Gerd Mjøen Brantenberg is a Norwegian author, teacher, and feminist writer. She is also the cousin of radio and TV entertainer Lars Mjøen.
Brantenberg was born in Oslo, but grew up in Fredrikstad. She studied English, History, and Sociology in London, Edinburgh, and Oslo. She has an English hovedfag (main subject, comparable to a Master), from the University of Oslo, where she also studied history and political science. Since 1982 she has been a writer full-time.
She worked from 1972-1983 in the Women's House in Oslo. She was a board member of the Norway's first association for homosexual people Forbundet av 1948, the precursor to the Norwegian National Association for Lesbian and Gay Liberation. She has established women's shelters and has worked in Lesbisk bevegelse (Lesbian movement) in both Oslo and Copenhagen. In 1978 she founded a literary Women's Forum with the purpose of encouraging women to write and publish. She has published 10 novels, 2 plays, 2 translations, and many political songs, and has contributed to numerous anthologies.
Her most famous novel is Egalias døtre ("The Daughters of Egalia"), which was published in 1977 in Norway. In the novel the female is defined as the normal and the male as the abnormal, subjugated sex. All words that are normally in masculine form are given in a feminine form, and vice versa.
From the author of the classic feminist satire Egalia’s Daughters, this witty bildungsroman brings to mind the sharp observation and caustic commentary on the sorriness of humans found in Lucy Ellmann’s novels.
Ein echt ganz witziges Buch, ich mag Brantenbergs Schreibstil mit den vielen ironischen Seitenhieben und der doch so direkten Art. Gegen Ende, wie die Handlung dann nachlässt und es mehr um Abhandlungen und witzige Theorien geht, hab ich dann die Geduld ein bisschen verloren und nicht alles fertig gelesen.
Very easy to read (big help that the translator is also the author!) but it becomes hard - like with Armistead Maupin's Tales Of The City books - to reconcile what was groundbreaking and revolutionary at the time with all the cliches and tropes that it spawned. It's also about a university student discovering what they really are and coming to terms with it. Once I realised that coming to terms with oneself was going to be a lifelong process, I became a little dissatisfied with this genre. So this is, again, a rating that is more a reflection on me than on the author
Vi har ikke kommet så langt vi kanskje liker å tro når det gjelder holdninger til homofili i Norge i dag, for denne boka er fortsatt veldig aktuell. Jeg leste Gerd Brantenberg da jeg kom ut av skapet for 20 år siden, nå gjenleser jeg bøkene hennes, og de berører meg like mye i dag. Dette er god litteratur. Og dette er litteratur som skaper representasjon, dette er meg, selv om jeg lever i en annen tid.
This was a very comforting, homely read. The tone is conversational and direct, implicating the reader as a curious voyeur into lesbianism and 'how they *do it*', which she uses as a springboard for more personal anecdotes. Brantenberg checks in with you throughout, anticipating your reactions between 'moral' and 'science lectures' on how and why lesbians come to be, with generosity and humour. Inevitably, times and views have changed since its publication, but the weighty sentiments are still valid and worth articulating; the approach is from a generation whose struggles are older now, so some of the language is dated, and could be considered alienating - it refers quite directly to the experience of one marginalised group and it's interactions with its oppressors, so other marginalised groups don't really feature, though they are not actively dismissed. Some of the check-ins feel more odd than others, as the more detail you include on your audience, the more chance you have of being wrong, but the premise that develops is playful and funny, so I don't begrudge it. I really enjoyed this book. It made me feel warm and in good company.
If I had lived when this book was first published, I might have liked it more, cause I would have really felt it. As a young, queer person today, the book felt a bit all over the place, and even though I know that, in many places, what the book described, was how it was, it also felt a bit... much. Like it was almost a parody on reality. I do like that I have read it, cause it was such an important book in its time, but not so relatable personally anymore.
I certainly enjoyed myself when I was reading this, but the copy I have was falling apart, so I never wanted to actually pick it up and read it because every time I did more pages fell out.
I am a lesbian, and I agreed and disagreed with parts of this book. Not much else to say, I would recommend it if you can access a copy, if not, it’s probably not the end of the world.
Part of the literary merit of a novel is that it is still good, independent of any knowledge of the writer and of their times. How good is a book if found in a bottle with no by line? Gerd Brantenberg’s jubilant, personal novel, here translated as Doing What Comes Naturally may be semi-autobiographical, or a means to teach her readers who might take up the book not realizing its didactic intent. Ms Brantenberg has for many years been a Norwegian advocate and lecturer in the field of lesbian politics. It is reasonable to assume that this book allows her to give several lectures without just being a lecturer. The premise of the book is that some rude person has cornered the narrator asking to know ‘How do Lesbians do it?”
And so, we are off to the races. Doing “it” includes the realizing who and what is your sexual identity. In Norway back in the 1950’s and 1960’s is a do it yourself, in the shadows, no one can help with your problem, problem. Then the doing involves finding other lesbians. And then starts the more universal problems of dating. Except this is lesbian dating in a world where there are risks unknown among and caused by the straight community.
Many of her adventures have analogs in the straight community. A lesbian, not out as gay, going to her singles club has the problem of dressing to attract while not dressing to appear lesbian. This is very tricky if you have no idea what achieves either goal. Straights have the problem of how to look attractive with out looking gay. And for both this is especially high drama in the early dating years. There is much comedy for both communities and Ms. Brandenburg nails the comedy and the bitterness of her particular situation.
By the end, we the reader, have had to face our possibly rude interest/ignorance of the life of a lesbian. The author can reply with a lot of second person rough handling of our intrusive presumption. She also seasons her reply, treating us to the merry, embarrassing, funny, real escapades of growing up lesbian.
Lest igjen etter nesten 10 år og sitter igjen med samme beundring for boken, men på nye måter. Der jeg som 16/17årig lesbe trengte mer av det boken gir av aksept og løfte om en lesbisk framtid, sitter jeg nå mye mer igjen med det boken utfordrer langs assimilasjon/opprør diskusjonen med skeiv identitet (som jo Brantenberg også inkluderer mye av i Favntak). Har vi blitt akseptert av samfunnet eller har vi blitt inndratt til å akseptere samfunnet? Eller som Brantenberg skriver «Det er ikke samfunnet som spørres om å akseptere oss. Det er vi som pent spør om å få lov til å være med å akseptere samfunnet.»
Fortsatt også en av de eneste bøkene som får meg til å le høyt, ingen skriver kåseriaktig selvrefleksjon som ei lesbe fra Fredrikstad. Kanskje er jeg dog truffet av humoren fordi jeg selv «ser ut som jeg skal til å flytte et flygel» if you know what i mean
While seeking a Millen Brand novel at the library I noticed this one nearby--it's a Women's Press book, with that distinctive black-and-white spine. This was a cult classic novel in Scandinavia in the 1970s, about a young lesbian whose lone problem with her sexual identity is that society's rejection of it often forces her to lie about who she is. I liked the very self-possessed character and the setting (glum Oslo) but was sometimes reminded of how culturally specific humor can be, as now and then a scene or description seemed to be laced with an irony that I could not quite grasp.