Culture Watch
In this issue:
BOOKSNuns have to do it, some athletes just want to. Doing without sex is what we're talking about, and it's the subject of an intriguing and thoughtful study "A History of Celibacy." A bestseller in Canada, it traces the phenomenon from ancient Greece to the present day. Just when you though there was nothing new to be written about Elizabeth Taylor, along comes The Most Beautiful Woman in the World by Ellis Amburn. He finds there are still surprises.
AND
CONSIDER THIS
Shhh--something is growing in the greenhouse of the widow in the
movie Saving Grace that will save her home from creditors--and
maybe send her to jail. The delightful British comedy stars the
superb Brenda Blethyn.
BOOKS
A History of Celibacy by Elizabeth Abbott
(Scribner; 493 pages; $30)
The title of this book could just as well have
been A History of Celibacy AND Sexuality, because you can't talk
about one without the other. Elizabeth Abbott, who is the
dean of women at Trinity College of the University of Toronto, has
thoroughly researched both for this study, which was a bestseller
in Canada, and follows several major recurring themes that run throughout
human civilization. Refreshing for an academic, she writes with
wit and energy, producing a scholarly work that is enlightening
and entertaining. Sinners no less than saints do battle with their
own sexuality, and Abbott illuminates the celibate state and struggles
that preoccupied such disparate figures as Mahatma Gandhi and Leonardo
da Vinci, Joan of Arc and Cher.
For centuries, the condition of celibacy - or, as some
might term it, predicament - has been forcibly imposed or has been
a deliberate choice. The reasons are many. The castrati of
opera - young boys castrated to preserve their high sweet voices
- and the high-ranking eunuchs of China are examples of enforced
vocational celibacy, but in many cultures men have a long - and
to some, bizarre - tradition of deliberately committing to celibacy
for short or extended periods as a kind of insurance for physical
and mental prowess and stamina. The belief in the "power of
semen'' has influenced men from a variety of backgrounds - Greek
physicians, Hindu sages, athletics coaches, and moral reformers
- to advocate celibacy because it enables males not only to save
their precious fluid ounces but allows them to conserve manly vigor,
energy and intellectual acumen. More than semen is at stake. French
novelist Honor´e de Balzac supposedly groaned after a romp
in bed, "There goes another novel."
Boxers may not read much Balzac but they share
his pain. They are almost reverent about their faith in semen; Muhammad
Ali thought that six weeks of celibacy before a fight would make
him a great warrior. In a sort of "No Sex, Please, We're Soccer
Players'' gambit, coaches from nations competing in the 1998
World Cup, Abbott writes, imposed a ban on their players the night
before a game. Whether or not the practice of forgoing sex to achieve
athletic success is based on exact science, she rightly credits
it with imparting a vital psychological energy through a sense of
ritual and discipline.
From ancient times until today, women have gained power
and lost it through celibacy. The wives of the Greek comedy Lysistrata
famously kept their husbands out of their beds until they agreed
to end the long drawn out Peloponnesian War. (The men lasted six
days before caving in.) Elizabeth I, the Virgin Queen, is one of
the better known females who calculatedly kept herself inviolate
for political gain. In late Victorian England, thousands of women
staged a "silent strike'' for women's rights, knowing no man and
bearing no child as their strategy to improve the lot of the sisterhood.
However noble and uplifting
chastity may be for some women, for others it has only a dark and
sinister side. Whenever it is upheld as a moral virtue, it is women
who have the task of protecting and maintaining it. These unspoken
rules of the Victorians, Abbott writes, commanded that "a
woman must be virginal at marriage and chaste afterward but her
husband is not bound by the same constraints.'' One result of the
double standard was the sanctioning of prostitution. The author
makes the point that "Prostitutes, reviled though they were, effectively
accommodated enough male lechery to ensure 'good girls' remained
just that.'' Prostitution was the service "without which society's
moral standards would collapse under the burden of pent-up lust.''
Since the earliest recorded history,
celibacy has figured in religions, and Abbott provides four chapters
describing the tangled connections between faith and human sexuality.
The pagans prized celibacy - think of those Vestal Virgins - and
of the world's major religions only Judaism and Islam do not make
it an important instrument for the devout. Christianity has struggled
with it since the days of the early church, finally accepting it
for clergy in the 13th century. At a young age, girls were often
consigned to a nunnery by their families and endured a life of poverty,
obedience and chastity, suppressing their sexuality to become the
"Bride of Christ'' and never a wife or mother. Not that this was
all bad. For many, it meant liberation from the real possibility
of a bad marriage, hard drudgery, multiple births and early death,
and for the truly faithful, it cleared the path to spiritual growth.
Abbott sweepingly concludes that "the convent gave European women
more freedom to develop and express themselves than any other institution,
including the family.''
For women, growing old increases the chance of
enforced or chosen celibacy, Abbott contends, either because they
generally outlive their mates or because of their partner's impotence.
Society--not to mention the adult children--is embarrassed by any
show of lust. "In old age,'' Abbott stresses, "women are expected
to revert to the undefiled state of early childhood when they were
sexless, virginal and pure.'' For her part, Abbott, who has been
married and is a mother, is experiencing a newfound commitment to
celibacy as a result of her work on this project, and she calls
it liberating. No more must she look after some one else's needs
for meals or clean laundry "or answer the infernal question,
'Honey, where are my socks?' '' It's a lighthearted comment, but
she takes serious note of modern society's renewed interest in celibacy.
