Julia Schuster, Michel Foucault, who analyzed neoliberalism in his lectures at the Collège de France, went into even more detail – prior to Harvey’s assertion - and described it as a government rationality* that posits “the government of others (subjectification) and the government of one’s self (subjectivation)” (31) at its core. Generally, subjectification refers to the “governing [of] populations by using disciplinary ways of enacting power” (Schuster 31). Under neoliberalism this state interference is reduced according to market principles, meaning that interventions from the state are not fully rejected but solely allowed to ensure that the free market is sufficiently equipped “to facilitate economic competition, growth and to economise the social” (Schuster 31). Subjectivation, according to Schuster, who is drawing on Foucault, “refers to the production of neoliberal subjects who adopt an economic reason, neoliberal morals and assumed truths, as rules of how to conduct oneself in all aspects of life” (31-32). In other words, subjectification describes the implementation of neoliberal thinking on a systemic, external level, whereas subjectivation denotes the internal effect neoliberal ideology has on the individual being.

Foucault further asserted, according to Schuster, that the adoption of this neoliberal rationality by individuals led to the creation of a neoliberal subject – a subject that would later be called the Homo Economicus (32). These subjects are the entrepreneurs of their own lives, their own economic value, their entire self (Foucault 226), with their successes and failures being entirely attributed to their own talents or deficiencies (Schuster 32), rendering any systemic component irrelevant. Furthermore, if the adoption of neoliberal ideology creates a neoliberal subject, said ideology will also be continuously reproduced by said subject – essentially generating an ‘active’ ideology that alters society as well as its subjects (Schuster 32) and presents its narratives as assumed truths (Schuster 31). Due to this influence the understanding of concepts such as freedom and what it should entail is similarly affected and reinterpreted.

*Also referred to as governmentality or political rationality, with neoliberal rationality being a specific version of the former (Schuster 31).

Thus, the relationship of neoliberalism and freedom must be explored to fully understand the influence of neoliberal ideology on liberation movements. As mentioned, neoliberalism attributes much value to individual freedom and neoliberal rationality changes how most people understand the term freedom and what this concept encompasses. Under neoliberal capitalism, freedom is solely defined as the freedom to advance one’s individual human capital. This means that government rationality equips its subjects with freedoms such as: “freedom of the market, freedom of choice, [and] freedom of consumerism” (Schuster 33). Neoliberal ideology, in short, solely understands individual and economic liberties defined by a marketized perspective as constitutive of freedom. Additionally, since neoliberalism defines what is classified as common sense, this interpretation of freedom is regarded as the default. This inevitably leads to the rejection of any other notions of freedom as “threats to liberty”, including those that focus on “emancipatory and social justice projects” and advocate for systemic changes, as those freedoms require increasing interference from the state, a sense of community, and a support of downward redistribution (Schuster 34). Essentially, neoliberalism ‘Others’ any understanding of freedom that potentially threatens its hegemonic position in society.

This understanding of freedom adds to the hyper-individualism propagated by neoliberalism. However, once one attributes everything to the individual – as previously iterated – any systemic component is erased. This erasure reframes structural problems as individual ones, which reattributes responsibility for all success or failure to personal talent or shortcomings. Julia Schuster, drawing on Chandra Talpade Mohanty, further connects this individualization of systemic issues to relations of power and identity struggles (34). She argues that this disconnects representational politics for marginalized groups from a needed critique of overarching social power relations (34). As a result, “the neoliberal culture supports the state in abandoning social equity as a political goal” (Schuster 34). In short, it can be argued that neoliberal rationality’s interpretation of freedom ultimately leads to a decline in social justice activism concerned with changing and improving socio-economic structures for marginalized groups – which in turn leads to a decreasing state of equality and as a consequence a regression of freedom.

2.2. Neoliberal Feminism

As established prior, neoliberal notions on freedom restrict rather than liberate marginalized people. In contrast, feminism as a liberation movement has historically been concerned with advancing the freedoms of women and other oppressed groups. How can it be, then, that a concept such as neoliberal feminism, combining two essentially opposed ideologies, not only exists in discourse, but has effectively ousted any significantly different forms of feminism in popular culture?

Since most subjects have adopted a neoliberal rationality, they are not even aware of the oppositional nature of these ideologies. Most contemporary feminisms are so ‘neoliberalized’ that former apparent contradictions have seemingly become invisible. In order to understand this, it is necessary to investigate the preceding historical developments.

The feminist movement dominating the 1960s to the 1990s, often referred to as second- wave feminism, mainly advocated for “legal, educational and economic equal rights for women”, with a focus on reproductive rights (Maggie Humm 53-54); and criticized “traditional political concepts” (55), such as patriarchal institutions. In short, they focused on achieving systemic gender equality.

Then, the neoliberal resignification of freedom described in the previous chapter contributed to the idea that feminism is obsolete because everyone is already considered a free agent under neoliberal capitalism. This idea is often referred to as postfeminism* (Angela McRobbie 255). As Angela McRobbie asserts, with its increasing popularity in the late-1990s and early 2000s, postfeminism essentially pushed feminist agendas of the previous century to the sidelines and popularized the fantasy of a world where feminism is no longer needed (255). Furthermore, as Sarah Banet-Weiser argues, drawing on Rosalind Gill, with postfeminism emerged a sensibility that posited “personal (and consumer/economic) choice” at its core (10; emphasis added), stabilizing the connection between postfeminist and neoliberal ideas. However, since this conceptualization of postfeminism does not avow the still perceived gendered inequalities (Banet-Weiser et al. 7) it created an aporia. This aporia was seemingly solved by neoliberal feminism since it acknowledges these inequalities, although of course without any systemic critique (Banet-Weiser et al. 7), while simultaneously still focusing heavily on freedom of choice. In summary, neoliberal rationality, or rather its entanglement with postfeminist ideas, rendered feminism obsolete in the late stages of the last century, coining a decade where feminism was deemed barely relevant and even looked down upon, only to be co-opted by the movement shortly after.

*There are other characterizations of the term, due to “different perceptions and theories related to it” which created a “multiplicity” of meanings of postfeminism (Stéphanie Genz and Benjamin A. Brabon 2). This thesis will work with the definition described above.

It must be mentioned that neoliberal feminism has been termed differently by many scholars - its other most popular terminology being choice feminism. What Catherine Rottenberg first described as neoliberal feminism was mainly influenced by self-assigned feminist manifestos, such as Sheryl Sandberg’s New York Times bestseller Lean In from 2013 and Anne-Marie Slaughter’s famous article published in the Atlantic “Why Women Still Can’t Have it All” in 2012 (418). Rottenberg described and critiqued the neoliberal mindset prevalent in these ‘feminist manifestos’, while being heavily influenced by Rosalind Gill’s and Angela McRobbie’s conceptualization of postfeminism and postfeminist sensibility (Banet-Weiser et al. 7).

Neoliberal feminism can be situated as a form of contemporary feminism*, which is the current dominant form of feminism – the one that is visible, the one that is by now universally accepted and widely considered to be the ‘absolute true’ feminism. Most contemporary forms of feminism are neoliberalized, which means they do not just have internalized neoliberal thought, they consequentially do not offer any critique of neoliberalism – or by extension the overarching system that is neoliberal capitalism (Rottenberg 420). It must also be mentioned that Sarah Banet-Weiser has described another strand of neoliberalized contemporary feminism, a “set of social conditions”, which she calls popular feminism (9). She formulated her observations against the background of Rottenberg’s and Gill’s assertions and attempts to answer the question how feminism has entered the mainstream discourse (9). According to her, the devaluation of structural effects on individual liberation made feminist ideas digestible to the public and replaced the negative image of the stereotypical “feminist killjoy” with an aspirational one (9) – the successful female entrepreneur (9-11). She attributes a lot of this development to technological advancement and the rise of social media (11-12).

This female subject, as Rottenberg argues, is also informed by neoliberal rationality. According to her, the adoption of this rationality did not just lead to the creation of the Homo Economicus, it also created a feminist version of it – a version that Rottenberg calls a new, active feminist subject (420). 

*This thesis will mostly disregard a wave-like structure of feminism(s), due to its inability to account for the “complexity” and fluidity of the movement(s) (Nicholson 5).

Evaluating different developments of feminism in the last decades, it becomes unequivocally clear how neoliberal rationality transforms society and subjects and by extension the liberation movements already existent within this culture.

2.2.1. A New Feminist Subject

As Catherine Rottenberg accounts the creation of a new, active “feminist (not simply female) subject” in the context of neoliberal subjectivation, she explains that this subject is considered feminist, because she is very much aware of the gender inequalities prevalent in society (420). Simultaneously, this subject is neoliberal, according to Rottenberg, because she negates that these inequalities are socially, culturally, politically, or economically (in short systemically) produced (420). Additionally, she accepts responsibility for her entire well-being, which in the context of neoliberal capitalism is contingent on “crafting a felicitous work–family balance based on a cost-benefit calculus” (Rottenberg 420) – her entire life is structured by and aligned with market rationality. As Catherine Rottenberg summarizes “the neoliberal feminist subject is thus mobilized to convert continued gender inequality from a structural problem into an individual affair” (420). Furthermore, the focus on a happy work-family balance in a feminist context does not challenge heteronormative patriarchal ideals of who is to perform (unpaid) social reproductive labor, or that it has to be performed at all. It rather reinforces it as female work performed in the privacy of the household, but with the added demand to simultaneously strive as capitalist subject – in popular culture this neoliberal feminist subject is often referred to as “the girlboss” (Leone Robinson 2).

Rottenberg builds much of her critique of neoliberal feminism on three central arguments of Sandberg’s Lean In: “1) internalizing the revolution, 2) lean in and 3) the leadership ambition gap and how they are all informed by market rationality” (420). Notably, all these arguments are exemplified and incorporated by this new, active feminist subject, again underscoring the shift towards hyper-individualism in every cultural sphere as a central effect of the adoption of neoliberal rationality. Generally, as Rottenberg critiques, Sheryl Sandberg’s asserts that women simply need to evolve and improve themselves (ergo, make the right choices when it comes to their self-governance) to reach a state of equality and, of course, a “happy” balance of family life and economic success (419-420). According to Rottenberg, the former Facebook COO advises, that women first must “accept the need to keep moving towards” a state of “true equality” (425). It is understandable how this advice could be viewed as feminist. However, this ‘state of true equality’ is solely associated with gender parity in institutions of power (Rottenberg 425), since systemic gender equality is promised by law and therefore understood to already exist. Furthermore, Sandberg calls this process “internalizing the revolution” (1) – which subtly hints at another issue lying at the heart of her statement: the privatization of feminist political action. Rottenberg argues that this for one “assumes that the revolution has [...] already taken place”, which serves as a justification for Sandberg’s argument that women just need to act according to this reality (426). Secondly, she argues that it “conceptualizes change as an internal, solipsistic, and affective matter” – further transforming collective feminist agendas into personalized agendas of the individual feminist subject (420).

As mentioned, true gender equality is likened with equal representation in positions of power. After advising women to look inward, Sheryl Sandberg introduces her notion of leaning in, which encourages neoliberal feminist subjects to overcome their internal barriers (8). She asserts that women simply need to become more assertive, aggressive, and outspoken in order to become economically successful – basically advising them to co-opt behavior typically associated with men in patriarchal societies (8). There is a clear relation between her advice and what Rottenberg considers to be active about the new feminist subject she describes. Sandberg’s encouragement counters the traditional understanding of a women’s supposedly passive role in society. Hence, why her statements are – when examined superficially –understood to be feminist. On the surface, encouraging women to become more active subjects seems not only necessary, but long overdue. After all, the traditional ideal of women as passive, sensitive and submissive subjects was one that feminists of the previous century already vehemently contested. Additionally, during times where the two-earner family has become “the neoliberal financialized norm” (Nancy Fraser 32) – or rather often the need – and society increasingly relies on the economic labor of women to sustain itself, Sandberg’s advice seems entirely legitimate. However, leaning in, again, solely encourages personal entrepreneurship and by that simultaneously discourages “conceptions of solidarity” (Rottenberg 426). Instead of working toward a common goal, neoliberal feminists work separately toward similar, but still distinct goals (Rottenberg 427). Some scholars argue that this development is actively harmful to women’s liberation since it makes collective action virtually impossible (Eva Chen 446) and strips the feminist movements of its biggest source of power.

Marxist scholar Nancy Fraser has further commented on the irony of Sandberg’s notion of leaning in (34). She adds that it should rather be called leaning on, since in reality all of these women have to lean on the domestic work of other, “chiefly [racialized and] immigrant women”, to be able to achieve a happy work-family balance (34). Fraser joins other scholars in their critique that Sandberg’s ‘manifesto’ is essentially written for a white, middle-class audience that privileges the struggles of white women at the expense of PoC women. Sheryl Sandberg lastly states that having more women in leadership positions will change conditions for all women, since they can give a “strong and powerful voice to their needs and concerns” (7) because, as Rottenberg summarizes “shared experience leads to empathy” (427). This trickle-down effect has been criticized by many feminists, not only because it addresses only a small number of women but also because it still operates according to free-market rationality (Rottenberg 427). As an effect, more women in positions of power just means more competition for said women and consequentially the emergence of not just winners, but also losers in this equation (Chen 449). It can in turn, never serve ‘all’ women.

When taking all the previous critique into account, the question whether neoliberal feminism can provide freedom for this new feminist subject has to be raised. Nancy Hirschman argues that the parameters of freedom are presupposed by a “political evaluation of what is important” (48). Therefore, since neoliberalism posits this evaluation entirely in the context of hyper-individuality and market metrics, it can be argued that the parameters of freedom under neoliberalism are contingent on the context that surrounds them. Another aspect of neoliberal feminism is the emphasis on freedom of choice. Deriving from postfeminist understanding that a state of equality has been reached came the understanding that is also deeply embedded in neoliberalist thought, that true freedom simply means being able choose whatever one desires. From a neoliberal standpoint that argues that equality is promised by law and therefore a given, the argument that social subjects simply must make the right choices seems logical. From a neoliberal feminist’s standpoint, such as Sandberg, this is not just the logical conclusion – it is the entire foundation of her argument. However, scholars like Eva Chen and Rachel Thwaites argue, as will be detailed in the subsequent section, that in contemporary forms of feminism the perception of choice has become perverted and is part of a resignification process that intensely altered the understanding of freedom itself.

