by Andrea Scarpino
Los Angeles
Last week, I attended the annual conference of the Association for Death Education and Counseling. I presented a paper on elegy, a poetic form that deals with death, dying and grief, but I also attended a very interesting presentation on Lucy Grealy’s memoir Autobiography of a Face. I’ve read Grealy’s memoir (and highly recommend it) but was struck in this presentation by the very idea of a face—what our faces present to the world, the assumptions people make about us because of our faces and the way we look, and the ways our faces can tell the truth about us, as well as the ways in which they misconstrue the truth.
Grealy was disfigured as a child because of her battle with a type of cancer called Ewing’s sarcoma. One third of her jaw was removed as doctors attempted to save her life, and chemotherapy and radiation treatments weakened the bones in her face. She subsequently underwent some 30 facial reconstruction surgeries but never seemed to be able to make peace with her face, and ended up dying of a drug overdose at the age of 39. Hers is a terrible story for many reasons, and the conference presenter was using it in part to examine how Grealy was treated by medical professionals throughout her initial illness and subsequent surgeries.
When I returned from the conference, I found that a British woman by the name of Susan Boyle had become an internet sensation in part because her singing talent doesn’t seem to “match” her physical appearance. I watched the youtube clip of Boyle auditioning for the British talent competition Britain’s Got Talent and was struck by the meanness of the judges and audience members when Boyle initially walked out onto the stage. There were snickering and catcalls from the audience, and the camera panned to show audience members rolling their eyes at Boyle’s admission that she was “trying to be a professional singer.”
Apparently, Boyle didn’t look like what we assume someone should look like to sing on television, although she did have all the trappings of femininity including a lovely dress and high heels. As the youtube clip progressed, Boyle began to sing in such a lovely voice that even the meanest judge, Simon Cowell, couldn’t hold back the look of shock and surprise on his face. Gradually, he even smiled. And as she sang, one of the show’s sidekicks looked at the camera and asked, “You didn’t expect that did you? Did you? No.” By the end of the audition, the audience and judges all stood and applauded wildly. Clearly, basing their expectations solely on her appearance, no one in the audience expected Boyle to be able to sing.
What puzzles me is how, even in the year 2009, we as a people still believe that a face means something important about the person it contains. This is the foundation of racism and sexism, of course, as well as ableism, classism, etc. Those of us interested in Disability Studies specifically and activism more broadly argue constantly that “just because” a person has a visible disability or a darker skin color or appears to be a woman or wears fancy suits, “just because” of those things, we can’t make assumptions about their abilities, their kindnesses, the people they love and who love them. Whether they can sing or write or cut hair or work at the post office. It’s just such an old argument that I get tired making it, and assume, I guess, that most people have learned it by now.
Unfortunately, Lucy Grealy’s story and the sensation around Susan Boyle have reminded me that we still have a lot of work to do to convince the world that faces don’t tell us much in the grand scheme of things. A face certainly can’t tell you that a woman can sing a moving rendition of “I Dreamed a Dream” or that another woman’s heart is breaking, over and over again.
Andrea Scarpino is the west coast Bureau Chief of POTB and you can visit her at:
Planet of the Blind 
I felt compelled to comment on this post because I too was outraged by the treatment of Susan Boyle.
I live in the UK and was apalled by the way Susan was judged by her appearance not just on that show, but in her childhood too.
Susan Boyle lived an utterly selfless life looking after her elderly widowed mother (until her mother died). She also held down a low paid job as a carer. She was bullied as a child for looking different from others just because she was not considered pretty. She siad: “it was the kind of bullying you never get over”.
In my opinion, these attitudes speak reams about the actual people being judgemental. Surely being a gentle kind person, caring for her mother and others, with precious little time to think about or care for herself deserves praise and respect? Susan chose to spend her time in servitude helping others; she didn’t have time to primp and preen and pluck and tan. Kudos to her.
If there is a Heaven, she’ll be at the front of the queue at the pearly gates … whilst those who spent their entire lives looking great (and being judgemental) will be heading for the downward elevator.
I hope Susan wins, she has the voice of an Angel and beauty comes from within.
LikeLike
Thanks, Andrea, for such an interesting post. I’ve been troubled by the uproar over Susan Boyle just because public reaction is so fickle, as you described. Yes, she’s talented, no, she’s not glamorous, end of story! What’s so strange about that? I’m a classical musician and have noticed the recent sexualization of classical musicians, starting younger and younger. Ten years ago, you just had to be talented. Now you have to look like a sex kitten/god/goddess as well. All the dignity is disappearing.
Gifted singers have always come in all shapes and sizes. Here’s hoping Susan Boyle’s success might remind a few people of that.
LikeLike