Sex & Women’s Bodies: Misogyny in Oscar Wao

While reading this novel, I’ve been really preoccupied—as the narrator is, as well—with the depiction of sex and bodies, and how those descriptions differ depending on whether it is a man or a woman being described. In a way, I think this sort of ties back to a major question that we’ve been asking in class: is the reader supposed to like Oscar? Do I like Oscar? I guess the answer to that question is yes: by the end of the novel, I like Oscar. He is sad and sympathetic, especially considering the way that his desire and emotion leads him to his end. But I don’t think I like Yunior, and I don’t think I like Díaz, for the way that bodies, sex, and women are depicted throughout the novel, despite all of the beauty of the story. I feel that Yunior’s presence and tone as the narrator demonstrates that the misogyny present in The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao is reflective of Díaz’ own biases, as opposed to simply being a plot device or narrative choice.

When I first started reading the book, I didn’t think I liked Oscar. Once the reveal of Yunior happened, I started to wonder if my dislike for Oscar was really a misplaced dislike for Yunior, as a lot of the narrative that I had been attributing to Oscar was actually Yunior’s own insertions. The reason I disliked Oscar in the beginning is because I am inherently resistant to the idea that we are supposed to feel bad for teenage boys whose primary problem is that no girl will have sex with them, while it is painfully obvious that they don’t view the women who they are trying to sleep with as full and complex human beings. As the novel progresses it becomes clear that Oscar’s obsession with sex is deeper than a simple physical desire—it is extremely personal, and to have sex, for Oscar, would be in many ways a validation of the identity that he has been denied his entire life. This made him much more sympathetic in my eyes, but it doesn’t change the fact that the way women are described throughout the novel is often deeply callous. In the first chapter, middle school aged Maritza’s abuse at the hands of grown men is described as a tribulation for Oscar—it is just such a tragedy that Maritza is having sex with these adult men in her young adolescence, and not Oscar: “Maritza was a girl who seemed to delight in getting slapped around by her boyfriends… French kissing on the front stoop of her house, getting in or out of some roughneck’s ride, being pushed down onto the sidewalk. Oscar would watch the French-kissing, the getting in and out, the pushing, all through his cheerless, sexless adolescence,” (Díaz, 18.) To be fair, I assumed that casual mentions of abuse and statutory rape such as these (it is said that Maritza dates men two to three times her age starting at the age of eleven) were intentionally blasé to emphasize Oscar’s teenage selfishness and naiveté, yet I struggled to view Oscar as the victim of the abuse of the young girls around him, simply because he was not having sex.

Throughout the first chapter, I wondered if this misogyny was self-aware: is Díaz doing this on purpose? Is it a narrative choice he’s making for Oscar’s character with the awareness that he is coming across as misogynistic, or is it a reflection of his own views? I think it’s absolutely possible that it’s a little bit of both, but once Yunior was introduced, my entire perspective on Oscar (and Díaz) changed. Díaz has admitted that Yunior is “semi autobiographical,” yet claims that he is not a mere self insert. I read an article (linked on the resources page and hyperlinked here) about this topic; about Yunior being a reflection of Díaz, and about whether Díaz’ hyperbolic writing when it comes to women and sex is an ironic critique or a genuine form of misogyny. Lyda Gold, the author of the article, writes in reference to Lola and Yunior’s relationship, “I hope at this point we all understand that when a male character creates a near-perfect, gorgeous female character who falls in love with a character very like himself—even if he claims she’s based on a real ex-girlfriend—this is a laughable act of fantasy wish-fulfilment.” While this may come across as harsh, it rings true for me. Yunior is an asshole. He treats Oscar horribly, and he treats all of the women in his life (including Lola) horribly. Yet, he is quote-unquote “cool.” He has a lot of sex—Díaz makes sure we know that. He’s hot, women love him, and he has a lot of sex. This idea of Yunior as a fantastical self-insert for Díaz is what made me go back and rethink my issues with Oscar. Maybe the misogynistic tone assigned to Oscar’s struggles with women are a reflection of how Yunior views Oscar, as opposed to how Oscar views himself, women, and the world.

Finally, it was Belicia’s depiction that pushed me over the edge in terms of thinking that Díaz’ writing of women is rooted in his own misogyny, as opposed to being a critique of misogyny. While it is true that bodies are an obsession in the novel for all genders—Oscar’s body is clearly a fixation for Yunior—the obsession with Belicia’s breasts and nipples came across as gratuitous to me: “her tetas were globes so implausibly titanic they made generous souls pity their bearer… In the close darkness of their washcloset, Beli circled disconsolately around her Novi Orbis, avoiding her hypersensitive nipples at all costs,” (92.) These are just two lines contained within over a page and a half dedicated solely to teenage Belicia’s tits. I understand that her physical changes are relevant to the plot, but reading this, all I could think was that Díaz as an author seemed to be enjoying this a little too much. The idea that Belicia is standing in the shower contemplating how huge and sensitive her nipples are is hilarious—it just screams “male author writing a female character.” Despite the general hyperfixation on bodies of all kinds, I felt that descriptions like these pushed Díaz’ writing over the line in terms of being a commentary on misogyny.

This has been somewhat of a rant, and I really did like this book. I could have read it in one sitting, easily. But I suppose my point is that when I focus in on “bodies” and “sex” as key words, it’s really difficult for me to get past what I feel is gross, blatant misogyny masquerading as an intellectual commentary.