Women’s Fiction, New Modernist Studies, and Feminism

Women’s Fiction, New Modernist Studies, and Feminism Anne E. Fernald MFS Modern Fiction Studies, Volume 59, Number 2, Summer 2013, pp. 229-240 (Article) Published by Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/mfs.2013.0024 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/510579 Access provided at 16 May 2019 17:49 GMT from UCLA Library Fernald f 229 WOMEN'S FICTION, NEW MODERNIST STUDIES, AND FEMINISM Anne E. Fernald This issue presents compelling new work on women writers from the first half of the twentieth century, but its purpose goes beyond that. It demonstrates the theoretical energy, historical importance, and intellectual weight of current feminist work on women writers. In doing so, it makes the case that no new work on modernism should go forward without serious engagement with women and feminist theory. To understand the uneven, surprising, and profound impact of modernity, we must remember, despite our theoretical, practical, and somatic sophistication, that gender played and continues to play an enormous role in defining social roles and economic opportunities. The historical turn has revitalized modernist studies. Beginning in the late 1990s, its impact continues in new book series from Oxford and Columbia University Presses; in the Modernist Studies Association (MSA), whose annual conference has attracted hundreds of scholars; and in burgeoning digital archives such as the Modernist Journals Project. Nonetheless, one hallmark of the new modernist studies has been its lack of serious interest in women writers. Mfs has consistently published feminist work on and by women writers, including special issues on Spark, Bowen, Woolf, and Stein; still, this is the journal's first issue on feminism as such in nineteen years.1 Modernism/modernity, the flagship journal of the new modernism and the MFS Modern Fiction Studies,Volume 59, number 2, Summer 2013. Copyright © for the Purdue Research Foundation by the Johns Hopkins University Press. All rights to reproduction in any form reserved. 230 Women’s Fiction, New Modernist Studies, and Feminism MSA, has not, in nineteen years, devoted a special issue to a women writer or to feminist theory. Only eight essays in that journal have "feminist" or "feminism" as a key term, while an additional twenty-six have "women" as a key term. And, although The Oxford Handbook of Global Modernisms includes many women contributors, only one of the twenty-eight chapters mentions women in its title, and, of the six authors mentioned by name, only one—Jean Rhys—is a woman. It still happens that books claiming to define modernism include only glancing attention to women writers: witness Gabriel Josipovici's widely-reviewed What Ever Happened to Modernism? (2010).2 While academics may dismiss Josipovici's book as old-fashioned, reviews in The Guardian, The Independent, and n+1 gave it mainstream critical attention accorded to few scholarly books. In their widely cited essay "The New Modernisms,"3 published in PMLA's Professions sections, and aspiring to describe the state of the field as it is and should be, Douglas Mao and Rebecca L. Walkowitz attest to the energy that has come from expanding modernist studies vertically, by including low- and middlebrow works; horizontally, by looking beyond the borders of the United States and United Kingdom; and temporally, by noting modernism's origins in the late nineteenth century and, more significantly, its continuation even beyond the end of World War II. However, gender appears in the essay as one of many elements in a list of worthy pursuits slightly to the side of what excites the authors: "questions pertaining to literary form, intraliterary influence, narratology, affect, gender, sexuality, racial dynamics, psychoanalysis, science, and more continue to propel important scholarly endeavors, and we might reasonably have chosen other directions to dwell on here" (737; emphasis added). By compressing gender into a list of one of the many reasonable pursuits, in an article that has been cited many times as the field-defining polemic, Mao and Walkowitz seem to suggest that it is still intellectually acceptable to conceive of gender as an add-on rather than a defining piece of our experience of the world. In fact, for over twenty-five years, scholars, both feminist and non-feminist, have acknowledged gender as a constitutive category of modernism.4 The study of transnationalism and media have undoubtedly transformed our conception of modernisms, and yet, if our stated interest is to expand the field to writers