Women, humor and the lack of it in literature.

"Nothing spoils a romance so much as a sense of humor in the woman--or the want of it in a man."

If Oscar Wilde was put in the improbable situation of having to explain that remark in the present day, he could easily give that old, "Harsh Victorian upbringing" chestnut to keep the cries of misogyny at bay. But would he need it? The problem is, even with the passage of so many years, one simple truth seems to live on from this quote: Women just aren’t seen to be as funny as Men.

Now, some may see that as a rather general statement which in the interest of objectivity should be qualified. Firstly, in no way does this statement apply to that general “x-factor” of funniness. That indescribable combination of factors that can keep a party enthralled for hours through sheer timing, charisma and god-knows-what-else is, for purposes of this argument, doled out equally to both restrooms. Secondly, that statement isn’t a mathematical, "was that a guffaw or a titter?" critical comparison of the most popular 5 comics of both sexes. In fact, lets just assume, comedy being the subjective thing that it is, that all ten of that group are just as funny as each other. Besides, given time and an extensive bibliography, that statement could probably be argued convincingly either way.

But why is it that whenever a female comedian wanders on stage there is that inevitable cringe? That cynical expectation of yet another joke about PMS or menopause? Why is it that before that poor girl has even uttered a word the body tenses in expectation of her abject failure to amuse? There are scores of funny women out there. There are scores of incredibly successful funny women out there. Women who have managed to climb their way through an often misogynistic and almost certainly archaic business to have their own shows, lead movie roles, host the Oscars. But there is no female equivalent of Robin Williams. No equivalent of Jim Carrey. What about the world of writing? Again, there is no equivalent of Douglas Adams, or Bill Bryson or even Terry Pratchett. Is this gulf purely due to the bureaucratic setbacks of male dominated industries? Probably not.

There is an idea that Humour that falls outside the category of self-deprecating is basically laughing at the pratfalls of others. While we’re being basic about things lets accept that laughing at other’s misfortune is basically cruel. Whereas the female sex is quite famous for not being cruel. The nurturers, the life givers: it is in a woman’s nature to protect those less fortunate. Surely under these circumstances its harder to separate the sheer cruelty inherent in observational humour with its incongruency. Forget the misfortune, laugh at the sheer nonsense of it all. Guys can do it, they’ve been told to suck it in and soldier on all their lives. This is the same reason why they circle city blocks until they find a main road rather than ask directions. But that female empathy: it makes painful situations take on a new light. It also makes taking the piss out of one’s self that much easier than a bitter tirade on external forces. And it makes the female audience that much more receptive to it as well.

Then of course there’s the sex appeal of humour. There’s a good reason that at the top of every Cleo’s top ten most desirable traits in a partner the women always list “ability to make me laugh” and the men list “her sense of humour”. An attractive man who is funny has two things going for him in a woman’s eyes, but when an attractive woman cracks a joke the guys aren’t sure whether to laugh or feel threatened. Sure, this makes it a little easier for those women who are more quirky or just plain gay to get by. But why have these expectations filtered down to that last media outpost in an image obsessed world- that of the novelist?

After all, the super popular women’s novels that propel themselves into that ultimate stage of public consciousness- the Hollywood adaptation- are usually just an extension of this self deprecating tampon humour that infuriates those who seek to advance the cause. “Bridget Jones’s Diary” and “First Wives Club” were both big screen extensions of this humour. “Sex and the City”, despite praises for its ground breaking honesty is really just an uncensored, small screen step in the same direction. What is with all the self analysis? Can’t female writers step away from this oft trodden territory and tell the world something about itself it doesn’t already know? Or are they doing it already and it’s just not selling? One thing is for sure, the sore boobs type humour does sell a tonne.

Take the latest novel from Britain’s “Mother of Romantic Comedy” Wendy Holden for example. Drawing her inspiration from her own hectic life, Wendy has written several bestsellers about young women’s romantic adventures in London. Quite fittingly as she has become a mother herself, her focus has shifted to parenting. The rather predictable plot about two unlikely couples that meet at an antenatal class is really just the base for Holden’s wry observations of the trials and triumphs of child rearing, gorey details and all. And despite Holden’s enthusiastic reports online of how parenting has shifted her focus into a far less selfish and more empathetic style of writing, she’s really just written the same book over again. Even with its vainglorious male co-lead, this is unashamedly chick-lit.

Now lets take another comedy novel first is a debut novel by media satirist Daniel Price, entitled “Slick”. The story of a self proclaimed ‘media assassin’, “Slick” is a tightly researched and written satire on mainstream media manipulation. Despite its anti corporate themes, “Slick” is at its core observational humour. While viewed from the eyes of an overtly suspicious and cynical man, the funny parts are mostly universal in appeal. The flaws present in the main character are emotional detachment and cynicism, rather than thighs that have a surface not unlike orange peel.

There is one concession to make here however- to truly serve up a proper market equivalent to “The Wives of Bath” it would be far more suitable to talk about the latest espionage thriller from Clancy or Patterson. A comparison such as that would be far more likely to yield similar results on the fields of pandering and predictability. That is not in doubt. But quality of comedy is what is being compared here, and regardless of what markets are being aimed at by either example, there is a definite gulf. The goal is intelligent, relevant humour that serves to both relieve and enlighten the human conscience. And unfortunately guys just seem to be getting there faster.

There is hope, however. Such as the suggestion that the way that women’s comedy writing is judged is flawed from the outset. That too much time spent analyzing the patterns of male comedy has resulted in us simply reading things the wrong way. Case in point: it took scholars until this century to figure out that Jane Austen wasn’t being entirely serious when she wrote “Emma”. So could it be that all that is needed is a pointer in the right direction? Maybe. Penguin have a book on female comedy out- “The Penguin book of women’s humour”. Perhaps the answer is in there. Unfortunately I haven’t gotten around to reading it though. I suspect it might not be funny.