On butchness in the Locked Tomb Trilogy
So I started reading Gideon the Ninth as an act of Butch Self Care âą, having encountered almost no butch lesbian protagonists ever, and despite my high expectations, I can honestly say I was super impressed. I feel deeply represented in a way I rarely have and that Iâm struggling to articulate.Â
A tiny moment that struck me fairly early on was the narrator describing Gideon as âemasculatedâ by a favour that âDulcineaâ asks her to do â I suddenly realized that Iâd never (to my recollection) seen a book use that adjective for a woman before. I mean, most fiction Iâve encountered is hesitant to call women masculine (and even more rarely as a positive or value-neutral term), even when theyâre discussing butches, many of whom, though not all, consider ourselves masculine.Â
And âemasculatedâ feels like a step further â not simply an acknowledgement of a butchâs masculinity, but of her experiences with masculinity, how her masculinity affects moments that outwardly have nothing to do with her gender presentation. I donât think the feeling of being emasculated is necessarily a emotion worth cultivating â itâs usually a product of insecurity, of worrying that a small action could take away oneâs masculinity â but it is something that a young butch might feel, something many of us do feel at times!Â
That moment, though very short, felt so honest and true and reflective of the seriesâs approach to butchness: completely unafraid of portraying the real and messy thoughts of a young butch lesbian, while also completely respectful of her identity. It gracefully walks the line between shamelessly portraying her sexuality and not falling into the old âpredatory butchâ stereotypes â Gideon is super horny and loves a good sex joke, but also is incredibly respectful and careful of bodily and romantic boundaries, to the point of literally running to apologize when she thinks sheâs flirted with a woman in a relationship and promising to take fully clothed showers in Harrowâs body.Â
Similarly, Muir has no qualms about describing Gideon as physically strong, tough, and proud of it, while obviously not making this her only character trait, and also portraying her swordfighting as a legitimate art and talent â Gideon literally does study the blade, and Harrow notes how Gideon analyzes and understands swordfights in a way she absolutely does not comprehend.Â
And in that vein (heh) of balance, the series also lets Gideon have the frankly Butch Mood of wanting to be useful, wanting to care for and defend those she loves â while also letting her be cared for, wanted, reassured, and protected. This happens in the first book (I will be crying forever about Palamedes trying to convince Gideon that sheâs not responsible for Harrowâs parentsâ suicide), but struck me even more in the second, which revolves around Harrowâs silent, unaware yearning for Gideon.Â
Every butch Iâve ever talked to about this has struggled with the idea of being wanted âthe idea that any woman could want us, especially want us as ourselves, without having to tone down our butchness. So I canât tell you how emotional it made me to read an entire book about a womanâs desire â need â for her butch. About the overwhelmingness of her grief at losing Gideon, so much that she cuts her from her brain to cope with the pain. So much that sheâs undone without her, even unconsciously. To see a butch being the object of desire â not just sexual/physical desire, though itâs clear that thatâs there from Harrowâs fantastic coffeeshop AU, but soul-shattering romantic yearning â it just fucks me up beyond belief. Itâs really, really good, and honestly just thinking about it makes my heart feel so full.
Thatâs all Iâve got for now, but just â thank you Tamsyn Muir. Thank you so much.
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