whose work has been heretofore seen as bad or lacking examples of true or high modernism, if we have an interest in mass culture, if we want to de-center our gaze so as to encompass all the globe, the first place we should look is to women readers and writers. How, then, to proceed in light of the current terrain, in which work on women writers abounds but definitions of modernist studies consistently neglect or underserve women? The two prevailing ap- Fernald 231 proaches harbor significant limitations. New feminist work on women does not mean, for example, taking the route taken by Katherine Mullin in her chapter on feminism and modernism in the Cambridge Companion to Feminist Theory. Mullin uses Woolf's literary writings as the coatrack on which to hang all women writers, meaning that, as Mullin herself acknowledges, many women go unmentioned while familiar greats like Elizabeth Bowen look pale and old-fashioned. And the longstanding alternative to an approach such as Mullin's involves writing about modernist women by reviving work on somewhatunderstudied but still fairly familiar writers such as Richardson, Rhys, Mansfield, and Bowen. In contrast, the essays in this issue shift the ground, moving to unfamiliar territory, asking us to read without first measuring every writer against the landmarks we already know. It will never be enough to simply note that a writer is neglected. Instead, scholars must show how a forgotten or understudied text helps challenge or advance the field. Since A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792), feminists have understood the power of the individual woman's story as testimony to the ravages of patriarchy. Be it the story of an abused wife, a mistreated governess, an education denied, a forced marriage, a rape, an unwanted child, a wanted child whose life also ends a loved career; be it the story of boredom, of insanity, of repression, or of poverty, the archive of women's stories across the globe is an archive of how material circumstances collide with dreams. One of the most salient advantages of the historical turn has been renewed critical energy around the archive. In modernist studies, this has also meant training our attention on other parts of the globe beyond the Anglo-American axis. Partly in response to this historicist and archival turn, and partly as an outgrowth of psychoanalytic and trauma studies, affect theory has emerged alongside both of these movements as a tool to analyze feelings as they operate in society. The archive, affect, and globalism are among three of the most powerful theoretical tools in modernist studies today. None of these terms is sustainable without feminist theory; each of these terms is enriched by attentiveness to the difference gender makes. Affect theory, growing out of and operating within a feminist and queer discourse, knows this; the archive and globalism always stand in danger of forgetting. Each of the essays in this special issue understands the revolutionary tradition of feminism and its relation to paternal structures of authority. This collection of essays by women scholars, using feminist theory to analyze the female characters in literary and cinematic texts by women authors and directors bears a family resemblance to those volumes of collective biographies of worthy women that clutter our library shelves and were once a standard prize for girls of academic 232 Women’s Fiction, New Modernist Studies, and Feminism achievement. Alison Booth's How to Make It as a Woman documents the abundant, almost subliterary genre of collective biographies of women. While Booth focuses on the long nineteenth century, such books are still with us; we still use the stories of women's lives and achievements pedagogically, showing young women how to be. The recent book for young readers, Girls Who Rocked the World, includes lives of Joan of Arc and Sacagawea, both of whom were frequent subjects in Victorian collections. But it also starts with an epigraph from pioneer feminist historian Gerda Lerner and includes Rigoberta Menchu and Maya Lin. "Rocked" in the title refers to music, not cradles, as the cover's jolly cartoon illustration of Joan of Arc, Sacagawea, Frida Kahlo, and Mother Theresa with bass, guitar, mic, and drum, makes clear. Like Girls Who Rocked the World, this special issue employs a principle of variety to present modern women. However, these articles are not biographies, and this is not only a project of recovery. In fact, as the continuing proliferation of such collective biographies might suggest, there can be something self-deluding about