2.2.2. Agency, Choice, & Empowerment

Similar to the changing interpretation of the term freedom already hinted at in previous chapters, some scholars, such as Eva Chen, argue that neoliberal feminism has severely altered the common understanding of the terms agency and choice (440). It has also made the concept of empowerment one of its central tenets, rather than liberation, as Hester Eisenstein observes (43). These redefinitions and resignifications have ultimately led to the changed perception of what freedom in the context of feminist thought overall entails.

The most important term of neoliberal feminism, which literally lends its name to one of its synonyms because of its significance, is choice. Neoliberalism’s interpretation of choice, according to Eva Chen, “refers to one’s ability to choose maximum material gain and profit in order to construct one’s own self” (442). In neoliberal feminism this understanding is advanced by an emphasis on specifically women’s freedom to do whatever they please or desire - within the confinements of the law (Chen 443). Since neoliberal ideology assumes its agents are already free, because it is promised by law, it also assumes that women are able to choose freely, without external constraints. However, Nancy J. Hirschmann states in “Toward a Feminist Theory of Freedom” to evaluate if a choice is free, one always needs to evaluate the context in which said choice is made (47, 63). A woman choosing to stay with her abusive husband, for example, cannot be considered a free choice, because her choice is heavily influenced by potential violence - ergo her context. Hirschmann concludes that choices can only be made freely if these choices have the potential “to affect [or change] the context themselves” (Hirschman 64). If one assumes that women’s choices are affected by a wider context, such as patriarchy or capitalism, the question needs to be raised if women can make truly free choices at all.*

*This question can be extended to all humans, of course, since all humans make choices influenced by the hegemonic structures that they are made in.

Furthermore, if simply choosing whatever one wishes is a qualifier for a feminist act, it solidifies any choice made by a female subject as a feminist choice. While this notion has been popular among contemporary women it erases any difference. If all choices are feminist, none of them are. Rachel Twaites goes even further and asserts that “accepting all paths using the narrative of choice [...] effectively support[s] patriarchal relations and norms” (10). Eva Chen observes these effects and states that many women, although seemingly able to choose anything, end up “willingly” choosing normative paths, informed by hegemonic ideals and supported by the conditions the state provides (442-443).

Additionally, patriarchal heterosexual norms and neoliberal capitalist commodity culture have influenced each other to center a different term in neoliberal feminism: empowerment. As described, under neoliberalism, any choice is rendered a feminist choice. This includes choices which embrace matters many feminists of the previous century vehemently fought against, such as sexual (self-) objectification, pornography (Chen 445-446), sex work or traditional patriarchal gender norms. To justify these choices as feminist, they are resignified as empowering. Rather than focusing on being liberated from these patriarchal,

capitalist expectations, they are actively embraced and reinterpreted as liberatory practices – as long as women have the agency to actively choose them (Thwaites 7). Agency, another redefined term, now simply means having the sexual and financial agency to be an active participant in “this materialistic, profitable self-actualizing project” (Chen 442-443) –connecting it almost solely to commodity ownership. Moreover, Chen asserts the following:

The promise of freedom [under neoliberal feminism] has turned into a new form of restriction and pressure. [...] The permissive, free-choice society brings with it a new obligation to be liberated and to enjoy this freedom; but it also produces anxiety, unhappiness and a new form of shackles that eventually undermine its claims. (448)

This relates back to the previously mentioned dissonance one may experience when confronted with still prevalent structural restrictions on one’s freedom. If you believe, according to neoliberal rationale, that these do not exist, the person responsible must be yourself. However, one can never solve a structural problem individually, so this leads to unhappiness and a feeling of ‘unfreedom’.

In summary, neoliberal rationality has commodified the concept of freedom by redefining feminist terms, such as agency and choice. These terms were further instrumentalized to create a new, central tenet to feminist action called empowerment. However, as established, empowerment simply dilutes feminist action beyond recognition, and is by many scholars believed to be actively harmful to the feminist movement. Similarly, many scholars have argued that the neoliberal reinterpretation of freedom in its totality can unwillingly turn into its opposition.

2.3. Intersectionality vs. Social Reproduction Theory

When examining neoliberal influences on the redefinition of the aforementioned terms central to feminist action, it is also important to mention how this resignification has not halted before important concepts such as intersectionality, which has played an integral part in feminist discourse since Kimberlé Crenshaw first coined the term. In her seminal work “Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex”, published in 1989, Crenshaw critiques the (at this time) common practice of “treat[ing] race and gender as mutually exclusive categories [when it comes to] experience and analysis” (139). This distinction, Crenshaw argues, “marginalizes those who are multiply-burdened [i.e. PoC women] and obscures” experiences that cannot be connected to a singular form of discrimination (140). Black women, for example, not just “experience double-discrimination” – meaning discriminations based on their gender and based on their race – but also a unique form of discrimination based on the combination of their race and gender, as Black women (Crenshaw 149). She gives the following example:

The singular focus on rape as a manifestation of male power over female sexuality tends to eclipse the use of rape as a weapon of racial terror. When Black women were raped by white males, they were being raped not as women generally, but as Black women specifically. (158)

In short, Black women’s identities intersect, and so does their experience of (double) discrimination. The same holds true for other doubly or multiply marginalized identities. According to Crenshaw, any discourse analyzing discrimination must therefore include and embrace an intersectional approach to identities to adequately portray experiences of oppression by the multiply marginalized and improve their structural origins (166-167).

Since Crenshaw’s interpretation clearly avows systemic levels of oppression due to gender, race, or class – or patriarchy, systemic racism, and capitalism – it was redefined by neoliberal ideology (Sara Salem 414). According to Sara Salem, intersectionality’s “radical” understanding transformed into a “‘catch-all’ feminist theory”, “sanitize[ed] by [neo]liberal feminism” (404). Thus, in classic neoliberal fashion the systemic component of oppression in intersectionality theory was removed, the concept essentially depoliticized and individuated to the extreme (Sara Salem 412). Nowadays, Salem argues, intersectionality is more so understood as ‘diversity’ – “undermin[ing] its radical potential” (404) and resignifying the concept as merely symbolic.

Marxist feminist scholars have provided the discourse with an alternate theory, which was heavily influenced by Crenshaws original conceptualization of intersectional theory, as a means to reacknowledge the effects of structural components on oppression (Titi Bhattacharya 111). Furthermore, they argue that this theory, referred to as social reproduction theory, ‘fixes’ an aporia the original concept by Crenshaw entailed: the ability to comment on a dialectic relation between race, class, and gender, rather than a solely external one (100, 110-111). This ability, as Tithi Bhattacharya argues*, enables scholars to understand how instead of being separate entities, they are all part of one system, “a complex social whole” that is “constitutive of every part, and each part as reciprocally constitutive of the other” (100). 

*Drawing on Angela Davis‘s assertions that first suggested a dialectical connection of “black slavery, women’s oppression, and the economic exploitation of wage labor” and how it comprised one single system (Bhattacharya 110).

This means, for example, “that gender is [understood to be] constitutive of capitalism, not an accidental by-product” (Salem 410) Moreover, the social totality that dialectically relates to issues of race, class, and gender is understood to be “[global neoliberal] capitalism” (Bhattacharya 107).

Thus, many Marxist feminists argue that a critique of social inequalities must necessarily include a critique of global neoliberal capitalism and its effects. Furthermore, it is assumed that hegemonic systems such as patriarchy can only be dismantled or changed fundamentally if coinciding with the significant transformation of global capitalism (Bhattacharya 110-111). While intersectionality theory accounts for the intersection of patriarchy, capitalism, and racism, it perceives them as being historically produced separately from each other (Salem 410) and, therefore, does not make a distinction between capitalism as an economic model and a social totality – or even assumes for such a totality to exist (Bhattacharya 17). In a world that is experiencing neoliberalization in every social sphere, mostly without its subjects even being aware, this Marxist approach to intersectionality offers an opportunity to not only reclaim and repoliticize the concept, but also advances it to adequately criticize neoliberalism’s pervasive influence on all liberation movements.

2.4. Neoliberal Influences on Queer Theory and Homonormativity

Now that the ubiquitous influence of neoliberal thought on feminism has been illustrated in detail, it is necessary to briefly investigate its influence on another marginalized group: queer people. It should not be surprising that the effects are quite similar. Specifically, the focus on empowerment in relation to liberation has resonated with many involved in LGBTQ+ rights activism (Jon Binnie 244). It is a seemingly easy trade-off to be awarded with ‘liberation’ just by self-governing yourself in accordance with neoliberal rationality. Lisa Duggan further notes that queer movements have, historically, advocated against state control and a right for privacy – understandably so, taking the common discriminatory practices of state intervention of the past into account (in Binnie 244). However, this focus has made the movement susceptible to neoliberal rationale and can serve as an explanation as to why some of the community perceives neoliberal projects as liberatory rather than harmful (Binnie 244).

It is particularly important to look more closely at the concept of homonormativity, coined by Lisa Duggan. However, in order to do so, it is crucial to explain the term that preceded it, first: heteronormativity. This expression describes the assumption that heterosexuality is the default sexuality in a society (Federico Ferrari et al. 2). It is perceived as the “natural” way - sometimes the only, sometimes the “superior” way - to express one’s sexuality (Brandon Andrew Robinson 1). Heteronormativity typically supports the essentialist view of the gender binary (i.e., that there are only two genders) (Ferrari et al. 2) and supports all family concepts that further a heterosexual ‘way of life’ (Brandon Andrew Robinson 1). Thus, heteronormativity as such moves beyond simple cultural assumptions and actively influences systems structuring this culture (i.e. politics, laws etc.) to privilege expressions of heterosexual relations, e.g. marriage, monogamy, and childbearing (Brandon Andrew Robinson 1). At a time where marriage equality is protected by law in many countries and has been legalized for almost ten years in the United States, the latter part of the previous sentence might be cause for irritation. If queer people are legally allowed to marry and have children nowadays, how is heteronormativity still dominating our society? And how does this connect to neoliberalism?

Lisa Duggan observes in her 2003 book The Twilight of Equality? how the neoliberal project has increasingly depoliticized and individualized ‘gay rights’ activism (similar to the effects on feminist agendas and movements) (47-50). The focus has shifted from anti-systemic, anti-normative queer activism to empowerment politics (Duggan 47-50; Binnie 244), thus particularly focusing on “gay equality” (Duggan 47) within the context of a hegemonically heteronormative society. This understanding of equality is equated with having access to inherently heteronormative concepts such as marriage, monogamy, and the nuclear family ideal (Brandon Andrew Robinson 1). Duggan terms these developments “the new homonormativity” (50, emphasis in the original). According to her, it describes “a politics that does not contest dominant heteronormative assumptions and institutions, but upholds and sustains them”, whilesupporting a “privatized, depoliticized gay culture anchored in domesticity and consumption” (Duggan 50). In short, these new gay politics of the twenty-first century, informed by homonormativity, prioritize mainstream neoliberal rationale of the nuclear family as the most important site of consumption and social reproduction. Simultaneously they destabilize rights and protections outside of the reproductive sphere by abandoning critiques of governing systems and structures. It could be argued that homonormativity has become neoliberalism’s instrument to sustain the hegemonic position of heteronormativity and by extent its profiteers – patriarchy and capitalism.

2.5. Capitalist Realism in Contemporary Literature

Before entering the subsequent analysis of the novel, the effects of capitalist realism on contemporary literature need to be investigated. Similar to the previous Foucauldian iterations on neoliberal rationality and how it influences what we perceive as reality and the truth, Mark Fisher criticizes a different phenomenon he terms capitalist realism (Juliane Gamböck-Strätz 47). In doing so, he moves beyond the aforementioned neoliberal investigations in saying that not only is there a prevalent perception that neoliberal “capitalism is the only viable [...] system, but also that it is now impossible to imagine a coherent alternative to” this perceived reality (Mark Fisher 2; emphasis in the original). With this assertion he positions himself somewhat opposite of other Marxist scholars that support the belief that mere criticism of neoliberal capitalism (as a social totality) will be sufficient in abolishing the system. Consequentially, drawing on Fisher’s definition, such a radical shift will only be possible if anti-systemic critique morphs into imagining alternatives to neoliberal capitalism (2). Otherwise, as is already observable, “[feelings] of resignation” will remain on the forefront, which lead to the belief that “there is no point in struggling, [one] just need[s] to adapt” to the inescapable system (Jodi Dean and Mark Fisher 27).

Consequentially, this lack of imagination and consequence of adaption can also be observed in contemporary cultural products. In literature, for example, the failures of neoliberal capitalism are often presented as unavoidable, with protagonists and subjects within the narrative simply adapting to them (Gamböck-Strätz 57), often in ways that are detrimental to themselves and their freedom. In Corporeal Battlegrounds: Laboring Bodies and Capitalist Realism, Juliane Gamböck-Strätz states, drawing on Jaques-Henri Coste and Vincent Dussol, that capitalist realism heavily relies on fiction and narrative, due to American capitalism being reliant on a “perpetuation of fictions” because of its foundational “belief in American exceptionalism” (48). According to Coste and Dussol, narratives (or fictions) inherent to American exceptionalism, such as the bootstrap-narrative, frame and organize American capitalist practices (5f) and help to stabilize the capitalist system in times of crisis by imploring a shared belief system (Gamböck-Strätz 49). For this reason, Gamböck-Strätz summarizes that “representations, fictions, and narratives play a crucial role in the functioning of capitalism, and that literature and economics have more in common than what is often assumed” – underscoring the “importance of narratives”, and literature, in the perpetuation of neoliberal capitalism (50).

On a technical level, capitalist realist texts focus primarily on individual characters (or laboring bodies) and how these “subjects navigate capitalism as agents”, including their experiences with social and cultural settings and “identity formation” (Gamböck-Strätz 57; emphasis added). The focus is often solely on the individualized navigation of existent capitalist structures, not their abolishment nor their substitution. However, Gamböck-Strätz argues that within these confinements laboring bodies become “mediators” which allow for an exploration of the tensions of contemporary capitalism and can be “vehicles for critique” (58). It is precisely the depiction of these laboring bodies, fictions, and narratives, which will be the subject of the subsequent analysis.

3. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

3.1. A Matter of Form and Method - Deconstructing Neoliberal Feminism

“The new chick lit genre [better known as new popular women’s literature] departs from traditional romance by celebrating an assertive female sexual pleasure and a glamorous cosmopolitan lifestyle of conspicuous consumption” (Eva Chen 441).

Before diving into the subsequent analysis, it is important to understand the basis on which this analysis is erected. While Taylor Jenkins Reid’s 2017 New York Times bestseller and BookTok phenomenon The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo is widely considered to be historical fiction rather than a romance novel, it can still be situated in the genre of new popular women’s literature. The novel tells the life story of fictional, reclusive, Old Hollywood Icon Evelyn Hugo, who – at the age of 79 - chooses young, unknown magazine reporter Monique Grant as the biographer of her seemingly glamourous and scandalous life. The story moves through various decades, engaging with key events of Evelyn’s life – such as her secret queer relationship with fellow actor Celia St. James - while paralleling Monique’s experience with writing the biography and conversing with the former actor in the present day of 2017. Eva Chen’s aforementioned statement comments on the influence of neoliberal feminism on popular cultural products and offers a poignant, although fairly short, description of some of Evelyn Hugo’s neoliberal content. As will be obvious in the following analysis, the protagonists Evelyn Hugo and Monique Grant are celebrated for their assertiveness, perceived sexual and financial agency, and willing participation in neoliberal capitalist consumer and commodity culture. Although the novel problematizes some of these aspects through its narrative structure and paratext, it ultimately reinforces the neoliberal status quo.

Instantaneously, the reader is confronted with the underlying feminist convictions supposedly informing the novel. Jenkins Reid dedicates her novel to her daughter using the phrase “Smash the patriarchy, sweetheart” – making it clear before the reader even reads the first sentence of the actual story that they can expect a feminist, anti-patriarchal text. But can they? An attempt of an answer becomes increasingly more complex when not just looking at the text itself, but also the author’s own words at the end of the book. In her acknowledgments, Jenkins Reid does not reference any structural component anymore - instead she thanks her husband for encouraging her “to shout louder, dream bigger, and take less shit” (388) and advises her daughter to “grab what you want of this world with both hands” (389). One could raise the question then, whether the systemic reference is meant as a structural critique in the first place or if it can rather be understood as a hollow neoliberal feminist phrase, underscoring the neoliberal rationality informing the text. Although this question cannot be answered satisfactorily, it exemplifies some of the contradictions of contemporary feminist discourse and some of the contradictions within the narrative of Evelyn Hugo. What lies at the heart of these inconsistencies is the tension between systemic oppression and structural problems and marketized, depoliticized, individualized understandings of liberation, informed by a political, neoliberal rationality.

Evelyn Hugo essentially functions as a fictional autobiography since the narrative is structured around the writing process of Evelyn Hugo’s biography. The novel regularly switches between the perspectives of Monique Grant (the biographer) and Evelyn Hugo (the biographed), using homodiegetic, subjective narration with internal focalization. As an effect, the reader can deeply relate to and empathize with the protagonists’ actions and choices. By using this mode of narration, the focus remains on how these individual characters navigate the neoliberal capitalist system they exist in, limiting the possibility of including an overarching systemic critique through its inherently narrow and restricted perspective. However, drawing on Gamböck-Strätz’s argument, these individual laboring bodies (i.e. Evelyn and Monique) become mediators for criticism in Evelyn Hugo and enable an exploration of systemic tensions within neoliberal capitalism. Additionally, Monique’s chapters frequently include reflections on Evelyn’s life which then influence the readers perception of Evelyn’s persona. In short, the perceptions of the biographer Monique serve as an interpretational lens for the reader – since both are confronted with Evelyn’s story for the first time, from a contemporary perspective.

These chapters are sporadically interrupted by newspaper and tabloid articles, or blogposts, using an external focalization to depict the perspective of the social discourse surrounding the events of the story and to exemplify Evelyn’s success in her strategic manipulations. They also exemplify the neoliberal rationality embodied by the character of Evelyn and the text’s narrative structure: Whereas the articles published in Evelyn’s past function to reassert her choices as feminist and empowered ones that lead to her overall success, the articles from 2017 mainly function to create a neoliberal fantasy of our contemporary times. Notably, the past articles do contain sexism and misogyny but are ultimately never presented as hinging on systemic issues but rather naturalized cultural conditions (i.e. Jenkins Reid 99, 139). Nevertheless, how they are used narratively is what makes Hugo’s actions seem empowering to the reader. Every time Evelyn makes a questionable choice, a choice that many scholars would not view as feminist, a newspaper article is introduced to show how Evelyn’s cunning genius strategically manipulates the press to her advantage. It leaves the reader with the impression that Evelyn’s choice was indeed that of an empowered and feminist agent. The most poignant example is her seduction of, and (short-lived) marriage to singer Mick Riva (Jenkins Reid 174-181). At this point in the story, the press is speculating about her relationship to Celia, leading Evelyn to forge the following plan: “I’m going [...] to get him to elope with me, and then I’m going to have it annulled” (Jenkins Reid 172). While she essentially sells her body in exchange for a deflection of the circling rumors, this commodification is rewarded and by that framed as empowering: the subsequent article is titled “Riva and Hugo lose their minds” (Jenkins Reid 182) and does not mention Celia once.

The contemporary newspaper articles frame the narrative at the beginning and ending of the novel, introducing “film legend” Evelyn Hugo (Jenkins Reid 1) and concluding with an excerpt from her biography and an article reporting on her death (Jenkins Reid 382-385). Moreover, they function to frame our contemporary times as post-sexist and post-racist – at least structurally. In contrast to the past articles, they do not make sexist comments towards Evelyn, such as calling her “cold” (Jenkins Reid 99) for prioritizing her own needs over those of her second husband Don Adler or blaming her for leaving him “very unsatisified” (99; emphasis in the original). They rather put her on a pedestal and present her as, i.e. an “icon of glamour and elegance”, a “film legend”, and a “paragon of daring sexuality” (Jenkins Reid 1- 2). Right from the beginning, the reader is presented with this neoliberal fantasy narrative of our contemporary times, in which systemic equality is reached and women are feminist, empowered sexual and financial agents. Right from the beginning the reader is heavily influenced in their perception of Evelyn and what she is supposed to embody. The usage of newspaper articles in the text therefore reinforces a neoliberal feminist understanding of the character of Evelyn and by extent propagates its values.

Moreover, the novel is split in seven parts, each part named after one of Evelyn Hugo’s husbands. By structuring the book this way, each marriage signifies a different stage of Evelyn’s life, while emphasizing the importance of every single one of her heterosexual marriages for her life. Interestingly, her one homosexual marriage (although not legally

obtained) with Celia St. James does not get a separate partition, insinuating it is of lesser value than her heterosexual marriages. The narrative structure furthermore insinuates that Evelyn’s successful life is structured by men, directly contradicting its prior self-positioning as a feminist text.

In order to adequately focus on the neoliberal mindset prevalent in society when the fictional novel was first published in 2017, the following analytical framework will disregard most of the historical implications given by the various decades the novel moves through (1950s-2017). It is a metanalysis of the cultural ideology informing the narrative, using a poststructuralist, deconstructionist approach. Furthermore, it needs to be noted that the examination will mostly disregard other gender identities, besides those of man/woman, due to the limited scope of this thesis. Nevertheless, it is important to acknowledge that various other gender identities exist and are not disavowed in the subsequent analysis.

3.2. Evelyn Hugo’s Neoliberal Negotiations with Freedom

Evelyn Hugo, who is a bisexual woman of Cuban decent, grows up in precarious socio- economic conditions in New York City’s Hell’s Kitchen in the 1940s and 1950s, under the name of Evelyn Herrera (Jenkins Reid 1-2). Her mother dies when she is eleven, leaving her with “an abusive father” (Jenkins Reid 43). From an early age Evelyn is confronted with sexualizing looks by the men she encounters (Jenkins Reid 43). Since she wants to change her socio-economic position and desires a career in Hollywood, she quickly chooses to commodify her body and utilize the impression she has on men to her strategic advantage (Jenkins Reid 43- 44). Through her first strategic marriage at the age of fifteen*, she manages to escape her situation and moves to Los Angeles in hopes of becoming a famous actor and moving upward (Jenkins Reid 44-45).

* She tells her first husband, who is 22 years of age at the time, that she is sixteen so that the marriage is considered legal. 

From there on out, whenever she encounters a bump in her career or a situation that could later threaten her position as a desirable, famous actor, she either marries a man in a position of power or creates a fake scandal for the tabloids and magazines. The narrative superficially emphasizes how her choices enable her to climb the social ladder, seemingly liberate her and situate her as an active, assertive feminist subject with sexual and financial agency. On the surface, her decisions lead to her freedom – it is a story about empowerment. However, the narrative comes with a twist: when asked who the love of her life really was, she does not name any of her seven husbands – she names fellow actor Celia St. James (Jenkins Reid 123). It is made clear, that the motivation for her biography is Evelyn’s desire to finally come out to society as a bisexual woman (Jenkins Reid 124), to finally embrace the freedom to be herself entirely. Looked at from this perspective, the question needs to be raised whether Evelyn Hugo was ever free at all during her lifetime and her time in the spotlight. One could argue that the adoption of neoliberal rationality leads Evelyn to prioritize a marketized version of individual freedom occupied with maximizing one’s own human capital, which in turn ends up restricting her other freedoms deemed unimportant by neoliberal feminism.

Evelyn’s comments from her contemporary perspective acknowledge that she somewhat regrets not coming out sooner, hurting Celia by sleeping with or marrying other men to keep her socioeconomic standing and overall prioritizing financial gain and success over her relationship and identity. In one of her final conversations with Monique, she states:

That’s how my story ends. With the loss of everyone I have ever loved. With me, in a big, beautiful Upper East Side apartment, missing everyone who ever meant anything to me. [...] I don’t love this apartment, [...] I don’t care about all my money [...] the adoration of millions never warmed my bed. (Jenkins Reid 358)

Evelyn is clearly conflicted about her neoliberal decision making, which translates to the final statements she makes about her life to Monique. While she claims all the responsibility for her situation, stating “I got it wrong. [...] I chose the wrong things most of the time” (Jenkins Reid 358), she simultaneously negates having regrets about a lot of these choices. She tells Monique: “Of all the things I did to protect my family, I would do every one again” (Jenkins Reid 359; emphasis in the original). Whereas some of her choices are problematized retrospectively, some are framed as aspirational – exemplifying Evelyn’s inner conflict while simultaneously attributing the responsibility for both to Hugo as an individual agent.

In situations like these Evelyn always blames herself for ‘choosing wrong’ instead of acknowledging her structural context that forced her to make these choices. When the Stonewall Riots are mentioned in the novel, for example, Evelyn states her regret of not publicly joining the rioters (Jenkins Reid 235-237). While it is stated that she is unable to do so, because that would endanger her secret relationship with Celia and her gay friends, the reason for her inability is reduced to naturalized anti-LGBTQ+ social “attitudes” prevalent at the time rather than the simultaneously prevalent structural oppression of queer people (Jenkins Reid 234). She furthermore concludes that she is responsible for her inability to offer public support of the riots, since she “[is] sitting in a golden prison of [her] own making” (Jenkins Reid 235; emphasis added). While her regret can superficially be interpreted as a critique of neoliberal rationality’s focus on economic freedom and embracing the homo economicus, it paradoxically simultaneously plays into the narrative of neoliberal feminisms focus on choice and reinforces this focus as her personal failure rather than a failure of the overarching ideology informing her.

In short, Evelyn’s negotiations with freedom are one example of the failed critique of neoliberalism in the text, since they are simultaneously criticizing decisions informed by neoliberal ideology while reinforcing an individuated concept of decision making that is disconnected from its context – and by that reinforcing key neoliberal understanding.

3.2.1. Of Marriage and Men in Evelyn Hugo’s Life

Seven husbands, eight marriages, one child. Evelyn Hugo has structured her entire life around heteronormative institutions. However, while she utilizes these normative concepts and structures her life around them, the extreme extent to which she uses them, particularly the patriarchal institution of marriage, and how she does so is emblematic of the neoliberal feminist rationality informing her character and her resulting actions.

Evelyn’s aspirations to acquire economic and individual freedom by becoming a famous Hollywood actor are continuously emphasized throughout the novel. Additionally, her tool to achieve these freedoms – marriage – is solely framed as a product of her personal choice. She is always presented as an active, empowered agent rather than a passive woman oppressed by the system. This is not just underscored by her very frequent use of the word choice when conversing with Monique about her past, but also by Monique’s reflections on these conversations. Throughout the novel Monique perceives Evelyn as a confident, empowered, and opportunistic women and generally aspires to become like her. Since her chapters often function as a focal point for the reader, this is the image of Evelyn that remains on the forefront.

Her striving to improve (and keep) her socioeconomic position is the reason for almost all of her heteronormative marriages. As described, Evelyn marries Ernie Diaz so she can move to Hollywood. She starts meeting fellow actor Don Adler because it is “the best thing to do for [her] career” (Jenkins Reid 61) and stays with her abusive second husband partly for the same reason. Then, as previously illustrated, she manipulates Mick Riva into a marriage to uphold her heterosexual image. When the first movie she is producing is about to be a financial failure, she does “the one thing [...] that [will] get people desperate to see the movie” (Jenkins Reid 193) – she marries her co-star, Rex North. Evelyn proceeds to marry her gay confidante Harry later in life, to hide their respective queer relationships and keep their statuses. Finally, she marries Celia St. James’s brother, Robert Jamison, towards the end of their lives for the same reasons.

The emphasis on personal choice, particularly in the context of advancing one’s own human capital, is not the only aspect of the underlying neoliberal feminist notions informing the text and Evelyn’s reliance on heteronormative institutions. The relevance of systemic oppression is ignored, as well. This is particularly prevalent when examining the depiction of Hugo’s second marriage to the abusive Hollywood actor Don Adler (Jenkins Reid 71-139). His violent behavior is continuously attributed to his character and framed as an individual problem or rather a problem some men ‘just have’- as Evelyn states: “be wary of men with something to prove” (Jenkins Reid 76). When they meet again fifteen years after their marriage ended, Don still excuses his behavior with an alcohol addiction – stating “I was drunk Evelyn. I know that now” (Jenkins Reid 255). The issue of patriarchal violence is individualized and naturalized and by that trivialized.

