Most of female protagonists in contemporary romance genre need to pass the preliminary test. The test constitutes the early phase of the love relationship between the potential couple. This part explains why the male protagonist is attracted. The narrative which elaborates this part and creates the wonderful chemistry well between the pair is more likely to arouse readers’ interest. The domestic test, formulated by Kay Mussell in the study of western romance fiction, shapes the conventions of romance. It requires women to prove their worth by performing service roles as a wife, a mother and a homemaker.
It requires heroines to maintain feminine qualities that attract heroes without relying on artifice or design. It guides women as they learn to express their sexual impulses at the right time with the proper mate. It places a premium on nurturing behavior toward children and the weak, and it rewards women with traditionally feminine interests in homemaking. Success comes to women who possess the innate traits of good women—sexual control, modesty, intuition, selflessness, caring—but who use those qualities actively to benefit others.
(Mussell 90)
Whether the female protagonist can win Mr. Right relies on her performance in the domestic test. The content of the test offers an alternative discourse to counterbalance the emphasis on outer beauty implied by the makeover convention.
However, the notion of inner beauty is based on the traditional assumptions of proper female behaviors. The domestic qualities required in the test accord with patriarchal ideals of feminine virtues.
Betty Friedan has articulated her refusal to conform to such a domestic femininity in her influential book The Feminine Mystique first published in 1963. She tries to debunk the illusionary image of a happy suburban housewife by pointing out countless women are trapped in a feeling of desperation, dissatisfaction or frustration.
These women struggle with “the problem with no name” for they are socialized to
cherish this mystique of feminine fulfillment as wives and mothers (15). The narrow definition of a respectable femininity locks women in the patriarchal service roles and blocks the search for their own complete human identity. Friedan encourages women to break through the feminine mystique by looking for creative work which enables her to grow as part of society (345).
The impact of Friedan’s text is so great that many feminists join her in disapproving the domesticity imposed on women. Stéphanie Genz thinks their devaluation of domestic practices creates “a dichotomy between private and public spheres, between downtrodden housewife and the feminist revolutionary” (“I Am Not a Housewife” 51). In response to the resignification of domesticity as female agency and the shift of the purpose of paid work from personal fulfillment to economic necessity due to the changing socioeconomic and cultural context, Genz argues that domestic femininity is “a site of undecideability, of meaning in question” (“I Am Not a Housewife” 50). The diverse spectrum of ways of being and living encompassed by the domestic femininity deserves scrutiny in (post)feminist terms (Genz, “I Am Not a Housewife” 52).
The drama Next Stop, Happiness illustrates the renegotiation of the relationship between feminism and domestic femininity. Depicted as a beautiful, kindly, nurturing and diligent woman, the female protagonist Liang Mu-cheng resembles the heroines
in earlier romances in many ways. Yet, this drama tries to add a few inspiring touches to her attributes. Born in a wealthy family, Mu-cheng used to live in affluence until her father’s death and bankruptcy. The impoverishment does not frustrate her; instead she lives with her stepmother, choosing to bear the hardships boldly and optimistically.
Her courage and integrity even influence the rakish hero and heals his emotional wound later. Though misunderstood as a mercenary by the male protagonist’ mother, she refuses to accept the break-up fee and defends herself softly instead of weeping timidly or swallowing the insult silently just like the meek heroines in the past. As she leaves the male protagonist with the secret pregnancy, the decision to be a single mother is presented as her self-determination and elevated as an emblem of female strength and strong will.
The previously repudiated domestic femininity is reconstituted by a mix of traditional feminine virtues with positive attributes which are viewed as the source of female power. Examining the relationships between feminism and femininity with respect to the domestic in the postfeminist discourses, Joannne Hollows writes “the domestic can’t be simply celebrated as a site of feminine virtue or as a site of pre-feminist subordination” (“Can I go home yet” 114). The hybrid form of domestic femininity exhibited by Mu-cheng makes the housewife a problematic figure for feminist critique. It also reflects postfeminism’s tendency of updating contemporary
femininities to engage selectively with feminist values.