recovery projects. As Lisa Cohen notes in the introduction to All We Know: Three Lives, none of the three early twentieth-century women whose lives she presents felt herself in need of being recovered. Cohen's book derives its power from her demonstration how central her subjects were to the modern zeitgeist, teaching us at once to see the invisible lesbian, and to know that, in each of these women's milieux, she was not invisible at all. Gerda Lerner and others have observed that our amnesia about the achievements of women in prior generations derives from patriarchy's erasure of women from history with a capital H (Booth 20). Thus, celebrations of women can stand as a kind of compensatory history. Just as patriarchy continually constructs history with men at its center, so, too, by omission, history ends up making women notice their own lack of representation, and, in so doing, runs the risk of reinscribing patriarchal power. However, articles applying feminist theory to unfamiliar texts have the potential to teach us new ways of reading, and to introduce new texts, both literary and theoretical, into our classrooms. Indeed, contemporary theoretical trends seem particularly promising for the study of women writers, for advancing our thinking beyond recovery for its own sake. Feminist work on women writers has long been archival, from A Room of One's Own, to The Madwoman in the Attic (1979) and In Search of Our Mothers' Gardens (1984). The historical turn in modernism brings new energy to the archive: The Modernist Journals Project makes possible all kinds of projects that would have been difficult to imagine or undertake before the careful curation and digitalization of dozens of little magazines.5 In the loosest sense of the term, every article here is archival, but Urmila Seshagiri's and Fernald 233 Aimee Wilson's contributions demonstrate the power and potential of intense and thorough work in an archive. Seshagiri's piece studies the publisher Persephone Books (founded 1999) as an institution of modernism operating in our day. Her piece at once embodies a methodology for analysis of a single publishing enterprise and suggests many further avenues for study, be they readings of Persephone titles (as Andrea Adolph does in her piece for this issue), histories of other feminist institutions of modernism, or work on textiles. Wilson takes a more granular approach, offering a close reading of how the contributors to Margaret Sanger's Birth Control Review transformed the gothic to comment on the horrors of poverty and unwanted pregnancy. Wilson's piece—powerful, witty, and timely on its own—offers a model for scholars seeking to contextualize magazine fiction in relation to social issues, censorship law, and genre. The move to global modernism has benefited Jean Rhys's reputation, which has been rising for years. Anne Cunningham's article on Voyage in the Dark show us afresh the complexity of the heroine's impossible wish to transgress racial boundaries. Jessica Berman's recent work on Indian women writers reminds us that, when exploring modernism outside the Anglo-American context, we must keep gender in mind; accounts of the history of the Indian novel in English can no longer stop with Anand, Rao, and Narayan, but must include Cornelia Sorabji, Iqbalunnisa Hussain, and G. Ishvani. To that list, we can now add Zeenuth Futehally. As Ambreen Hai's analysis of Zohra shows, Futehally worked within and challenged the bounds of purdah and the ways in which Indian nationalism situated tradition in the domestic sphere. Finally, Rowena Kennedy-Epstein shows the feminist inflections of the global in her article on Muriel Rukeyser's Savage Coast, a novel of the Spanish Civil War that was roundly rejected in 1936, likely, as Kennedy-Epstein shows, because publishers could not understand how to read its radical woman protagonist and Rukeyser's equally radical formal experimentation. What was impossible to understand in the 1930s becomes a thrilling document for us today, and Kennedy-Epstein shows us the true internationalism of the Republican side from a woman's perspective, while reminding us of the sorry misogyny of a publishing world that has kept Savage Coast from print until 2013, with an edition edited by Kennedy-Epstein herself. In affect theory, Lauren Berlant, Sara Ahmed, and Judith Halberstam all have recent books exposing the construction of happiness, uncovering the ways in which our culture defines happiness in consistently heteronormative, capitalist, and bourgeois terms. In this issue, both Cunningham and Adolph engage with affect theory to show how Rhys and Laski stage a feminist critique by setting in motion a protagonist who is, in Rhys's case, thwarted in the search for conventional happiness, and, in Laski's, fulfilled by rejecting convention. 