Notably, there is a montage of scenes of Don’s continuous violent behavior that could be interpreted as an acknowledgment of systemic gender-based violence, due to a sudden use of third-person pronouns. While Evelyn usually uses ‘I’ to refer to herself, within this montage Jenkins Reid consistently makes her use the generic version of ‘you’ to create distance between her individual experience and the events that are unfolding: “A man hits you once andapologizes, and you think it will never happen again.” (Jenkins Reid 81). After narrating her abuse this way, Jenkins Reid lets Evelyn swiftly transition back to speaking about herself in the first person by explaining “that’s the part I was stuck in, the part where you accept the apology because it’s easier (...)” (Jenkins Reid 82). This change in narration is used to clarify that domestic violence is a common experience for women rather than an individual one of Evelyn’s. Yet, it is framed as a naturalized inevitable social and cultural reality – something that some men “with something to prove” just happen to do (Jenkins Reid 76). The text still fails to acknowledge the existence of patriarchal structures and their relation to gender-based domestic violence, thereby making it impossible to call for a systemic change that would improve the freedom of all people affected by this form of patriarchal violence.

Moreover, Evelyn frames herself as responsible for not making the choice of leaving Don because she loves him, and the marriage elevates her status in Hollywood (Jenkins Reid 84). This reinforces the notion that women experiencing violence from men are to blame for their situation. Furthermore, domestic violence against women is framed as a thing of the past when Evelyn tells Monique that “[she] wasn’t the only women being hit back then” (Jenkins Reid 79, emphasis added). Thus, this plays into the neoliberal narrative informed by postfeminist sensibilities of having already overcome systemic issues of sexism and misogyny, which is of course not reflexive of reality.

During her marriage to Don, Evelyn meets and falls in love with Celia St. James. From this point on she has another motivation for marrying heterosexual men – protecting her secret relationship and avoiding losing her career and fame over it. When understanding freedom neoliberally, Evelyn can still be considered a free agent in this case because she is still acting according to neoliberal, marketized rational. However, this understanding also forces her to keep her sexual orientation and relationship private – essentially confining her true identity to the private sphere and therefore restricting her personal freedom, a freedom not tied to neoliberal, economic reasoning. With the introduction of Celia to the narrative, Evelyn’s neoliberal approach to freedom is problematized and becomes representative of the tensions experienced by marginalized people within neoliberal capitalism.

When her gay best friend and confidante Harry – a successful film producer – also has a secret queer relationship with a man named John, the quadruplet decides to marry each other (in a heterosexual sense) and move into houses next to each other so they can live with their true partners in private. During this time Evelyn and Harry decide to have a child, since they both want to be parents (Jenkins Reid 242-243). Celia and John (Harry’s partner) are specifically excluded from this family concept, with Celia not wanting to be greatly involved at all (Jenkins Reid 244-245), which promotes the traditional, heteronormative family by favoring it over a queer family structure. Additionally, during the first months after Connor’s birth, Celia and John are absent, reinforcing the heteronormative, neoliberal ideal of the nuclear family represented by Harry and Evelyn (Jenkins Reid 248). The novel states that Evelyn, Harry and their daughter Connor are acting like a family of three with Evelyn specifically observing that “[they] lived almost exactly a traditional married couple” (Jenkins Reid 248). It is also hinted at, that Evelyn enjoys this family concept and is even disappointed for a short time when Celia returns and disrupts their traditional family dynamic (Jenkins Reid 249) – by that promoting the heteronormative nuclear family ideal supported by neoliberal ideology.

Later in Evelyn’s life, with periods of separation in between and after years of being reunited, she finally ‘marries’ Celia (Jenkins Reid 348). Although the marriage is just of symbolic nature, it could be argued that it is an example of homonormativity, as explained by Lisa Duggan. For once, Evelyn is able to live however she wants to with whomever she wants to, and still chooses to utilize the same institutions that have been used to oppress her and her wife. This underscores the argument made by Lisa Duggan that the co-option of the queer

movement by neoliberal rationality has privatized issues of queer liberation and reinforces heteronormative ideals.

As stated prior, the novel is structured according to Hugo’s seven heterosexual marriages. This essentially leaves the reader with the impression that her heterosexual marriages had a significant impact on her life. Not only does that reinforce the heteronormative status quo by naturalizing and supporting the institution of marriage itself, but it also does so by making it seem like her homonormative marriage (the only one she enters without any ulterior motive) had no relevant impact on her life. This becomes even more obvious when examining the title of the novel: The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. The emphasis is put on the husbands. Celia is not even acknowledged, again. Furthermore, the title puts the entire focus of Evelyn’s life achievements on her marriages, which supports the patriarchal idea of traditional gender roles and is in itself – separate from neoliberal ideology – detrimental to women’s freedom. While this is acknowledged in the last paragraphs of the story, it is resituated as a feminist act. When Monique justifies her choice of title, she recounts the moment, she asked Evelyn “Doesn’t it bother you (...) that all anyone talks about when they talk about you are the seven husbands of Evelyn Hugo” (Jenkins Reid 385). Which is followed by Evelyn’s reply “No, (...) they are just husbands. I am Evelyn Hugo” (385; emphasis in the original). Keeping in mind that this is the second to last sentence of the entire novel, it is supposed to leave the reader with a feeling of empowerment and a generally admiring feeling towards the character of Evelyn. It further serves to reframe the choice as feminist – exposing the text’s neoliberal feminist notions one final time. Nevertheless, it could be argued that the phrasing is a subversion of the patriarchal tendency to refer to women as ‘the wife of’ - framing them as passive subordinates of their husbands - which would indeed reassert it as a feminist choice. However, this attempt ultimately fails, not just because of the aforementioned shift of discourse around Evelyn’s achievements, but also because the chosen phrasing grammatically makes the husbands the subjects and therefore the agents, rather than Evelyn. The effect this choice has cannot be a feminist one, since it reinforces a patriarchal, pre-neoliberal understanding of women as passive subjects without agency.

Finally, the nuclear family Evelyn builds with Harry is representative of the ‘happy’ work-family balance propagated in neoliberal feminism. Once her daughter is born, Evelyn is able to easily and ‘happily’ master the balance of combining her work and her family. It is never once questioned, nor do any problems arise for her. The reasons for this are, for one, her by this point very much improved socio-economic position and for two, the resulting ability to rely on the help of racialized female labor. After Connor’s birth, Evelyn relies heavily on the help of her Cuban maid Luisa (Jenkins Reid 248) and it is, I argue, only due to this ability of leaning on another woman’s labor that she is able to reenter the Hollywood film industry shortly after becoming a mother. This exemplifies the argument Nancy Fraser has made when problematizing neoliberal feminist notions of leaning in and creating a happy work-family balance - it is a standard that can usually only be fulfilled by privileged, white women.

* While Evelyn is of Cuban decent, she hides her identity and is perceived as white by society. She, therefore, also profits from white privilege. 

The texts implementation of heteronormative concepts such as marriage and neoliberally supported notions of family and work-family life, as represented by Evelyn, propagate a neoliberal feminist way of navigating the world.

3.2.2. Navigating Complex Intersectional Identities

The question this thesis attempts to answer by analyzing Evelyn Hugo is whether a neoliberal mindset can truly lead to freedom for marginalized people, particularly within the social totality of neoliberal capitalism. Capitalist realist literature focuses primarily on how individual characters navigate a capitalist world full of daily tensions and inconsistencies. In the considered text, the character of Evelyn is - as a bisexual woman of Cuban decent - a multiply marginalized character, navigating these contradictions. To be financially successful she must hide her heritage and her sexuality from the public. It has been established how her efforts to protect her secret relationship with Celia and her bisexual identity have restricted her personal freedom to embrace her true identity - essentially ending the one relationship that allowed her to be truly herself, even if only in the private sphere.

Additionally, Evelyn further restricts her personal freedom, again due to upward mobility and self-optimization, by hiding her Cuban roots for most of her life. Initially, this decision is influenced by external voices that claim Hugo is simply “not the right type” for the movies she wants to work in and that these parts need to be cast with a “nice blond girl” (Jenkins Reid 48). In coherence with Evelyn’s opportunistic nature, she quickly accepts this as reality and willingly agrees to a change her appearance and invent a new, white personal background (Jenkins Reid 50). Her external ‘transformation’ is described extensively, almost reminiscent of a stereotypical ‘make-over’ scene, starting with someone bleaching her hair and ending with Evelyn stating that “an elocutionist [...] banished Spanish entirely” (50). Afterwards, the studio asks her to sit down for “at least a hundred publicity photos” (50). Evelyn comments: “Me with my new blond hair [...]. You wouldn’t believe the things they made me model” (50). With this portrayal of her ‘transformation’ and the reaction of her employers, whiteness is not only presented as preferred, but this notion is simultaneously not problematized – presenting this restriction of Evelyn’s individual freedom as something positive, as long as it ensures her success. The systemic racism in the entertainment industry is presented as a non-structural, inevitable reality that simply needs the right individual adaption, exemplifying again the neoliberal mechanism to ignore structural factors.

Although Evelyn did not initiate this process herself and simply went along, she becomes complicit in the imprisonment of her own identity by not fighting against the erasure of her heritage. She contemplates speaking Spanish again when she and Don Adler shoot a movie in Mexico: “I was unsure if I should speak Spanish to the local people” (Jenkins Reid 75). Although a rather short contemplation, it exemplifies how torn she is about her true identity and how aware she is of the possible consequences for revealing it. This awareness keeps her from following her instincts, so she ends up “speaking slow, overenunciated English to everyone” (Jenkins Reid 75). In fact, she never tries to speak her other mother tongue again until her Spanish-speaking maid Luisa from El Salvador is introduced much later in the story. Upon their first meeting, Evelyn makes a point of replying in Spanish, but quickly switches back to English because she does not like “how strange it sound[s] coming out of [her] own mouth” (Jenkins Reid 198). Luisa is surprised to learn of Hugo’s Cuban heritage, which leads Evelyn to the conclusion that she is responsible for the erasure of her own identity: “I had done it to me. I’d made the choice to be different from my true self. (...) That was all me. All the results of my own choices” (198). Pretending to be a white American for so many years has her conflicted with her own identity. Although she begins to realize, through Luisa, that she was essentially hiding her true self, she concludes that she herself is to blame, instead of the impossibility of being as successful as white women in Hollywood due to systemic racism within neoliberal capitalism.

Nevertheless, she does not attempt to reclaim her Cuban identity after this interaction, she even stops speaking Spanish to Luisa entirely (Jenkins Reid 199). She also mentions that she is envious of Luisa’s ability to proudly “be her true self” (199) – insinuating that she lacks this ability. What she completely disregards, however, is the fact that Luisa occupies a working- class profession typically performed by racialized women. Her vocation thus enables her or rather even expects her to embrace her heritage, whereas Evelyn’s occupation does not afford her the same ‘luxury’ – yet both are restricted in their choices due to systemic racism. In the scene, however, the responsibility is individualized and marginalized identities are presented as ‘in control’ of their own oppression – Evelyn blames herself for hiding her heritage to improve her socio-economic position, while simultaneously envying Luisa for her ‘choice’ to not do so. This exemplifies again how Evelyn Hugo embodies the neoliberal rationality of a neoliberal feminist agent, unable to see beyond individual responsibilities and to acknowledge external factors. What is also disregarded is the fact that by leaning on and relying on racialized female labor, Evelyn is complicit in her own exploitation. It is this reliance that enables her to strive in her work environment as a ‘white’ woman. However, it is also this reliance of white women on racialized female labor that reinforces these low-income professions typically associated with care work as racialized work, which simply increases the same racial stereotypes that prevent Evelyn from embracing her Cuban American identity. Evelyn’s and Luisa’s relationship can therefore also be viewed as emblematic of the dialectic relationship between race/class/gender and neoliberal capitalism described by social reproduction theory.

As is obvious by the newspaper articles reporting on Evelyn Hugo in 2017 and finally her published biography in the end, her Cuban heritage is public knowledge during contemporary times – meaning that Hugo did reclaim her identity at some point. This insinuates that being a PoC woman stopped being a hinderance to a successful career in the film industry – again propagating a neoliberal fantasy of our modern times rather than a depiction of reality.*

* The hashtag #OscarsSoWhite and the surrounding debate in 2015 are only one contemporary example predating the events of the novel, that contradict this neoliberal assumption (“#oscarssowhite: The Call for Racial Diversity in Hollywood”).

Moreover, Evelyn never reclaims the name her mother gave her, the name that evidently ties her to her migrant roots: Herrera. Her reasoning for her biography is that she wants to tell her entire life story, including “how she compromised herself” (Jenkins Reid 26). Although this awards her with the perfect opportunity to reclaim her identity by asking Monique to use her born name for the biography, Evelyn Herrera, she never does so. By not using the title to completely reclaim her intersectional identity, she ensures a higher profit margin for the publishing rights of the biography – making one of her final decisions another one in accordance with neoliberal marketized rationality. Since everyone is fascinated by “film legend” (Jenkins Reid 1) Evelyn Hugo but no one knows or would be interested in obtaining a book by Evelyn Herrera, the rights would presumably not achieve a high compensation.

To conclude, Evelyn’s prioritization of economic freedom leads her to sacrifice the freedom to live her entire, true identity. It is simultaneously, in accordance with neoliberal feminism, framed as her choice and her responsibility and disregards dialectic relations of systemic structures influenced by neoliberal capitalism.

3.2.3. Commodifying the Body - a Feminist Act?

Late-stage capitalist commodity culture led, encouraged by neoliberal ideology, to a commodification of all aspects of life. In combination with the neoliberal feminist production of self-actualizing financial and sexual feminist agents, the commodification of the female body is resignified as a feminist act.

