Weldon is or isn't a feminist, but that she is invariably identified with feminism. She can perhaps be called a feminist writer merely because, if nothing else, both she and her critics consistently raise the issue of, and call attention to, questions of feminist identity and ideology. She is, whether she wants to be or not, fixed in various positions, always within the constellation of feminism. No one, however, (as far as I know) has tried to fix her, and her persona, within the constellation of punk.
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What may seem surprising is that this fixing can be done fairly easily. Unintentionally, one would assume, Weldon constructs herself as a literary figure after the fashion of the punk. She emerges with a punk persona in four significant ways: she reinvents her own identity, rejects the value of expertise, rejects the notion of an ideology, and, lastly, refuses her audience the respect they "deserve." It is this punkish fashioning, coupled with her identification with feminism, that makes Weldon, the writer, a feminist-punk.
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Reinvention of the Self: "I AmUntil I'm Not"
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The identity of Fay Weldon herself seems to be the stuff of fiction. Like Ruth Patchett in The Life and Loves of a She-Devil, Weldon's identity is constantly subject to revisionthe text of it, therefore, should be used as merely another fiction to inform her novels, not as a means to "master" them. Identity, postmodernly enough, becomes unfixed, unbound, a free signifier, signifying whatever it darn well likes. The antistatic self clings to nothing.
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How very punkish. One only has to look at the names of most punks to know that one is in the presence of linguistic reinvention: Siouxsie Sioux, Poly Styrene, Richard Hell, Sid Vicious, and, of course, Johnny Rotten. It is not so obvious that "Fay Weldon" is "one of them" until the Oxford Companion to English Literature reveals that Weldon was born "Franklin Birkinshaw." So much for Franklin.
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So much too for biographical "facts." The history of punk is shaped by skewed informationas Jon Savage says, "the question of authorship bedevils the whole story of punk" (p. 12). Malcolm McLaren, punk's patriarch, himself performed, Savage suggests, a "shifting, constant parade of mythologizing, selective perception and acute self analysis" (p. 12). History was, it seems, constantly rewritten "according to the demands of [the] current project'' (p. 12). The distinction between "fact" and "fiction" collapses for the punk since, says Andrew Loog Oldham, "If you lie enough ... it becomes a reality" (Savage, p. 12).
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In Weldon's performance of her self, there is a similar delight in "skew-
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