Something is off about “Lady Macbeth.” Not the character or the book itself, but rather the title. As the narrative progresses and this fascinating person tells her story in her words—a story much removed from that told famously by Shakespeare—that choice of a title comes to seem more and more ironic. Not that anyone can deny that Gruadh inghean Bodhe mac Cineadh mhic Dubh aka Lady Macbeth is not a woman through and through. She is very much a woman, but she is something more as well. Equally impossible to deny is that she embodies the patriarchy just as fully as her powerful father and both her husbands. Yes, that’s right, Macbeth is a spare and the lady has an heir who will become King even if her second husband will not.
Tough territory this is: trying to suggest a fully developed female character is manly. The key is that the Lady is manly, but womanly too. What the author has done with this telling of a story you think you know but really don’t is something more than a postmodern reboot (lots more) and something greater than a revisionist perspective that transforms a supporting character into the lead through whose eyes (and words) the story is told. What the author has done is recreate that tragically demonic distaff half of the Macbeths into an eleventh century version of what we might today term a genderfluid individual. At times the Lady is all that—female pure and simple—but at other times she is more than just a woman in a man’s world; more like a true equal than a stunted facsimile. And she knows it.
Maeve knelt to tug up my slippers. “A woman will not dissuade men intent on mayhem.”
“Then let the edge of my blade turn them away.”
Maeve is the narrator’s nursemaid-turned loyal servant, but Maeve is constantly spouting old-fashioned ideas that the Lady rejects almost without critical thought. She is never afraid to stand up for herself against the men in her life and this is not just an expression of rebellion at opportune times; it is the go-to measurement of her character.
“Lady,” Macbeth said. “The king and I have matters to discuss. Let my uncle escort you—”
“I am interested in some of those matters.”
Cutting off Macbeth like that—slicing through his casual assumption and assertion of masculine dominance—is not done from a place of fear and protection. The Lady does not undo that masculine pride for the sake of proving herself worthy, but rather of casually asserting her equality. To suggest that Lady Macbeth is as strong as the men in the story does little justice to her. Rather, let it be said that some of the men in the story are sometimes as strong as she. When she breaks with tradition to learn how to handle a sword, she does not reject her feminine wiles in order to prove herself as strong as a man. She gains a standing over them precisely because she fully understands and embraces the fact that women have had to learn guile and be wily precisely because they are not as physically strong as the men. But to not be as physically strong is not necessarily to lose the contest. Lady Macbeth is womanly not unlike the ways that Muhammad Ali was womanly against George Foreman or Evander Holyfield against Mike Tyson. The bigger, stronger opponent who hits harder does not always win and if that is so, then surely the smaller, weaker opponent who beats them must be considered no less masculine.
It is into this ring that this Lady Macbeth enters and it should be noted that unlike Macbeth or her first husband or Duncan it is she who is alive and well and still thinking and still fighting at the end. Ironic the Lady part of the title may be—to some extent—but ultimately this Mrs. Macbeth is a lady who deals with the world from a man’s perspective because she knows to do otherwise is to risk everything:
“A woman, especially a lady and virtual queen in her husband’s land, must not give in to the impulsive fires of the heart and baser instincts. She should be exemplary in all matters, dignified and saintlike, charitable and forgiving. I had not been, but refused to apologize.
My oath was sincere and would stand. Somehow, I meant to protect my own.
The king and his men finally left Elgin, and I left my bedchamber, wiser about treachery and more cautious about ambitious warlords.”