In Evelyn Hugo, this phenomenon is not simply observable but the main focus of Evelyn’s life story. It is the reason for her economic success and her tool to navigate the patriarchal, capitalist hegemony she exists in. Starting from the age of thirteen, still in a precarious socio-economic position at the time, Evelyn is sexualized by the men she encounters. Oftentimes these men are grown adults (Jenkins Reid 43), as Evelyn remembers: “I was five foot eight, with [...] long legs, light bronze skin, and a chest that pulled at the buttons of my dresses. Grown men were watching me walk down the street [...] (Jenkins Reid 43). Instead of presenting it as the sexualization of a minor and calling out potential perpetrators, Evelyn puts the responsibility on herself. She trivializes their gaze by stating that she simply had “a sexuality in [her] body that [her] mind wasn’t ready for” (43). While her first intimate encounters are with underaged boys, she never initiates them or even wants to participate: “I didn’t want him to kiss me. [...] But he held on to my arm. [...] I knew he was going to get what he wanted from me whether I let him or not” (43). She very clearly describes an experience of sexual assault, and she does so retrospectively as a 79-year-old woman. Instead of commenting on the systemic issue of sexual violence against women (and minors) as a patriarchal tool of oppression and an example of patriarchal violence, however, Evelyn’s reaction is framed as empowering – it is the first scene of this nature that introduces her as an opportunistic, assertive financial feminist agent. She concludes: “I had two choices. I could do it for free. Or I could do it for free candy” (43). She further says that “there was one other boy like that [...] before I started realizing that I could be the one doing the choosing. [...] I wasn’t interested in anyone sexually. But I did want something” (Jenkins Reid 44; emphasis in the original). From this point on, whenever she wants to achieve something, get a certain role in a movie or create a scandal for the press to divert attention, she does so by commodifying her body. To her, exchanging sex for opportunities is simply making “a trade” (Jenkins Reid 49). It is always framed as her choice, her responsibility and by that represented as empowering and feminist while simultaneously lacking structural critique.

After this she uses her body to seduce her first husband to get to Hollywood, which qualifies as the start of the commodification of her body that is framed as liberating for her and most often initiated by her. To get the role that jumpstarts her career at the age of seventeen, for example, she strategically ‘seduces’ a 48-year-old studio executive, who has “a fetish for orally pleasing underage girls” (Jenkins Reid 49). The latter strongly indicates predatory behavior of said executive, but the usage of the word fetish trivializes and naturalizes not only sexual violence against minors, but also patriarchal rape culture as a whole. By narratively framing it beforehand as a seduction initiated by Evelyn and stating afterwards that she “was happy to be there” (Jenkins Reid 49), the responsibility of the interaction is put on a seemingly empowered Evelyn. However, depicting it this way also plays into the misogynistic narrative propagated by patriarchy that successful women ‘screw their way to the top’.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo somewhat problematizes Evelyn’s commodification of her body when she states that she regrets the decisions that hurt her queer relationship with Celia St. James. After their secret love affair is pondered about by the press, Evelyn seduces Mick Riva to diverge the interest of the media, without informing Celia beforehand (Jenkins Reid 174-185). Celia breaks up with her in return, stating that she is leaving her because Evelyn “let[s] men screw [her] for fame (Jenkins Reid 188). She leaves her the first time precisely because of Hugo’s commodification of her body, voicing criticism of her neoliberal choices. Simultaneously, her wording reproduces the misogynistic narrative mentioned before, and therefore actively perpetuates the oppressive system of neoliberal capitalism. Furthermore, within this scene, Evelyn justifies her actions by telling Celia: “I am willing to do what it takes to make a world for us” (188) – illustrating how she perceives her body as a resource she can sell to get the freedom she wants. Reflecting on her actions in modern times, Evelyn tells Monique that “I regret every stupid thing I did that caused her an ounce of pain. [...] I should have begged her to stay. I should have apologized [...]” (Jenkins Reid 192). Notably, Evelyn simply regrets not reacting to the break-up in the right way, not the action itself, even years after the event. So, while there is a slight critique of that specific commodifying action of Evelyn’s, it is not the action itself that is criticized.

After this first break-up with Celia, Evelyn confides in her best friend Harry Cameron. In this conversation, her strategic commodification is framed as something all women should aspire to when Harry states: “Imagine if every single woman on the planet wanted something in exchange when she gave up her body. You’d all be ruling the place” (Jenkins Reid 190).

Even more, it is presented as the ultimate solution to achieve liberation for all women. The clear message for the reader is: if you commodify yourself and realize the labor-value of your body, you will be liberated. Including the various other described situations in which the commodification of her self is framed as empowering, the aforementioned critique is rendered hollow.

Evelyn’s continuous commodification of her own body is thus not only framed as a feminist act made by a sexually empowered female agent, again underscoring the neoliberal feminist ideology - it also trivializes sexual violence against women and minors. In doing so it is actively harmful to the liberation of women and supportive of the widely criticized rape culture, particularly prevalent in the entertainment industry of the US. How the novel deals with the matter of bodily commodification therefore propagates neoliberal feminism, while simultaneously reaffirming the heteronormative, patriarchal status quo and harming women’s freedom in the process.

3.3. Financial Success and Leaning In – The Liberating Promise of Economic Freedom, Individual Responsibility, and Female Representation

Throughout the novel, as mentioned prior, Evelyn’s accounts of her life story are intertwined with chapters focusing on Monique and her experiences while writing Hugo’s biography. It has been established that Monique’s perception parallels the reader’s and represents a contemporary perspective. During the writing process, Monique is influenced by Evelyn’s assertive, confident and opportunistic nature – leading to her transformation into the same financially successful neoliberal subject by the end, therefore propagating the ideology embodied by Evelyn Hugo, and eroding any previous criticism.

Before Monique starts writing Hugo’s biography, she has multiple conversations with her employer Frankie – a confident Black woman – who owns the magazine Monique is working for. Monique notes that she sees Frankie as a role model, partly because she is biracial herself. She states that it is “very inspiring [...] having a black woman running things” (Jenkins Reid 3) and that Frankie makes her feel like she “can one day run things, too” (3). It is set up from the start that Monique aspires to become a famous journalist. However, she repeatedly states that she “need[s] to work on [her] confidence” and that she believes this to be the reason for why she has not had a big career yet (Jenkins Reid 7). She also notes that “if [she] wants things to change, [she] has to change how [she] does things” (7; emphasis added). Not only does her perception of Frankie underscore Sandberg’s assertion that female representation in positions of power leads to a trickle-down effect, but her perception of herself and what is necessary to become successful as a biracial woman plays into Sandberg’s notion of leaning in. Monique even states that kindness has not gotten her far and that the “world respects people who think they should be running it” (Jenkins Reid 8) – thus reinforcing the neoliberal idea that she just has to change herself into a more active and assertive woman to be successful. Notably, the usage of people in this case presupposes that it is universally applicable, ignoring systemic inequalities and exposing the text’s underlying neoliberal ideology.

During the process of writing the biography, Evelyn takes Frankie’s place as a role model for Monique. From the moment she meets Evelyn Hugo, Monique Grant is fascinated by her persona and charisma, describing Hugo as “powerful” and “enchanting” (Jenkins Reid 20), while she herself is overwhelmed with the situation and noticeably “anxious” (Jenkins Reid 24). Throughout their conversations, then, Evelyn encourages her to be more opportunistic and assertive. During their first meeting, the relationship dynamic of both protagonists is already established: Monique is posited as the student, Evelyn as the teacher. One of the first forms of advice Evelyn gives to Monique is of financial nature. She asserts that once Monique sells the biography she needs to be “ruthless [when] negotiating” and tells her to “make [her] pay what they would pay a white man” (Jenkins Reid 27). This reinforces, again, the notion that (Black) women simply have to lean in to be paid what they deserve, and it will be so. The responsibility to be appropriately financially compensated for her work is placed entirely on Monique and ignores any other structural factors that might hinder her in her endeavor. While the addition of white man somewhat acknowledges differences in salaries due to perceived race and gender, it posits the solution to eradicating these differences on individual self-improvement.

Monique is hesitant in taking Evelyn’s advice at first, partly due to her belief that she owes something to Frankie. The conversation turns into a debate at whose end Evelyn reminds her of the enormous opportunity this biography would be for Monique. At this point, Hugo says the sentence that partly lent itself as the title of this thesis: “Learn how to grab life by the balls, dear” (Jenkins Reid 30). Not only does this sentence finally convince Monique and lets her see this as a chance to improve her socio-economic position, it also perfectly encapsulates the neoliberal feminist ideology informing the novel and simultaneously its upholding of patriarchal structures. The use of learn implies that Monique simply needs to self-improve and learn “to do [...] the smart thing” to be successful (Jenkins Reid 30). In combination with the imperative to “grab life by the balls” (30), it reflects the assertions made by Sandberg about women simply having to learn to lean in in order to be promoted into positions of power.

Moreover, it can be interpreted as Evelyn’s first attempt to influence Monique to become an active, confident, opportunistic feminist agent – a ‘girlboss’ – like herself. Finally, the expression Evelyn uses to give her neoliberal advice paradoxically simultaneously exemplifies how neoliberal influences can harm liberation movements by upholding the oppressive status quo. Having or grabbing something by the balls is synonymous with having “complete power over [a situation]” (“Have Someone by the Balls”). The expression as it is used by Evelyn is patriarchal because it equates male genitalia with power and because it implies that life itself is male. Thus, Evelyn uses patriarchal language to advise Monique to act in a neoliberally feminist way – which in turn upholds the oppressive structures she tells her to overcome. This further serves as an example for the argument made prior, drawing on Mark Fisher, that you cannot change the system from within the system. Only by imagining alternatives can existent systems be changed, particularly neoliberal capitalist ones – and this imagination includes using inclusive language.

After Monique agrees to write Evelyn’s biography, she reminds her that she is “not a biographer” (Jenkins Reid 34). Evelyn looks at her “pointedly” and replies with “Let me explain something to you” (34), followed by a short anecdote of her childhood and manipulation of Ernie Diaz, her first husband, that enabled her to move to Hollywood. She finishes her account with the following advice to Monique:

Do you understand what I‘m telling you? When you’re given an opportunity to change your life, be ready to do whatever it takes to make it happen. The world doesn’t give you things, you take things. If you learn one thing from me, it should probably be that. [...] You’ve never been a biographer before, but you are one starting now. (Jenkins Reid 35; emphasis in the original)

By using the phrase “if you learn one thing from me” (35; emphasis added), Evelyn confirms her narrative positioning as Monique’s teacher. While Monique just agrees with her advice at this point, she does learn from it, as is observable when they meet again. After their next writing session Evelyn asks her if she “can make a story out of [her life]”, to which Monique replies “I can do anything” (Jenkins Reid 54) – signifying how Evelyn’s advice is already bearing fruit. Evelyn encourages this development by calling her “good girl” (54). Even in the early stages of the writing process, Monique’s attempt to become a neoliberal feminist agent like her, and Evelyn’s ‘agenda’ to achieve the same is observable.
Later in the process, Monique has an uncomfortable conversation with her other role model and employer, Frankie. She informs her about Evelyn’s biography, specifically that she will write it without associations to Frankie’s magazine. However, she also wants to keep her job as a journalist for this magazine – even more, she wants to be promoted. Before this conversation she is self-conscious about how to convince Frankie but concludes “why shouldn’t it be me who comes out on top” (Jenkins Reid 142). Then she proceeds to confidently state the situation and what she expects from Frankie in return. She does not ask for it, she simply asserts “I want to be promoted. [...] I come and go as I please. I choose the stories I want to tell” (Jenkins Reid 143). After Frankie agrees to her conditions, Monique asks for a raise while thinking “Evelyn said [...] that I have to insist on being paid top dollar” (Jenkins Reid 144). Not only is Monique clearly transforming into a more assertive and confident woman, she also does so while reminiscing about past ‘lessons’ from Evelyn – demonstrating how this development would not be possible without the representation of a powerful woman in her life.

This is further underscored shortly after when Monique needs to convince Evelyn to cooperate with Frankie’s magazine in order to get the desired promotion. Instead of simply trying to be assertive, Monique states “I have to ‘Evelyn Hugo’, Evelyn Hugo” (Jenkins Reid 146), insinuating that she associates this particular behavior with her mentor. Once Evelyn agrees to her conditions, Monique states “I am learning from the best” (Jenkins Reis 174), confirming that Evelyn has inspired this change in her. This exchange underlines the importance of Evelyn’s influence on Monique and simultaneously highlights the first moment Monique surpasses her teacher.

Monique and Evelyn’s narrative positioning as a student/teacher relationship is brought to a successful close by the end of the novel and the writing process, when Monique finally becomes a neoliberal feminist agent like Evelyn. She states: “some old version of me is leaking out [...] making room for a new me. One that is stronger and somehow both more cynical about people and also more optimistic about my place in the world” (Jenkins Reid 378). This not only signifies the change Evelyn induced but also Monique’s final adoption of a neoliberal feminist mindset. Before, she simply imitated Evelyn’s behavior, but now she has fully transformed herself. Her ‘new version’ is stronger and feels more empowered and hopeful in navigating her life while also being aware of the negative aspects and inequalities. However, by reducing the latter to cynicsm about people, systemic oppression is disregarded and perceived injustices are individualized, reinforcing the neoliberal narrative and Monique’s position as that of a neoliberal feminist described by Catherine Rottenberg.

Having Monique basically transform into the character of Evelyn Hugo at the end of the story, without problematizing the transformation and even idealizing this change, frames it as an inspirational act for the reader and propagates neoliberal feminist ideas. Furthermore, since Monique functions as a focal point for the reader, her position as a student simultaneously becomes the position of the reader. It is not just Monique who ‘attends the teachings’ of Evelyn Hugo, it is also the reader. As a result, it is possible that the reader will experience the same transformation by the end of the story. While the novel has moments of criticism of neoliberalism and sometimes shows how it can restrict freedom instead of enabling it through its narrative and Evelyn, Monique and Hugo’s relationship and Monique’s idealized development into the ‘perfect’ neoliberal feminist agent reinforces a neoliberal fantasy and renders the previous moments of critique hollow. This failed attempt at criticism further speaks to the assertion made prior that simply being anti-systemic or voicing disapproval will not abolish neoliberal capitalism; instead, it will necessarily perpetuate the same system.

3.4. Neoliberal Feminism – A Death Sentence?

Lastly, it is important to examine how the motif of death is used within the narrative of Evelyn Hugo to illustrate the limits of neoliberalist ideology when it comes to offering freedom concepts that extend beyond a marketized and financialized logic. Although this critique ultimately fails due to the portrayal of Monique, it is still important to examine how the novel attempts to problematize some aspects of neoliberal rationality, particularly in connection to the queer characters in the story.