234 Women’s Fiction, New Modernist Studies, and Feminism One of my goals for this issue has been to refresh our sense of the variety of women's responses to modernity. After all, women in the first half of the twentieth century lived through the most rapid and significant expansion of their social roles in history. To take one example: most of the authors studied here were born without the right to vote; whether that right was obtained in childhood, youth, or adulthood, knowing how very recently one was not considered a fully-fledged citizen (if one is yet) must affect how one imagines oneself in the world. These social changes make such an exciting story that it is tempting to make it part of a false narrative of progress: the vote, the professions, property, education, choice to marry and choice of a mate, increasing acceptance of lesbianism and queer sexualities. Nonetheless, although progress was made in the period, each of these essays documents the uneven and unpredictable effects of modernity on individuals. Where Persephone Books reprints novels that remind us of the pressure many women felt to position themselves as guardians of the familial and domestic, Rhys's protagonist rejects what her character sees as the "drug" (104) of family admiration while Laski's protagonist's blitz-time appetite for furs, champagne, and casual sex highlights the bleak scarcity of the mend-and-make-do culture of the time. Some of these pieces, such as those on Dorothy Arzner and Marghanita Laski, celebrate new possibilities for women. Others, such as those on the Birth Control Review stories or Rhys, participate in what Judith Halberstam calls "shadow feminism," an anti-Oedipal project, founded in negation and silence (124). For many of these women autonomy is a problem. In Olive Moore's Spleen the protagonist's theories of creativity are challenged when she gives birth to a severely disabled son; in the gothic stories of Vorse and Wellman, women's bodies take on lives of their own, trapping women in an unending cycle of pregnancy and increasing poverty; in the novels of Rukeyser and Futehally, the young protagonists speak with what Susan Howe might call a "stutter" (181), backing away from their own most intense feelings, and struggling to figure out what political participation—for Spain or a decolonized India—might look like for a woman. In fact, as the articles collected here demonstrate, the most exciting theoretical conversations within modernist studies today gain strength from what Sianne Ngai calls "a feminist attentiveness to the persistence of sexual hierarchies" (2). The eight articles in this issue contain substantive discussion of ten modernist women writers (including one film director). These writers range from the well known—Jean Rhys is the most canonical—and the recently recovered—Constance Maud, Cecily Hamilton, Olive Moore, Zeenuth Futehally, Dorothy Arzner, Marghanita Laski, Fernald 235 Muriel Rukeyser—to the entirely forgotten—Mary Heaton Vorse and Rita Wellman. One of the great innovations in the new modernisms has been Bourdieuian attention to institutions of modernism, and at least two of the essays in this issue address that. One looks at the cultural interdependence between the short stories in Margaret Sanger's Birth Control Review (including a discussion of their heavy reliance on gothic tropes) and Sanger's politics. Another studies the contemporary British publisher Persephone Books as a new institution of modernism. In addition to Seshagiri's piece, the issue includes articles on four reprinted novels: Persephone's 2009 printing of Laski's To Bed with Grand Music (pseudonymously published in 1946) about a woman living large during the blitz; Oxford University Press's 2004 reprint of Zeenuth Futehally's 1951 novel, Zohra, the first Indian novel in English by a Muslim woman; Dalkey Archive Press's 1996 reprint of Olive Moore's Spleen (1930); and the Feminist Press' 2013 first-ever printing of Muriel Rukeyser's Spanish Civil War novel Savage Coast. If, in Woolf's words, "money dignifies what is frivolous if unpaid for" (64), print dignifies what is uncanonical if only available as a poorly-scanned PDF, so I am particularly hopeful that scholarly attention to these texts will help keep them in print and encourage the conversation around them to grow. Seshagiri's "Making it New: Persephone Books and the Modernist Project" offers