Jill Tweedie was a feminist writer and broadcaster who is best remembered
for her Guardian column on feminist issues, which ran from from 1969 to 1988. One particular series of columns was Letters from a Fainthearted Feminist, which was later collected into a book of the same name, and later again, More from Martha. I wasn’t familiar with the columns, seeing as this collection was originally published in the year I was born, but I found this copy of the book in my second hand book retailer of choice, the Mind Shop on Walton Street.
Tweedie was, it seems, a champion of moderate feminism, by which she meant, in her own words (via Wikipedia),
“You don’t have to signal a social conscience by looking like a frump. Lace knickers won’t hasten the holocaust, you can ban the bomb in a feather boa, just as well without, and a mild interest in hemlines doesn’t necessarily disqualify you from reading DAS KAPITAL and agreeing with every word.”
In Letters from a Fainthearted Feminist, then, she sets out to make serious feminist points but also manages to laugh at the movement in a respectful way. The letters are written by Martha, aged thirty-eight, married for the second time, and stay at home mum to two teenagers and a baby. She is all for the women’s lib movement, and longs to put her political ideas into practice, but the reality of being a wife and mother constantly gets in the way. She is writing to her more radical Sister, Mary, who lives in a squat with another feminist called Mo, who is seemingly constantly off on marches and crusades, including an incident where they trash a sex shop. Jill Tweedie, in her introduction to the letters, places herself squarely in between the two (fictional, though she writes as if they aren’t) women:
“I have often been irritated by Martha’s fainthearted approach to feminism (I am not at all like that, myself) and I must say I often deplore Mary’s blinkered fundamentalism (I am not at all like that, myself). I’m sure that sensible readers will agree with me that the way ahead for women is an amalgam of the two. A faintheartedness tempered with fundamentalism. Or is a fundamental faintheartedness? You pays your money and you takes your choice. Women’s liberation is, after all, about choice.”
While there was the odd contemporary political reference I’m pretty sure sailed over my head, this managed to be both angry and very, very funny. Baring in mind these columns were written when Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister, it manages to be furious and hilarious about those men who thought that because they voted for her, they were fully paid up members of feminism. Mary’s husband Josh is just such a man. High up in The Department (of what, we never discover, nor does it matter), he is infuriated with Mary’s questioning of his ideal Department Wife:
“I told Josh I wanted to take the baby and go on a CND march this summer and he said no I couldn’t, it wasn’t Department policy. What is Department policy then? I said. Letting babies frizzle in their cots like Kentucky Fried Chickens? Having women and children running through the streets like so many living torches?”
Meanwhile, Irene, Josh’s Thatcher-like boss, is running for parliament.
“I tell you, that woman is the Marie Antoinette of our time, she even has a weeny thatched cotty in the Cotswolds where she goes and pats sheep. Any minute now, she’ll be saying let them eat Textured Vegetable Protein. You’re thinking she resembles Mrs T? Matey, she makes that lady look like Marx in drag. At least Maggie has momentarily experienced childbirth even if it was two for the labour of one and into boarding school before they could call her Mother, whereas Ms Boss has done nothing more female than stick her feet in stacked heels. Why in heaven’s name should I support a person just because it wears skirts? So does King Khalid and he’s in line for no feminist prizes.”
Funny and ranty, there can be no better combination in my eyes. And while one might disagree with the odd point our Martha makes, this is a genuinely entertaining book that made me really irritate FH by chuckling out loud and insisting on reading passages out loud to him while he was attempting to watch Eastenders.
While specific details make it very much ‘of its time’, the overall sentiment of the book hasn’t dated in the slightest. The same arguments are happening both within the wider world and, it must be said, within feminism itself. What Letters of a Fainthearted Feminist does do though, and very well, is show that those who call feminism humorless couldn’t be more wrong.
This book makes up part of the Women Unbound reading challenge.