When Monique first meets Evelyn towards the end of her life, it is quickly clarified that Hugo is the only one of her family that is still alive (Jenkins Reid 1; 13). Throughout the novel, then, Evelyn recalls all the deaths she has witnessed during her lifetime. Coincidentally, all these deaths, besides that of her daughter, are deaths of queer characters. One could attribute this to the fact that Evelyn’s inner circle simply consists of queer people. I argue, however, that the narrative positioning of these deaths functions as a critique of the limitations imposed on the freedom of these characters. How they die is irrelevant to this particular observation. The only cause of death with relevance is that of Evelyn’s, as will be illustrated. Notably, each death happens shortly after being preceded by a choice that somewhat attempts liberation for the queer character in question and therefore would or does disturb the heteronormative social order.

The first to die is John Braverman, Harry’s partner and Celia’s (former) husband (Jenkins Reid 273). Narratively, John dies directly after Celia divorces him because her secret relationship with Evelyn has ended and there is no need for her to continue a fake relationship (Jenkins Reid 267-268). Before his death, the former quadruplet has the following relationship statuses: Celia is single and unmarried, Evelyn is single but married to Harry, Harry is with John but married to Evelyn, John is with Harry but unmarried. John is the only one of the four that is in a queer relationship without having a public heteronormative marriage. Further focusing on his gay relationship with Harry would therefore disturb the heteronormative status quo and presumably lead to a restriction of his freedom due to the anti-gay laws enacted at the time or neoliberally argued, the anti-gay sentiment prevalent in culture and society. It would also threaten the freedom of Harry and Evelyn, since they are complicit in upholding a heteronormative image to the public and his own freedom to act as a self-optimizing neoliberal entrepreneur. This creates an irresolvable conflict between his personal liberation and his context, which can only be solved by one literary measure: the death of his character (Jenkins Reid 273).

Harry Cameron suffers the same fate years later, after Evelyn disrupts their heteronormative family dynamic to move to Spain with Celia and her daughter. Although Evelyn and Harry are divorced at this point, they are still raising Connor together. Harry does not want to leave with them, because he entered a new relationship, but Hugo does not want to stay because she does not “want to act anymore” (Jenkins Reid 324). In his and Evelyn’s last conversation, he states that “[he is] falling in love with [this man]” (Jenkins Reid 325) and wants to “choose him” (Jenkins Reid 324) – reiterating why he cannot leave with his heteronormative family. He dies in the next scene (Jenkins Reid 330). Besides Evelyn disrupting their normative family dynamic, him entering a new gay relationship without a heteronormative ‘alibi’ would leave him in the same position as John – unable to solve the tension around his liberation without disrupting the social order and endangering his socio- economic position. Therefore, literarily, his only option is to die. Why do Celia and Evelyn survive their own conflict then, at least for a while? After Harry’s death and prior to their move to Europe, Evelyn weds Celia’s brother Robert, entering another public heteronormative relationship. The status quo stays preserved and Evelyn lives on. As for Celia, she already suffers from COPD at this point and her death is only a matter of time (Jenkins Reid 314).

Within the narrative, Celia dies right after she ‘marries’ Evelyn. The foregoing wedding scene ends with Evelyn calling her “My wife” (Jenkins Reid 349), while the next chapter starts with a summary on how Celia dies (Jenkins Reid 350). Although the marriage is not legal and

Evelyn is technically still married to Robert, Celia enters a homonormative marriage – which is, one could argue, the biggest disturbance to the heteronormative social order possible. Since she cannot claim this marriage publicly, however, without limiting her personal and economic freedom or disrupting the status quo, the only option to resolve this conflict surrounding her queer liberation is death. Moreover, it could be viewed as a punishment for her intentional disturbance of the dominant social order.

Finally, Evelyn Hugo dies herself at the end of the novel – prior to the publication of her tell-all biography (Jenkins Reid 375; 382), the same biography in which she is coming out as a bisexual woman to the public. While the other deaths in the novel happen involuntarily, Evelyn commits suicide before she can die of breast cancer (Jenkins Reis 375). This depiction of it being a calculated choice of sorts underlines the neoliberal ideology partly informing the character of Evelyn, but also her inner conflict between this rationality and her perception of freedom. After all, she could have chosen to end her life after the publication of her biography. However, this would have required her to not prioritize financial gain (the profit from her biography increases postmortem), but also to accept and face possible public scrutiny which would restrict her freedom to express her identity. So instead, Evelyn chooses a path that is compatible with neoliberal feminist rationality: she prioritizes a marketized logic that ensures maximum economic gain for her female ‘student’, which in turn enables Monique to move upward and leads to her financial liberation. Furthermore, her being dead at the time her bisexual identity is revealed makes a disturbance of the neoliberal capitalist, heteronormative social order impossible. As explained, the only way for her to still have agency within the neoliberalized social structure of this narrative is to exercise her freedom to choose her death.

However, her death could also be read differently. While she commits suicide, she also suffers from breast cancer. As illustrated in detail, the strategic commodification of her body (and her breasts) enabled her to be successful in the first place. Therefore, her killing her body could also symbolically be viewed as her killing commodity culture before it kills her. Again, the only option for her to still have agency is to end her life. This is supported by Monique’s reflections on her suicide, when she states: “Evelyn was never going to let the thing that made her be the thing to destroy her” (Jenkins Reid 375). Therefore, this interpretation can also be understood as a systemic critique, reinforcing how ironically the thing that seemingly gives you power as a woman (neoliberal capitalism) will paradoxically also take it away.

All the deaths in the narrative of Evelyn Hugo serve the purpose of underscoring the notion that the only way to achieve liberation for marginalized groups within the social totality of neoliberal capitalism is by dying. The only way out of the current system is death. This

supports the argument that the novel is a capitalist realist text, situating capitalism as the only viable, ‘real’ option without alternatives while simultaneously criticizing the limitations of neoliberal rationality in offering true freedom for marginalized communities. The events after Hugo’s death surrounding Monique, however, diminish the effect of any prior critique and propagate a neoliberal feminist fantasy.

4. Conclusion

Whilst we have entered the academic discourse at a time when anti-neoliberalist critique is widespread among scholars, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo as a cultural product is emblematic of the pervasiveness of neoliberal rationality and its reproduction within neoliberal capitalist societies. Evelyn Hugo is representative of the neoliberal feminist subject described by Catherine Rottenberg and, by the end, so is Monique Grant. Whereas Evelyn’s accounts of her life – and by extent her laboring body – become a mediator for criticism of systemic oppression and the overarching social totality, the narrative’s permeating focus on individual choice and the reduction of structural factors to naturalized cultural attitudes reinforce rather than subvert the status quo. Yet, the queer characters’ navigation of their intersectional identity within this system sheds light on the tensions marginalized groups experience, between the freedom they desire and the neoliberal freedom that is available to them. Within the narrative the solution to this tension is death, underscoring the limits of neoliberal ideology in offering freedom to the marginalized. However, the novel ultimately fails to provide a sustainable critique, particularly because of its glorification of Monique’s transformation into a neoliberal feminist subject. The critique exemplified in Evelyn’s story is hollowed out once Monique essentially becomes her and is rewarded for it by being enormously compensated for her work as Hugo’s biographer. The moral of the story ends up being inherently paradoxical: There cannot be true liberation for the marginalized within the social totality of neoliberal capitalism, therefore, the only option oppressed groups have is to adopt the same ideology responsible for their oppression and to learn to navigate the discriminatory system. The text therefore ends up perpetuating the same system it tries to criticize instead of offering a real, substantial critique of neoliberal rationality and its influence on freedom and liberation movements by offering an alternative to the dominant social order. Hence, Evelyn Hugo is emblematic of the previously described conflict of contemporary, neoliberalized liberation movements, which have been individuated and depoliticized and are themselves unable to fight against their own systemic oppression and therefore have ended up focusing on smaller freedoms available within the current social order. Although neoliberalism and by extent neoliberal feminism is inadequate in offering true freedom for the marginalized, since it does not allow for the overarching oppressive system that is neoliberal capitalism to be critiqued, Evelyn Hugo ends up perpetuating a romanticized, empowering version of neoliberal feminism.

Yet, the contemporary feminist movement could profit in a singular regard from neoliberal feminism: its production of active and assertive women. If these feminist subjects were to combine their strength into communal, anti-systemic political action that acknowledges the need for an abolishment of neoliberal capitalism as a social totality and offers an alternative to it, the movement could turn into the defining factor enabling the necessary changes to truly eradicate inequalities. After all, popular feminist discourses are drawing on Marxist theories more and more and are increasingly focused on calling out systemic discrimination, especially since the overturning of Roe v. Wade by the Supreme Court in 2022. Postfeminist sensibilities about equality are publicly disavowed and anti-capitalist critique has gained popularity within liberation movements. Platforms like TikTok - which have also enabled the widespread success of the novel analyzed in this thesis - could even be of help in spreading fictional narratives offering positive, functioning alternatives to neoliberal capitalism. If capitalist realism relies on a perpetuation of fictions, the solution could possibly lie, then, in the co-option of the same strategies. Moreover, if systemic critique is expanded by the popularization of feasible alternatives to our current social totality, the feminist movement in its current form bears huge potential for bringing upon real, sustainable change and by extent true freedom, agency and equality for every single person regardless of their identity or socio-economic position.

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Deconstructing Gender Dynamics and Gendered Narratives in Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar

1.    Introduction

Films transcode or translate the social order into images and narratives, teaching us through screen representations which boundaries we must honor and which we might be able to transgress.

-       Joel W. Martin, 2000

Visual media, specifically films and TV shows, have only increased their impact as cultural artifacts in recent years, with the rise of streaming services and social media making more content widely accessible. As Martin asserts[1], these artifacts essentially function as social teachers, educating humans subconsciously on the status quo of their society (8). As such, they either uphold the prevalent ideologies and social hierarchies or they deconstruct them and offer a different approach. However, when examining different genres, it is observable how certain kinds are more prone to function covertly as ideological propaganda than others, especially when it comes to gender representation. 

Besides horror, science fiction – or sf in short – has been such a genre, because just like the former it has been considered “a predominantly masculine field” (Merrick 241). While there are countless examples of authors and stories that take on a juxtaposed, deconstructionist approach[2], precisely because of sf’s exclusionary history, there are even more examples that continuously reinforce existing gender dynamics and narratives[3]. For these reasons, “sf has … functioned as an enormously fertile environment for the exploration of sociocultural understandings of gender” (Merrick 241) and continues to do so. However, within the last decades, the lines have gotten slightly blurred. Contemporary sf artifacts have pulled these social debates to much more subliminal levels, similar to the development of patriarchal ideology in western societies. Oftentimes they seemingly tell a progressive story that subtextually still upholds patriarchal values. A popular example for this is Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar (2014): It employs various gendered narratives and traditional gender dynamics resulting in a constitutive ideology[4] that, despite the film's apparent progressive themes surrounding space exploration and the climate apocalypse, ultimately reinforces existing hierarchical structures and looks to uphold the status quo.

The following paper will critically assess various gendered narratives in Interstellar and by proxy sf. First, the general theoretical background concerning gender in science fiction and film in general will be elaborated on. Then, distinct gender dynamics in Interstellar and further implications of them will be thoroughly examined. Third, the Edenic recovery narrative, a gendered sf narrative, will be put into context with Nolan’s film to fully deconstruct the ideological layers of contemporary sf cinema. Lastly, it is important to note that, as the primary source deals with a binary understanding of gender, this paper will assume the same, for reasons of simplification. However, it must be acknowledged that this binary use of the term ‘gender’ is socially constructed and outdated, with ‘gender’ nowadays referring to a spectrum of identities. 

2.    Gender in Science Fiction Literature

As established, gender issues are closely intertwined with the genre of science fiction. Films often serve as ideological representation of the cultural status quo at the time of the product’s publication. Especially when the content was written without actively questioning and deconstructing the apparent normalcy. Consequentially, sf films frequently perpetuate patriarchal structures, such as traditional gender roles[5]. Brian Atteberry claims that sf functions particularly well for this reinforcement, stating that “both gender and science fiction … can be seen as codes: cultural systems that allow us to generate forms of expression and assign meanings to them” (2). While many authors have realized the potential to use this genre to offer social critique, as mentioned, many more – particularly male creators – simply unconsciously recreate the prevalent patriarchal status quo (Flatt; “Women’s Media Center”). However, because sf mirrors our society so effectively, the genre serves well for a critical assessment of patriarchal culture and how the ideology is constantly being reinforced through contemporary films. 

The first key element of patriarchal narratives is the upholding of traditional gender roles and by proxy a binary understanding of gender itself. Since forcing diverse individuals into rigorous dualistic categories that they must conform to is a strenuous effort, it needs to neglect nuances as much as possible. Furthermore, for this kind of black-and-white thinking to be successful, there need to be clear distinctions between the categories the gendered individuals need to adhere to, hence why they are dichotomies by necessity. These dichotomies inform men and women in a patriarchal society about how they supposedly need to act in order to be considered feminine or masculine, so a ‘real’ woman or a ‘real’ man (Blackstone 335). As a result of this understanding, most things in life are accompanied by a gendered connotation. According to this principle, emotions, work, environment and so forth all have a gendered component (Bondi 99). Helen Merrick asserts that “the series of ‘self/other’ dichotomies suggested by ‘gender’, such as human/alien, nature/technology, and organic/inorganic, are also a central (although often unacknowledged) facet of the scientific culture informing much sf” (241). She further references Brian Attenberry, who argues that there is “a master narrative of science”, which “represents knowledge, innovation, and even perception as masculine, while nature, the passive object of exploration, is described as feminine” (qtd. in Merrick 241). Therefore, the ‘othering’ of women is especially palpable in sf narratives. If science is male, then women in sf are excluded or ‘othered’ by default. Furthermore, Veronica Hollinger argues that “the masculinist cultural text … traditionally offers itself as the universal expression of a homogeneous ‘human nature’” (125). Although essentially representing male perspectives, most often these texts are marketed as an illustration of a ‘universal’ experience. Conversely, artifacts representing female perspectives are almost always promoted as texts ‘just for women’. So, not only are women ‘othered’ by default in sf, but maleness is also presented as the default. According to Hollinger, this results in women rarely ever being “represented as subjects in their own right” (125). They essentially rarely ever have narrative agency. 