a thick description of a twenty-first century institution of modernism. Seshagiri analyzes books on Persephone's list, their authors and original publishers, and discusses the insights they bring to both feminist activism (especially suffrage) and feminist expertise in the domestic (including cooking and textiles). She also offers an account of the founder, Nicola Beauman's, complex and not always easy relationship to academic feminism, which has mostly ignored her work. Continuing the work of Bonnie Kime Scott and others, Seshagiri traces a network of relationships among authors and publishers, arguing that we refine our sense of recovery to encompass restoration (looking at work that has fallen almost entirely from view), reorientation (examining work that expands and shifts the reputation of authors, reminding us of the range of a writer's career or the continuing power of what was once popular), and elaboration (adding to our knowledge of writers who are not entirely forgotten such as Margaret Oliphant and Katherine Mansfield). As Seshagiri demonstrates, the press exemplifies and makes possible the interconnected work of modernist recovery. Jane Garrity's essay, "Olive Moore's Headless Woman," introduces scholars to Moore's novel, Spleen, a linguistically dense and highly allusive modernist text published in London by a feminist writer active in the literary field. Garrity explores Moore's critique of es- 236 Women’s Fiction, New Modernist Studies, and Feminism sentialism and notions of feminine writing, including her disavowal of embodiment. What makes Spleen particularly interesting, as Garrity shows, is how Moore tests her own critique through her protagonist's pregnancy and the subsequent birth of a severely disabled son. Pregnancy has a particularly dangerous relation to creativity because it is an act of creation that is wholly embodied, confined to women, and outside of intellectual control. As Moore explores, the desire to create something new is not always fulfilled by maternity. In fact, Ruth, one of Spleen's protagonists, chiefly responds to pregnancy and motherhood by displacing her pregnancy from body to mind, as if she is Zeus, and her son, an Athena-to-be. When Ruth's son Richard proves special not in his divinity but in his disability, all of Ruth's—and many of Moore's—ideas about embodiment, gender, and creativity face a serious challenge. Garrity's piece helps us begin to unravel a novel that deserves a much wider audience, one at once limited by its own historical moment, and yet full of ideas to challenge our own theoretical orthodoxies. Ambreen Hai's reading of Zeenuth Futehally's important but almost entirely overlooked novel, Zohra, demonstrates how precise our global gaze must be to understand the impact of modernity. In "Adultery Behind Purdah and the Politics of Indian Muslim Nationalism in Zeenuth Futehally's Zohra," Hai presents the first study ever of Zohra, the first Indian novel published in English by a Muslim woman. As Hai shows, the faint praise of E. M. Forster's Foreword back in 1951 offered little indication of the radical thematic explorations within this conventionally plotted novel about the adulterous desires of two virtuous people. Hai's twinned argument encompasses both Futehally's daring and creative innovations on the form of the English novel to make room for a plot involving a woman in an arranged marriage and her efforts to keep alive the idea of Muslim Indians at the moment of partition. Hai shows how patriarchal social conventions straitened the lives of moneyed Indian women in ways that resonate with but differ from the ways in which Anglo-American women's lives were straitened. The spirited Zohra, in an acceptable but dull arranged marriage, experiences her first chance to meet men in her husband's home, and she falls in love with her progressive brother-in-law; he, in turn, ignites her desire to learn and be useful by getting her interested in Gandhi's work for independence and on behalf of the poor. In the spirit of Persephone Books, Hai's article demonstrates how the ordinary domestic concerns of modern women reveal challenges at the heart of our political and social lives. Sara Bryant's "Dorothy Arzner's Talkies: Gender, Technologies of Voice, and the Modernist Sensorium" focuses on Hollywood director Dorothy Arzner's career, most especially on her sound film Anybody's Fernald 237 Woman (1930). Contrasting Arzner's embrace of sound technology with the hesitation regarding sound expressed by feminist film theorists at the time (H. D. and Dorothy Richardson) and more recently (Kaja