What we can observe from the characterization of Mu-cheng is the emotional posture advocated by postfeminism, that is, “the need to care for others” and “a kind of personal spiritual tranquility” (Negra 140). As Mu-cheng reencounters the male protagonist Jen Kuang-hsi and learns he has lost his memory, she determines to keep her child’s paternity secret so as not to impede his upcoming wedding. Faced with financial difficulties and the worries to have a child suffering from the diabetes, she prepares to confront the cruel reality on her own and takes care of her son even without the man she loves. So serene and moderate is she that we may tend to appreciate her selfless love and emotional toughness. However, this model of femininity reflects not only proper mood management postfeminism values but also
“a form of affective tyranny”, as Diane Negra argues, which prefers a state of composure to rougher emotions like jealousy, anger, and resentment (140).
It is arguable to say the entire drama is ideologically regressive just because of the glorification of the conservative and overidealized femininity exhibited by the female protagonist. The noteworthy part of this drama is its positive representation of another female character Ho Yi-chien. Conventionally, the romantic rival, as the incarnation of Cinderella’s stepsister, has been assumed to display the repulsive traits.
Besides, the distinction between good and bad femininity is translated into the
contrast between the housewife and the career woman figure. The negative stereotypes of career women are recurrently deployed in media representations to rationalize the approval of domestic femininity.
As Hollows intends to call our attention to interrogate the necessity of creating the opposition between the feminine identity (the ordinary woman) and the feminist identity (the feminist heroine) in the book Feminism, Femininity and Popular Culture, she proposes a stance to avoid the impasse that renders each identity simply oppositional and inflexible (17, 193). This view is partially echoed in this drama. It presents Yi-chien as a professional pediatrician. She is smart, patient and understanding without any cues that are frequently recognized in the demonized or perverted image of the heroine’s foil. Her intervention in the lead characters’ romantic union is not made by her malice but by circumstances. She gives Kuang-hsi her sincere blessing even though he cancels their wedding after he restores his memory.
Her graceful demeanor is worthy of praise. The plot device of “a trick of fate” renders Yi-chien innocent. It frees Yi-chien from being an overtly oppositional character against a good woman represented by Mu-cheng. Consequently, the binary division between housewife/domestic femininity/goodness and career woman/feminist femininity/evil is dismantled here. Both Mu-cheng and Yi-chien reserve traditionally virtuous characteristics while simultaneously give expressions to their female strength
when tortured with emotional disappointment.
In the final episode, the scene of domestic harmony in which Mu-cheng lives peacefully and gleefully with her husband and their son is undoubtedly the ultimate happiness for Mu-cheng. As for Yi-chien, she decides to study abroad after her wedding is cancelled. Her photo on a famous medical magazine proves her professional achievement. Two visions of a happy life for a woman are presented just as the title of this drama Next stop, happiness implies. It seems no hostility toward career women is found in this drama. Although this drama neither vilifies a single, ambitious and professional woman nor disavows professional achievement to be personal success, its ambivalent attitude toward the relationship between women and work is shown in the implication that Yi-chien’s decision to study further in the medical field is just a secondary choice. Negra notices that postfeminism tends to discredit the value of work in women’s life or make romance prior to work in the
“retreatist” plot or “adjusted ambition” narratives (88). Since the drama is chiefly concerned with how the female protagonist achieves the romantic goal and familial wholeness, Yi-chien’s career achievement becomes the second best version of a happy ending for a woman.
Compared to other idol dramas which end with the celebration of coupledom by pairing the supporting characters in addition to the protagonists, Next Stop, Happiness
tries to offer another path to reach a good end. A figure of a single and successful professional in the medical field embodied by Yi-chien expands the definition of happiness for a woman. The female romantic rival is no longer portrayed as a jealous, sinister and revengeful woman. It can not be denied that the drama attempts to resolve the love triangle without splitting women into polar opposites. This is a step forward with respect to the representation of working women regardless of the implicit subordination of the role of career goal. The ambiguous message conveyed through the drama reflects the contradictory nature of postfeminist culture in the way it both adheres to and objects to feminist arguments.
The Wealthy Gourmet is another example which showcases the grappling of
pro-feminist with antifeminist discourses. The repetitive character of housework as Simone de Beauvoir mentions in The Second Sex, ruins the pleasures easily no matter how positive or creative it appears. She explains that the sexual division of labor makes the domestic work inessential and insignificant (453-454). This novel presents a female chef as the central figure and the narrative depicts how the male protagonist appreciates her customized cooking style, employs her as his private cook and falls in love with her. The author of The Wealthy Gourmet sidesteps the issues about the boredom of housework as well as inequities in relation to gender and class. She romanticizes domestic work by linking the job with a chance for romance and access
to a luxurious life. This narrative frame is not uncommon in the “domestic romance”
named by Suzanne Leonard to refer to the texts that focus on the romantic fulfillment of a female domestic laborer (110). In order to imagine the domestic work as an opportunity for individuation, such domestic romance usually portrays the low-status occupations as jobs that require special skills, even gifts (Leonard 111).