All the mentioned aspects of patriarchal ideology that influence our thinking and informs the cultural artifacts that we create results in certain gendered representations of women (and men) on screen. The missing aspect of narrative agency that has been mentioned prior is, for one, a great example of this. As a result, female representation in film frequently consists of characters that solely exist in the story to cater to a male character’s arc, most often the protagonists (Gagiano 64). Even if that is not the case, their existence in the narrative is usually tied to a man. The Mako Mori Test is a popular media test that can be used to check if a film accurately depicts women as subjects with agency or if it falls flat. It was developed as a reaction to the aforementioned misrepresentation of women (Gagiano 73). According to this test, the film must include at least one female character with a narrative arc of her own to pass it (Gagiano 77). Since the Mako Mori Test is reactionary in nature and sf a male dominated genre, I argue that many – if not most – science fiction films would fail this test. 

While contemporary artifacts have tried to diversify their cast and characters, many have done so by implementing performative instead of effective changes (Dias). A great example of this is tokenism. Tokenism describes the authorial choice to include one marginalized character in a group that serves as the ‘token’ representative of their respective minority. These ‘token’ characters are always portrayed through the prejudiced perspective of the majority group and never get a sufficient narrative arc of their own, resulting in a bland character that is most often just there for diversity reasons (Dias; “tokenism”, def. 1). In recent years, this tactic has become more and more observable, especially in male dominated genres such as sf (Dias).

Another patriarchal narrative in film is the depiction of female parenthood. Motherhood is almost always presented as indivisible from womanhood, reflecting society’s status quo (Rich 11). However, what is the consequence of understanding ‘mother’ and ‘woman’ as synonyms? Not only does that take away any agency women have in their own lives, but it also completely strips them of their bodily autonomy – essentially dehumanizing them (Rich xvi, 55). The concept of motherhood is also often used to return strong, smart, and independent women to the traditional, domestic space (Martin 20), again inextricably linking womanhood to male control. 

Conversely, the depiction of fatherhood has also been significantly lacking depth as a result of the traditional understanding of gender roles. Since fathers are supposed to be strict and rational, emotional connections with their children were traditionally rare – in film and reality. Interestingly, this has been subject to change in contemporary cinema and sf. There has been a significant increase in father/son or father/daughter relationship representation over the last two decades.[6] However, this has not changed the overall patriarchal morale of the respective narratives, as will be explained in a later chapter. 

Whereas the aforementioned key features perpetuate patriarchal ideology on a more generic level, the following focuses on an ideological critique of ecocinematic sf narratives that specifically examines how ecological futures and patriarchal convictions intersect. Andrew Hageman describes ecocinema as an “aesthetic means to shaping ecological perceptions and actions” (63). Just like every cinematic product, these films contain ideology and are therefore in need of ideological critique. Since ideology works through multiple structural layers in any text, there are many theories by renowned scholars describing ways to accurately identify the ideologies a text covertly or overtly conveys. Hageman and Wang base their ecocinematic approach on the findings of Slavoj Žižek, who coined the terms ‘constituted’ and ‘constitutive’ ideology. According to Hageman and Wang, his theory states that the constituted ideology describes what a film intentionally tries to promote, whereas the “the constitutive ideology is what the film actually seems to promote implicitly, and seemingly unconsciously” (qtd. in 120). In many ways, this paper will deal with the latter continuously throughout, since Interstellar is not only an ecocinematic sf artifact, but also a film whose constitutive and constituted ideology are oftentimes juxtaposed.

To summarize, there are various implicit cultural assumptions about gender in science fiction texts that need deconstructing to identify the subtextual, constitutive patriarchal ideology that mirrors our own society. In the following chapter, I will build on the established patriarchal gender dynamics and gendered narratives and contextualize them by analyzing Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar through a feminist lens. 

3.    Gender in Interstellar

As introduced, science fiction offers great material for applying feminist theory and discussing gender dynamics. Every sf artifact represents the cultural conditions of its time, therefore contemporary science fiction texts serve as an accurate source for deconstructing patriarchal realities prevalent in our current time period. Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar is a particularly good contemporary example, because its flaws concerning gender are not blatantly obvious. On its surface, Interstellar is a story about the effects of the anthropogenic climate crisis, space exploration, human survival, lots of science, and time travel. While these are surely the reasons why the movie is so beloved and presented as another clear indicator of Nolan’s genius, there are other themes seething below the surface that deserve an equal amount of attention. 

         Once one looks past the intriguing sf plotlines of Nolan’s popular film, with particular analytical focus on gendered narratives, other storylines emerge. Then, Interstellar becomes a story about a father abandoning his children, female scientists saving an entire species without getting much credit for it, and Mother Earth being abandoned only to erect the exact same culture that partly brought upon her doom elsewhere – in a galaxy far far away. The next subchapters will examine the various gendered narratives and dynamics in Interstellar, with specific focus on the constitutive ideology of the film. 

3.1   Male Representation

         One might think that there is no need to debate male representation in sf, especially after the introduction to the theoretical framework of this paper. If sf is traditionally male dominated and a product of patriarchal culture, then the male characters should supposedly be accurately represented, agreed? Disagreed. Any gender is a victim of patriarchal ideology one way or another. Men too must adhere to a very narrow understanding of masculinity and are therefore restricted in their own freedom to truly be themselves, regardless of cultural norms. In addition, to uphold the system of male supremacy, male representation in film oftentimes functions as a form of ideological mass indoctrination. The same is true for female representation as well and for any other representation of the cultural status quo.

In Interstellar all the male characters are patriarchs of their nuclear families. They are depicted as the traditional head of the family, the breadwinners, and decision-makers. Cooper and his father-in-law, Donald, are the co-patriarchs of the Cooper household as it exists prior to the space expedition. Cooper specifically constantly makes decisions for his children and embraces his authoritarian role. He decides whether to actively support and encourage his children’s career pursuits and he does not accept any other authority but himself when it comes to these decisions. In the parent-teacher meeting at the start of Interstellar he not only completely disregards the teachers’ recommendations, but also decides for his daughter how to deal with the criticism offered (00:09:55 – 00:13:17). Murphy must passively await her judgment outside the school, while her father, the patriarch, speaks for her. This reinforces him as the “keeper of agency … and perspective” (Hagemann and Wang 123) and her as the assigned, passive subject. 

Prof. Brand is the ruling authority of his daughter, not only by bringing her to the team, but also by making the choice to not give her information about the certain failure of Plan A, when she is the one responsible for the execution of Plan B. Additionally, he becomes Murphy’s substitute father of sorts, claiming another patriarchal power position, and then makes the exact same choice for her. Tom, Cooper’s son, later becomes the ruling authority over his nuclear family, actively risking their lives by deciding to not give up the farm, because that would threaten his position as the breadwinner and head of the household.

However, when examining all these paternalistic authorities, it becomes obvious that they do not fit the role of the stereotypical masculine patriarch entirely. As established, due to the false dichotomies that influence our perception of appropriate masculine and feminine characterizations, men are not supposed to be empathetic caretakers of their children. They are not supposed to show affection, love, and sadness, because that is deemed womanly behavior. In Interstellar, however, partly because of the convenient absence of mother figures, the love these fathers hold for their children and how vocal they are about it potentially functions as means to change society’s perception of ideal fatherhood and even in some way tries to critique it. Despite this effort, Hageman and Wang argue that “Interstellar is [only] willing to embrace the role of a benevolent authoritarian, … in the form of a paternalistic white man ...” (126). Conspicuously, Nolan tries to change the narrative but only manages to do so for the male representation in his film and only when it is convenient for the story he wants to tell. When taking a closer look at Joseph Cooper, it becomes clear that he still has the perception of a privileged white man in many instances.

This is particularly visible whenever Cooper talks about farming. In one specific scene where he converses with Donald, he says: “It’s like we’ve forgotten who we are. Explorers, pioneers, not caretakers” (00:15:14 – 00:17:01). Coop references the principal of his children’s school here, who told him that they were part of a caretaker generation, to explain to him why Tom, his son, is not eligible for college, but would make an excellent farmer (00:09:55 – 00:13:17). In both scenes, farming is connected to caretaking – of fellow humans and Earth. Nurturing others and sustaining nature are deemed, as established in section two of this paper, feminine characteristics in patriarchal societies. So, by proxy, agricultural labor is depicted as “feminized, caretaking labor” (Yates, “White Flight” 241). I argue that this connotation of farming is precisely the reason for Cooper’s adamant despise of the work. In the mentioned conversation with his father-in-law, the tone change in his voice exposes his opinion of agricultural work. When he mentions typically masculine coded jobs such as ‘exploring’ or ‘pioneering’, his tone is admiring, but then quickly shifts to derogative when mentioning farming (00:15:14 – 00:17:01). This stance unmasks his support of the binary understanding of gender roles and patriarchal thinking. Furthermore, it explains the different relationships he has with his children. Although he loves both, he has a far better relationship with his daughter, because she shares his passion for science – a work he respects and deems worthy. One could argue that Cooper is not as close with his son because they are passionate about different things, which presumably plays a role. However, one could also argue that Cooper dislikes Tom’s interest for a work he deems womanly and worth less because he expected his son to work in a masculine field, claiming his position as a strong, determined, masculine patriarch. 

Additionally, Cooper seems to view women as people who are in need of constant male protection, which could partly explain his closer relationship with Murphy. Throughout Interstellar, his main objective is protecting and saving her. Although he says he goes on the mission for his children, the audience only sees him continuously worrying and having stronger emotional reactions when it comes to his daughter. By the end of the film, he only connects with Murphy inside the Tesseract and is reunited with her in the end. Tom is never mentioned again (02:37:18 - 02:43:55). From the beginning, the audience and Cooper are reassured that Tom will manage. The same thing never happens with Murphy, depicting her as someone always needing protection and care from her father, regardless of her age. He has the same mindset when it comes to Dr. Amelia Brand, saving her from certain death by sacrificing himself and sending her to their second-chance Earth (02:13:18 – 02:17:49). In the final scene, he even travels to Edmund’s planet to save her from being alone and offer male protection (02:42:03 – 02:43:55). Cooper essentially denies the women in his life their own agency and competency to take care of themselves – basically making them objects subjected to male control, which is an inherently patriarchal ideal. One could argue, furthermore, that by protecting his daughter and Amelia, he protects science and by that masculinity itself. In this case, the need for protecting these women stems from his need to protect the patriarchal understanding of masculinity.

Furthermore, it is also interesting to examine how Cooper’s abandonment of his family is framed in Interstellar, in the context of their family dynamics. From the beginning, him leaving is justified by the fact that he must leave ‘for the greater good’. He needs to leave to save his family and the entirety of the human species. Since it is presented as the only choice there is, his abandonment is legitimized. Cooper’s significant contribution to the survival of humankind at the end of the film further justifies his inaptitude to exercise his paternal responsibilities. The pain he caused Murphy and Tom for decades is disregarded and glossed over during Cooper’s last conversation with his daughter. Even more so, his daughter tells him she knew he would return, because “[her dad] promised [her]” (02:39:43 – 02:42:02). By emphasizing the value a father’s promise holds in our society, and ignoring her own anger she held towards him for years, she manifests the narrative that fathers are the ultimate authorities and justified in holding complete control over their family members. Furthermore, she completely absolves him of his guilt. It is a habit of patriarchal societies to euphemize the actions of fathers and demonize the actions of mothers (D’Amour). Mothers leaving their children is always deemed inexcusable, whatever the reasons may be (Fonseca 311). In comparison, fathers leaving is always excused to the most ridiculous extents (D’Amour). When it comes to Interstellar, this is not only apparent, but underlines the argument of patriarchal ideology dominating its narrative.

Additionally, Interstellar downgrades the importance of mother-child relationships in order to elevate the importance of the father. Once Cooper leaves Murphy, she is traumatized. We see her being distraught by her father’s choice decades after he left (01:20:34 – 01:22:52). She even chooses to spend her remaining days in cryosleep, presumably in exchange for the possibility of some last moments with Cooper (02:39:43 – 02:42:02). However, it is mentioned that her mother died when she was very young. Yet, she is not even phased by that event in the slightest. She never talks about her mother, much less seems sad about her nonexistence. Nolan’s attempt to emphasize father-child relationships and add depth to male emotions comes at the cost of the importance of the mother. By that he upholds the system he tries to critique. 

Lastly, Cooper is the definition of white male privilege. He essentially stumbles upon a secret NASA facility that he proceeds to break into and is not instantaneously killed (00:24:16 – 00:25:08), a scarcity in the U.S. which is usually reserved for white men. Then, without any re-training whatsoever, he is hired by another white man and is up in space playing astronaut[7]. In classic patriarchal fashion, men are automatically equated with competency, although that might not be the reality. Dr. Amelia Brand, in comparison, is denied expertise in her field by Cooper himself, although her knowledge is excellent and turns out to be correct in the end. In a scene on the Endurance, Cooper – who has no qualification whatsoever – overrules her authority because he suspects that her emotions might cloud her judgement (01:25:29 – 01:29:01). Not only is that narrative repeatedly used in our culture to undermine women’s authority, but also repositions Interstellar as a conservative film supporting white male privilege. This interpretation is further supported by the last sequence of the film, where “the film celebrates [Cooper’s] unilateral resource grab to jump the queue in transplanting to humanity’s new home planet” (Hageman and Wang 128).

As presented on the basis of male representation, Interstellar, although progressive in some cases, still supports the system of hegemonic male supremacy and patriarchal rule. 

3.2   Female Representation

Christopher Nolan included only four (alive) female characters in his film, with two of them holding relatively irrelevant supporting roles. Comparatively, Interstellar features eleven male characters. This is of little surprise, since it was established that sf is a genre that tends to underrepresent women. Interestingly, however, one could argue that Nolan’s decision to include two female scientists whose genius saves humanity is as progressive as was possible in the year of 2014 when the movie was first released. Nonetheless, the following subsection will explain why these female characters are still emblematic of our patriarchal understanding of women and their supposed roles in our society, with specific focus on the two scientists. 