There's evidence of a modern chastity
movement that is re-assessing the prevailing view of sexual activity
as performance, "depersonalized and relegated to the category of
other athletic activities.'' The specter of AIDS is one of
the most compelling reasons for re-thinking celibacy. While in the
West abstinence is a leading preventive measure, Africa's cultural
views against celibacy have contributed to the devastation of the
AIDS epidemic on the continent. Containing everything you ever wanted
to know about celibacy, the book could not be more timely.
And Don't Call Her Liz
The Most Beautiful Woman in the World by Ellis Amburn
(HarperCollins; 352 pages; $25
Elizabeth Taylor has been with
us late and long, getting and spending. The breathtakingly beautiful
and brave child of National Velvet grew up before our eyes
in films, magazine spreads and
scandal sheets. We lived through her affairs and addictions, the
marriages and divorces, the at-death's-door illnesses and miraculous
recoveries, the great performances and embarrassing movies, the
astonishing weight gains and losses. She dominates many pages in
the 20th century photo album. We have seen pictures of her with
and without husbands, and we are familiar with snapshots of the
children, the dogs and the diamonds. Some of us may even have bought
her perfume. Is there anything left that we need or care to know?
Yes, according to author Ellis Amburn, quite a bit, and he's right.
If there were a degree in Taylorabilia, Amburn would have a doctorate.
He may have read every article and book that even mentions her name
- he lists 100 books in the bibliography - and interviewed 500 people
for this biography. Though you might argue that the title is an
exaggeration, this crisp and detailed account of the star's life
and loves, triumphs and failures, makes for a fascinating read.
From the start, she was a commodity to
be exploited. Like many another kid actor, a stage mother was pushing
her. Cynical studios were eager to take advantage of the public's
infatuation with the intriguing girl who was rapidly ripening into
a woman. In her choice of lovers and husbands, she always managed
to attract major exploiters, takers who were panting to advance
their career, self-importance or finances through her fame. Despite
this and to her credit, she never saw herself as a victim. Early
on, she invented a seemingly conflicting personal role for herself:
the exquisite beauty as tough and arrogant broad and who could out-curse
most of the men around her. This aspect of her persona suited her
perfectly in the Oscar-winning role of Martha in Who's Afraid
of Virginia Woolf?, but she took it, like she did took most
things, to excess. Amburn points out, and rightly so, that she played
the "loud-mouthed harridan over and over in many of her succeeding
movies.'' He calls winning the Oscar for that performance "the kiss
of death for her career as a serious actress.''
The book clears up two minor points: 1) the
fabulous eyes are not violet, and 2) she detests the name
Liz. Such trivia is sprinkled through the book, but there's more
on Amburn's mind as he reviews her astonishing life. Analyzing the
relationships with the most important men in the life of Liz (whoops!
Elizabeth), he sees a distinct pattern. Essentially, Amburns explains,
she developed non-sexual and deeply loving relationships with men
the author describes as being gay - Montgomery Clift, Rock Hudson
and Michael Jackson, among them - to whom she remained fiercely
loyal and protective. The coruscating, self-destructive relationships
were all explosively charged, non-loving involvements with high-testosterone,
heterosexual partners (think Eddie Fisher, Mike Todd, Senator John
Warner). There's a complexity. Amburn notes, with Richard Burton.
Because of his homosexual encounters -Laurence Olivier was reputed
to be a lover - and unresolved sexual ambiguity, the tortured Welsh
actor fits into both categories. Worse for Taylor, and eventually
fatal to Burton, was his alcoholism. Amburn's descriptions of their
nightmarish booze-filled days and nights and Burton's doomed attempts
to put down the drink are horrifying and heartbreaking. The sense
of waste--of money, of talent, of purpose--is almost palpable.
At her worst an angel of destruction, Taylor at her best has been
a mainstay to her family and her friends and a fearless champion
to combat AIDS. It's too much to ask if she will herself look back
and honestly evaluate her tumultuous existence. As Amburn puts it,
she prefers dwelling "in an eternal present, as if the past never
existed.'' Since Taylor will not examine on her much-lived life,
Amburn has done it for her, and quite nicely too.
Films
Saving Grace
Directed by Nigel Cole
What's a poor widow to do? Especially if she's a genteel lady presiding
over a gracious manor and charming grounds in the country who's
suddenly inherited the Alpine-sized debt of her late husband. The
deceased made a mysterious leap from an airplane without a parachute,
and now his widow, Grace Trevethen, is set to lose everything to
creditors, including her home, if she cannot quickly come up with
a hefty sum of cash. She's completely at sea about finances. The
local vicar asks if she has a stock portfolio. She doesn't know
what it is, and neither does he. An inspired solution is at hand,
but there's a tiny technical problem: it's highly illegal. A genius
at growing all things green, Grace and her gardener Matthew (Craig
Ferguson) concoct a scheme to grow hemp plants in her greenhouse
and then turn over a handsome profit by selling the marijuana. When
the harvest is done, Grace puts on her best white suit and hat and
travels to London in search of a dealer to buy the stash. Mayhem,
as they say, ensues. Saving Grace is one of late summer's pleasures.
The coast of Cornwall is spectacularly
beautiful, and in the honored tradition of British comedies, there's
a fine supporting cast of village eccentrics and lovable folk who
get pulled into the scheme. But it's Brenda Blethyn who carries
the day and the film. The two-Academy Award nominee gives the newly
bereaved Grace an appealing naivete and sweet confusion and then
brings out the matron's newfound steely determination as she plots
criminal intent and comes to her own rescue. She and Ferguson, who
also co-wrote the screenplay, make for a welcome rarity on the screen
these days: an older woman and younger man as trusted partners and
good friends.