The female protagonist Feng Hsu is distinguished for her cooking talent. She is described as a descendant of the Feng family, which has been branded as a lineage of excellent chefs for many generations. The family records the cooking tips in the secret book and passes it only to female offspring. Male family members have no access to the account of the advanced cooking skills. Unlike household duties which are perceived to be trivial and dull, cooking is professionalized by the manner Feng Hsu prepares the meal and serves the dishes plus her acute observation on each eater’s preference for food.
The kitchen is usually wet and full of soot. But Feng Hsu is a cleanly person;
she always keeps the surroundings clean. Neither vegetable waste nor water spot is found in the sink. The food is arranged neatly on the countertop. The preparation of next dish only starts after the sink unit is tidied up…Her white overall is always clean. No apparent blot is seen on it. Its whiteness makes people feel comfortable. Of course, she always wears an apron when she cooks
to avoid food and grease stains. The well-worn apron with eight pockets is quite impressive. Although she allows bare-hand contact with the raw food, she will put on the transparent gloves to touch the cooked food when arranging the dish.
(Hsi, The Wealthy Gourmet 171)
A cooking master manipulates eaters’ tastes; while you accommodate your cooking methods to eaters’ different tastes. These are two kinds of achievements.
I think you are more excellent. (Hsi, The Wealthy Gourmet 194)
The author makes use of the fictional family to reverse the patriarchal inheritance system and to revalue culinary practices that once connote drudgery or meaningless work.
The imaginary matriarchal pattern and the professionalization of cooking may elevate the position of women and feminine activities. However, the straightforward reversal in this novel does not challenge the notion of gender hierarchy. Nor does it resist male domination completely. The positive image of a female cooking expert is constructed at the cost of reinforcing the essentialist views of femininity. Women are presumed to perform better in domestic tasks. Men take on the roles that enjoy the food and rate the taste.
The author resolves the female protagonist’s work/family dilemma with a romantic fantasy in which the male partner is willing to support her to achieve her
career aspiration. Though the female protagonist can choose to join or quit the competition for the headship of the Feng family, the male protagonist is one of the judges who can decide whether she wins or not. It is he that grants her the chance to devote herself to the promotion of cooking art. The female protagonist negotiates the conflicts between work and family by returning to the domestic realm as long as she fulfills the duties of the head of the Feng family. After ten years spent on devotion to work, the role as a wife and mother will become her top priority. Conversely, she adjusts her lifelong career path to pursue temporary success in the professional field.
Packaged as voluntary domesticity, this choice naturalizes women’s retreat from the public sphere in order to maintain the intimate relationship. Male approval still steers the direction of female ambition. The downgraded version of work/home balance, according to Genz, is a personalized solution which understates women’s economic and social pressures in their real lives and implies that women’s most important work is at home (“I Am Not a Housewife” 56).
Patriarchal appropriation of feminist values is reflected in the solution which acknowledges female professional performance at the same time that it is facilitated by male sanction. The implicit message of this novel is that women will reconcile themselves to domestic roles given that the male partners deserve their love/sacrifice.
Without questioning the necessity of female sacrifice, a compromise is made in favor
of the romantic fulfillment rather than career success. Such a compromise is romanticized as shown in the female protagonist’s childish complaint. She writes to her aunt talking about her lover’s “threat”.
Auntie, don’t you think he is too willful? If I don’t train somebody to cook for him, won’t he starve to death when I am not with him? He even responded to me that I could hurry home before he was starving…He continued to say “having a child may be effective in strengthening our bond. But I will be jealous if you come back just for the sake of our child. I need to make sure you concern about me. Wherever you are, I hope you will come back to cook for me before I starve to death”. (Hsi, The Wealthy Gourmet 239-240)
Her tone makes it difficult to take her protest seriously. The feminist potential of this novel is also undermined by glorifying heterosexual partnership. However tough, capable, and ambitious the female heroes are, they surrender the agency when they reach a “snapping point” to become sacrificial heroines (Crosby 155). To maintain patriarchal authority, a rubber band effect is created for tough female heroes to force them to relinquish their toughness (Crosby 154).