Silverman), Bryant restages a controversy of early film theory as a conflict among feminists about the gender of technology. In close readings of key scenes, Bryant demonstrates Arzner's feminist and cinematic innovations, in shot selection, in individual performances, in sequences (such as the fans or the waxworks), and puts those scenes in the context of a studio system that had little room for extended avant-garde direction. If Arzner was concerned with finding practical ways to make a success, Jean Rhys exemplifies failure to an exasperating, operatic degree. Anne Cunningham's "'Get on or get out': Failure and Negative Femininity in Jean Rhys' Voyage in the Dark" is attentive to the complexities of Rhys' appropriation of Creole identity and its participation in the growing theoretical conversation in affect theory and happiness studies. Using Halberstam's notion of shadow feminism and Ngai's noncathartic emotions, Cunningham argues that Rhys exposes the need for an alternate model of white female respectability through her narratives of failure. The notion of self-destruction as protest is particularly resonant in this moment after the Great Recession. Furthermore, Cunningham treats the question of race in the novel, especially Anna's desire to be black, with great intelligence and sophistication. Like Futehally's protagonist, Rhys's Anna meditates on the ways that race and class status straiten women's choices, showing the pernicious contrast between the considerable rise in social opportunities and the lag in opportunities for financial independence. As the archive has expanded into culture, food studies has emerged as a distinct subset of cultural studies thanks to the work of Andrea Adolph and Nicola Humble. Food bears our attention as an economic good and a marker of class and culture that is connected to women (and thus ripe for feminist analysis). Unique among consumer goods, we incorporate food into our bodies and transform it into energy and waste. Rationing during both World Wars severely limited food's availability in Britain and often novels bear clues about characters—the virtuous war wife opening a can of beans, or the brazen hussy dining on oysters—that would have been much more striking at the time. Food studies reveals cultural clues that might otherwise be lost to history. In Adolph's contribution here, "'At least I get my dinners free': Transgressive Dining in Marghanita Laski's To Bed with Grand Music," Adolph combines her acuity in reading food clues with affect theory. In doing so, she draws clear and compelling connections between constructions of female sexuality during World War II and Laski's depictions of woman's desire. Amid the rationing 238 Women’s Fiction, New Modernist Studies, and Feminism and asceticism on the Home Front, Laski's protagonist emerges as a transgressive figure whose dining habits frame her sexual encounters. As such, she stands as a figure of fantasy and, perhaps, scorn for those postwar women readers still virtuously dining on food in tins. In "'Her symbol was civil war': Recovering Muriel Rukeyser's Lost Spanish Civil War Novel" Rowena Kennedy-Epstein recontextualizes the leftist poet Muriel Rukeyser's career in light of her early novel, Savage Coast. This autobiographical bildungsroman was written when Rukeyser, then 22, had just won the Yale Younger Poets Prize and had already served time in jail for fraternizing with African Americans. Rukeyser arrived in Europe, and went to Spain to witness the outbreak of Civil War. Kennedy-Epstein shows how Rukeyser's decision to reject the binary of political versus apolitical modernism in her narrative ironically results in the marginalizing (the near-disappearance, in fact) of her text, and how her publishers discouraged her from the hybrid, complex, radical, sexual, and politically engaged novel in favor of more personal poems. Lest we think that critical response to a text might be gender-neutral, Kennedy-Epstein cites those who condemned her formal shifts as literary promiscuity, hardly a charge leveled against The Waste Land. Savage Coast predates our best-known accounts of the war, and Kennedy-Epstein analyzes it in light of other recent discoveries of women's involvement in that conflict—especially of the central role of photographer Gerda Taro. Kennedy-Epstein demonstrates how Rukeyser's poetics of history pays special attention to the past within the present. As our present now includes this novel, our view of women's role in the war, and of Rukeyser is the richer thanks to Kennedy-Epstein's meticulous work as scholar and editor of the 2013 printing of