The most obvious observation about Nolan’s female characters is that all of them assume some kind of maternal role throughout Interstellar. As established in the previous chapter, one of the core features of patriarchal ideology is the seeming inseparability of womanhood and motherhood. Even more, motherhood is often perceived and depicted as the most important thing a woman can achieve in her lifetime, while her other accomplishments are relegated to the sidelines (Rich x). This is precisely the fate Murphy Cooper suffers from. Although she manages to save the human population on Earth by bringing the symbolic equivalent of Noah’s arche, Cooper Station, up into space and creating a new place for them to live, the focus at the end of the movie lies on her multitude of offspring (02:39:43 – 02:42:02). While it is acknowledged that the station is named after her and not Cooper, the audience never experiences the height of her career, since all of it happens off screen. The story stops following her arc once Coop is not involved in the solution anymore, once he can’t function as the hero anymore, once her accomplishments would be truly her own. It conveniently shows her again, however, when she has regained value in a patriarchal system by embracing motherhood. Martin argues that scenes like these “function to return a single, professional … woman to a traditional role” (20). 

The same can be observed when looking at the other female scientist, Dr. Amelia Brand. Her expertise on the viability of planets is unmatched and leads them to their second-chance Earth. However, as the only woman on the spaceship she is conveniently presented as responsible for the repopulation of this new home, by taking care of “the population bomb” – an incubator with thousands of fertilized eggs that grow into children that need raising (00:34:28 – 00:35:14). The last scene of Interstellar serves, just like with Murphy, to resubordinate her to her ‘intended’ function as a woman (02:42:03 – 02:43:55): not a scientist, but a caretaking, motherly figure that closely resembles the ‘original’ mother - Eve. All the other female characters, dead or alive, are entirely defined by their role as mothers or caretakers of children: Lois Cooper as well as her mother- and grandmother-in-law, and Murphy’s teacher Ms. Hanley. The indivisibility of motherhood from womanhood, specifically in relation to contemporary science fiction, is a clear indication of patriarchal ideology still being a prevalent factor in films like Interstellar. While it is accepted nowadays that women can be scientists, it is not accepted for them to relinquish motherhood for it. 

Further evidence for Nolan’s film just being progressive on the surface but not subliminally emerges when conducting the Mako Mori Test. Every female character’s narrative arc is either directly or indirectly connected and dependent on a male character in Interstellar. First and foremost, Murphy is only relevant to the story because of her connection to the story’s hero, her father Cooper. She is introduced to science through him, she starts working as a scientist because of him, and she spends her entire life either missing or hating her father. However, since patriarchal structures always look to subordinate women to a man, Murphy is transferred from her father’s control to Prof. Brand’s once Cooper can’t be the paternalistic authority anymore. Later, shortly after Prof. Brand dies, a romantic relationship with her coworker is hinted at, again subjugating her to a man’s control (02:32:54 – 02:33:17). Throughout the film, her emotions towards Cooper, Prof. Brand, and the other men in her life are her sole motivation for everything she does. In addition, Interstellar completely strips her of any agency, never making her a human subject in her own right, with desires of her own. 

The exact same is the case with Dr. Amelia Brand. She, too, is only part of the narrative and the mission because of her father. He is the reason the mission and NASA’s successor exist at all – everything happens because of his theories and plans to save Earth and/or our species. Once his control over her ends with them being separated, it is revealed that a main part of her motivation to join the mission is the possibility of seeing her former love interest again – Dr. Edmunds. In the end, when Amelia finds out that Edmunds has died and tries to set up camp on the new planet alone, Cooper joins her (02:42:03 – 02:43:55). It is heavily insinuated that he is supposed to be the Adam to her Eve, again resubordinating Dr. Brand to a man’s control. Same as Murphy, she never has real agency throughout the whole film. In the end, all the women – dead or alive – in Interstellar fail the Mako Mori Test. None of these women ever have their own narrative arc that is not somehow tied to a man’s storyline. 

This misrepresentation of these female characters is also a result of tokenism. Both Murphy and Amelia serve as the token women in their respective spheres. In the beginning, Murphy is the token female protagonist of the Cooper family and Dr. Brand of the NASA team on Earth. Once the plot progresses, Murphy takes Dr. Brand’s place at the scientific facility, Lois takes Murphy’s place in the family, and Amelia becomes the only woman on the Endurance. None of the women ever share a significant amount of time in a space together, they are always separated from each other. Therefore, they are not only denied autonomy but also community, degrading them to mere pieces on a chessboard, waiting to be moved by a male authority. 

Murphy Cooper as well as Amelia Brand are presented as educated, assertive and confident throughout the film, but lack agency as subjects in their own right. They are still marginalized, silenced, and supposedly protected in lieu of large crises, as has been set forth in previous sections. In relation to ecocinema and feminist theory, one could further argue that their fate resembles that of Earth – Mother Nature – herself (Hageman and Wang 120). While being depicted with characteristics that are typically male connotated, neither the two female scientists nor Earth are awarded enough power to liberate themselves and significantly control their own actions and future. Or, to quote Hagemann and Wang again, “the planet and the women appear to be loved and valued as the key to the future of humanity yet are figured ultimately as weak objects for male heroism” (120). This is strongly connected to the previously introduced concept that women are seemingly awarded some sort of power only to then be subordinated to male control. It seems like their narratives are actively minimized so that STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) professions and the agency to save humankind are men’s domains only (Hageman and Wang 125).

To conclude, it has become evident that simply including one or two women in a sf film is not sufficient to overcome patriarchal ideology that is so deeply rooted in our society, even if one awards them with work typically associated with men. It has been further explained how Interstellar fails to accurately represent women as agents and even promotes prevalent patriarchal structures through its constitutive ideology. 

3.3   The Edenic Recovery Narrative

Now that it has been established how Interstellar supports patriarchal systems by its depiction of gender throughout its run, it is also necessary to look at a narrative specific to sf that upholds and builds on the same ideals. Michelle Yates introduces a particularly interesting concept in her chapter “Saving Eden”: the Edenic Recovery Narrative. According to her, it is “a powerful trope within late twentieth and early twenty-first century popular Hollywood eco-themed science fiction films, like … Interstellar (2014)” (168). But what does this trope typically display? Yates argues that films like these are usually after-Eden narratives, meaning that they focus on a time where Earth has become uninhabitable and the search for a replacement-Eden has begun. They center on heroic (white) male agents with the “ability to conquer ‘wild’ nature, to tame wilderness and turn it into Eden” (Yates, “Saving Eden” 168). By that, this narrative supports the idea of the nature/civilization dichotomy in which men embody civilization and nature is feminized. The idea of “taming wilderness” essentially equates to controlling women, and by default, Earth (Yates, “Saving Eden” 168). Michelle Yates notes, within the framework of this narrative, that this understanding is often used to “legitimat[e] social hierarchies and (re)produc[e] a dichotomy in which men, culture, agency, and human subjectivity are aligned on the one hand, while women and nature are aligned on the other hand” (“Saving Eden” 168). This legitimization then leads to the desire to recreate Eden and the cultural connotations it carries on a second-chance Earth. According to Murray and Heumann, there is another reason for this desire, which they call “environmental nostalgia” (qtd. in Yates, “Saving Eden” 168). It describes the nostalgic feeling that is evoked in the audience when confronted with eco-memories, images of an ecology that are still present in the non-diegetic sphere but have been obliterated within the sphere of the movie (Murray and Heumann qtd. in Yates, “Saving Eden” 168). This feeling of nostalgia, Yates argues, is not just connected to environmental decline, but also to the possible annihilation of the status quo. It’s a “nostalgia for a privileged construction of … gender, [and] a hegemonic representation of white masculinity” (Yates, “Saving Eden” 168). Combined, environmental nostalgia and the push to preserve Edenic nature promote the preservation of white male supremacy and patriarchal ideology (Yates, “Saving Eden” 169). 

In Interstellar, the mission and Cooper himself are the embodiment of the Edenic Recovery Narrative. In multiple scenes, the audience is informed about Cooper’s nostalgia for ‘the old days’, where he was able to go after his masculine passion, his wife held the caretaking role, and he could easily provide for his family. From the beginning, it is underlined that past times were great and present day is a constant struggle. The mission sets out to save what is left and rebuild the past in a new Eden. However, although the film depicts an ecological crisis strikingly similar to the climate crisis, it never reflects on how this crisis came to be. It ignores the factors that fostered the ecological decline, such as capitalism and white male supremacy (Yates, “Saving Eden” 179. Therefore, it serves as historical revisionism and romanticizes a past that never existed in this way. Nostalgia supports this understanding because, as Yates states, it “is often more about how the past is imagined and constructed than the actual historical material reality” (“Saving Eden” 174). Furthermore, by embracing this nostalgia Interstellar upholds the same beliefs that brought upon Earth’s demise in the film’s diegesis, which stands in stark dissonance with the ending’s impression on the viewer. In the final scene, Cooper joins Dr. Brand to create a new home on second-chance Earth. Mission accomplished; humanity saved. The audience leaves the cinema feeling hopeful, failing to recognize that this planet will disintegrate just the same, since the issues that brought upon Earth’s doom have just been moved to a different galaxy. 

The small insight the audience gains into the conditions on Cooper Station in the final scenes significantly adds depth to this constitutive ideology of Interstellar. The start of the film suggests an awareness of the harmful effects of capitalism on agricultural logistics, for example pushing for unsustainable food systems to allocate the most profit. Yet, the final sequences on Cooper Station simply mirror the system shown in the beginning, picturing the same monocultural cornfields (02:37:18 – 02:37:48). This indicates that humanity simply opted for a restart of the program, instead of rewriting it and correcting its flaws (Hageman and Wang 128). If Interstellar depicts this clear return to the status quo when it comes to capitalist structures, it is to be assumed that the same will happen for patriarchal systems. Cooper joining Dr. Brand on Edmund’s planet in the end is another indication of this. Instead of showing the possibility of a matriarchal system, Interstellar rather demotes a capable woman in order to promote the story’s male hero, actively choosing a reenactment of patriarchal culture. 

Additionally, there is something else that supports the desire to uphold the patriarchal status quo within the Edenic Recovery Narrative: aggrieved entitlement. According to Yates[8], this contemporary effect describes the notion “that white men believe themselves entitled to benefits which seemingly no longer exist” (“Saving Eden” 175) – an entitlement to male privilege, one could say. Nostalgia, Michael Kimmel argues, is an important part of aggrieved entitlement, since it strongly connects to the sense of feeling entitled to restoring an imagined past (63). Cooper displays this entitlement on various occasions throughout Interstellar. Every time he talks about the past and the life he must live now, he not only displays feelings of nostalgia, but also anger and distress because he thinks he has been robbed of a life to which he is entitled. When he attends the parent-teacher meeting, he reacts defensive and conceited when Ms. Hanley and the principal try to diminish the importance of engineering and technological progress (00:09:55 – 00:13:17), because Coop feels entitled to the glory, dominance, and societal power that stem from these male-connotated achievements. Finally, this sense of aggrieved entitlement plays into his decision to go on the mission of Edenic Recovery in the first place and partly explains why he has no moral problem with jumping the queue to the new planet. He is entitled to it, after all.

To summarize, the Edenic Recovery Narrative is a common gendered trope in contemporary sf cinema, a product of patriarchal culture, and a tool to reinforce prevalent ideology. Nolan’s film is neither immune to this, nor does it try to subvert it in any way.

4.    Conclusion

Cultural artifacts always carry an infinite range of possible interpretations and ideologies with them. Films are particularly good representations and oftentimes deconstructions of cultural normativity. Within this group, the genre of science-fiction is ideal for examining or subverting existing power structures and hierarchies, particularly patriarchal ones. Although the emphasis on possibility and progress offers great potential for representing feminist visions, it is oftentimes not used in this way. When it comes to contemporary sf artifacts in particular, changes are only made overtly to satisfy the part of the audience that advocates for changes in gendered representation. 

This results, as described by closely examining Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar in this paper, in a constituted ideology that proclaims gender equity without really putting in the work to achieve it. By using tokenism and merely implementing female scientists, films like Interstellar seem to be progressive and in support of female representation. Yet, as deconstructed, issues at the heart of patriarchal structures, like power imbalances and traditional gender roles, are still interwoven within various narrative structures and therefore subliminally reinforce the patriarchal status quo. This supports their social standing as a fixed normalcy rather than a changeable ideology. 

Constitutive ideologies of (sf) films should, therefore, be closely evaluated from a feminist theorist’s perspective, to shed light on these potential issues and provoke changes. Nevertheless, many authors have already worked to fulfill the true potential of the science-fiction genre, such as Octavia Butler in “Bloodchild”. If we want to create a balanced society with barely any marginalization, however, every author needs to do their part in reflecting on these issues and their own bias. Of course, films alone will not abolish the patriarchy. But they are effective tools when it comes to ideological indoctrination and shouldn’t be underestimated. If authors and directors, particularly male, accomplished ones like Christopher Nolan, were to radically reevaluate their world view and act accordingly, they could be one of the most important assets in the fight for gender equality. Fighting oppressive systems alongside privileged people in power is the most effective, after all. 

[1] Martin bases his statements on Douglas Kellner and Michael Ryan’s insights in Camera Politica (1-16, 49-75).
[2] Such as Octavia Butler’s “Bloodchild” (1984) or C. L. Moore’s “No Woman Born” (1944)
[3] Such as Luc Bessons’ The Fifth Element (1997), Andrew Stanton’s WALL-E (2008) or Frank Herbert’s Dune Messiah (1969)
[4] See Slavoj Žižek’s theory about constituted and constitutive ideologies in films (Hageman and Wang 120).
[5] This term refers to roles in society that have a gendered connotation. For example, women are expected to be the ‘angel of the house’, to be nurturing mothers, and caretaker of their husbands. They should never get angry and always be altruistic. Their body does not belong to them, they do not have agency. Men, in comparison, are supposed to be the breadwinners and safe keepers of the family. They are supposed to be strong and rational. They are expected to be agents and the paternal leader of the family. For more detailed information, please refer to Adrienne Rich’s Of Women Born (54-55) or Amy M. Blackstone’s Gender Roles and Society.
[6] Georgia May’s list ranks the best father/daughter relationship representations in film. The list contains 15 films, 11 of which were published in the last 23 years.
[7] Joseph Cooper himself says that he never left the stratosphere before (00:29:53 – 00:35:15).
[8] She bases her statement on Michael Kimmel’s theory. For more information, see Angry White Men (Kimmel).

5.    Works Cited

Primary Source

Interstellar. Directed by Christopher Nolan, Warner Bros. Pictures, 2014.

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Yates, Michelle. “Saving Eden: Whiteness, Masculinity, and Environmental Nostalgia in Soylent Green and WALL-E.” Gender and Environment in Science Fiction, 2018, pp. 167-184.

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