Sara Ahmed's book offers a deep dive into the feminist killjoy perspective

THE FEMINIST KILLJOY HANDBOOK

Author: Sara Ahmed

Publisher: Allen Lane

Pages: 322

Price: Rs 1,399

  If, as a woman, you’ve tried to assert yourself in a situation, platformed your viewpoint, shared your unease at something, or taken offence at one thing or the other, chances are that you’ve heard the following statements or their variations: “Be a sport, yaar !” “Why spoil the fun, man?!” “You’re taking everything too literally.”

 

If that has happened to you, you’re likely a feminist killjoy (though “not all killjoys are feminist” — just to put it out there.) If you aspire to be one, independent academic and intersectional feminist Sara Ahmed is there to help. The Feminist Killjoy Handbook is her erudite, nuanced, and accessible record of what it means to be a feminist killjoy and how to cultivate a group of them as your go-to resource.

 

Though billed as a handbook, Ms Ahmed’s latest is a slice of history hitherto ignored or celebrated in pockets. By cataloguing the rich heritage of feminism that set out to disrupt the status quo that favoured capitalist patriarchy, considered heterosexuality the norm, and ensured that intersectionality was never platformed, Ms Ahmed’s organisation of ideas, formulation of Killjoy Maxims and Killjoy Equations, and inclusive politics demonstrates why feminists all over the world seek her guidance.

 

The book begins with Ms Ahmed’s story, but it can be an every woman story or every queer’s story. She writes, “Whatever I said, however I spoke, if there was an argument, if the discussion became heated, I would be treated as the cause of it. I would hear the accusation, ‘Sara, another dinner ruined’.”

 

To not “ruin” such dinners or occasions, all you have to do is play along. “As a stereotype, the feminist killjoy creates a sticky association between feminism and unhappiness,” she notes. Irrespective of the geography or cultural diversity, any feminist killjoy will recognise this correlation stereotype. But a discussion on it is usually missing.

 

For example, in the Indian context, I’m reminded of Kamla Bhasin’s TED Talk “Feminism for All”. In the beginning, she says: “I am a feminist, and I laugh.” Then, she informs the audience that they’re not in danger for the next 30 minutes. The “light touch” here in order not to offend the audience signals that Ms Bhasin wanted to get people on board — but that’s little more than a trope. “It might be tempting to try and … make feminism less frightening, more appealing. It might be tempting to try and rescue feminism from the feminist killjoy, to create picture books of shiny happy feminists,” Ms Ahmed writes.

 

The most interesting aspect of Ms Ahmed’s book is her dissection of “snap”. She had discussed it in an earlier inquiry Living a Feminist Life  (Zubaan Books, 2019) but revisits the concept here: “A snap is a moment with a history. To hear a snap, to give that moment a history, we need to slow down, listen to the slower times of wearing and tearing, of making do. We learn to hear exhaustion, the gradual sapping of energy when you have to struggle to exist in a world that negates your existence.” Or to put it in another way, in Ms Ahmed’s own piercing killjoy truth: “If you have to shout to be heard, you are heard as shouting.” 

 

While the book captures a whole range of feminist viewpoints — of women of colour and queer and trans people — in the Indian context, caste occupies centre stage. So, the Indian version of the unease white feminists feel when a woman of colour enters the room is equivalent to Brahmins’ discomfort towards Dalit feminists.

 

In a nutshell, being a feminist killjoy is not only to voice your thoughts when needed, but to also register silence as an act or upholding of a culture that survives on silencing others, taking away someone’s right to speak. The Feminist Killjoy Handbook, therefore, isn’t asking for a seat at the diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) table; it’s asking for its dismantlement. It’s a clarion call for bending the world, not bending oneself for the unequal world.

 

The reviewer is a Delhi-based freelance journalist. On Instagram/X: @writerly_life