this forgotten text. Aimee Wilson's "Modernism, Monsters, and Margaret Sanger" analyzes the fiction that appeared in the Birth Control Review, focusing on its reappropriation of the gothic. In the stories Wilson discusses here, gothic tropes reveal the body's will to reproduce, regardless of a woman's interest in becoming a mother (again). Wilson observes that, in contrast to male modernism, these conception narratives depict autonomy as a form of horror rather than a goal, a distinction which bears comparison with Olive Moore's explorations of a related topic and has potentially far-reaching implications for other studies of modernism, gender, and the self. Wilson also shows how, under constant threat of censorship, Sanger used fiction as a cover through which to distribute her political tracts. Although special issues often group their contributions into clusters, this stunning collection presented no easy sets. Instead, as this introduction has strived to show, each article participates in a larger conversation about women, feminist theory, and new modernist Fernald 239 studies, and anyone who reads the volume through will find many pairs, trios, resonances, and echoes. Notes From conceiving of the issue through the final edits, this process has been leavened by the help of many. I would especially like to thank John Duvall and Robert Marzec at Mfs; the contributors; Jay Dickson, Shonni Enelow, and Urmila Seshagiri who read earlier versions of this introduction; and my colleagues at Fordham University, especially Sarah Cornish, Peter Murray, Kate Nash, Christy Pottroff, and Phil Sicker. Each of them has reminded me of the power of collaboration, and I am grateful. 1. Judith Roof edited a double-issue on sexuality and narrative for the Fall/Winter 1995 issue of Mfs. 2. For a discussion of Woolf's exceptional position in modernist studies, see Randall. For more on how women are frequently underrepresented in accounts of modernism, see Seshagiri in this volume. 3. See, for example, Herring 4, Friedman 473, Winkiel 38, and Wollaeger 10. 4. See especially Andreas Huyssen's After the Great Divide (1987), which describes a gendered hierarchy of high-male and low-female and subsequent feminist responses such as Rita Felski's The Gender of Modernity (1995). Both studies emphasize the centrality of questions of gender, sexuality, and the role of women to the challenges of modernism and modernity. 5. For more on the possibilities of periodical studies for feminism, see Green. Works Cited Beauman, Nicola. A Very Great Profession: The Woman's Novel: 1914– 1939. 1983. London: Persephone, 1995. Booth, Alison. How to Make It as a Woman: Collective Biographical History from Victoria to the Present. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2004. Cohen, Lisa. All We Know: Three Lives. New York: Farrar, 2012. Friedman, Susan Stanford. "Planetarity: Musing Modernist Studies." Modernism/modernity 17.3 (2010): 471–99. Garrity, Jane. "Found and Lost: The Politics of Modernist Recovery." Modernism/modernity 15.4 (2008): 803–12. Green, Babara. "Recovering Feminist Criticism: Modern Women Writers and Feminist Periodical Studies." Literature Compass 10.1 (2013): 53–60. 240 Women’s Fiction, New Modernist Studies, and Feminism Halberstam, Judith. The Queer Art of Failure. Durham: Duke UP, 2011. Herring, Scott. "Regional Modernism: A Reintroduction." MFS. 55.1 (2009): 1–10. Howe, Susan. The Birth-Mark: Unsettling the Wilderness in American Literary History. Wesleyan UP, 1993. Mao, Douglas and Rebecca L. Walkowitz. "The New Modernist Studies." PMLA 123.3 (2008): 737–48. McCann, Michelle Roehm and Amelie Welden. Girls Who Rocked the World: Heroines from Joan of Arc to Mother Teresa. New York: Aladdin, 2012. Mullin, Katherine. "Modernisms and feminisms." The Cambridge Companion to Feminist Literary Theory. Ed. Ellen Rooney. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2006. 135–152. Ngai, Sianne. Ugly Feelings. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2005. Randall, Bryony. "Woolf and modernist studies." Virginia Woolf in Context. Ed. Bryony Randall and Jane Goldman. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2012. 28–39. Rhys, Jean. After Leaving Mr. Mackenzie. New York: Norton, 1982. Winkiel, Laura. "Gendered Transformation in 'The New Modernist Studies.'" Literature Compass 10.1 (2013): 38–44. Wollaeger, Mark A. Introduction. The Oxford Handbook of Global Modernisms. Ed. Mark A. Wollaeger with Matt Eatough. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2010. 3–22. Woolf, Virginia. A Room of One's Own. 1929. New York: Harcourt: 2005.