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rainwatersparkI try not to say authors categorically "can't/shouldn't" write certain kinds of stories, aside from "don't romanticize abusive relationships" and "don't include a negative portrayal of a marginalized group." But, well, recently I've come across some "acceptance" narratives for the first time (I think) and realized how much I loathe these kinds of stories.
What's an acceptance narrative, you ask? It's:
What's wrong with an acceptance narrative, you might ask? Several things:
A. It removes any agency from the marginalized character regarding their own well-being.
In real life, many marginalized people—especially those who have a marginalization that lends itself to later realization, like sexual orientation or invisible disability—do a lot of research and their own soul-searching, and often find community through online forums. We aren't hapless victims passively waiting for our One True Love to appear and affirm our self-worth because...that doesn't happen for a lot of people. To remove the marginalized character's agency is to further victimize them.
B. It can lead to the inference of a codependent/unhealthy relationship.
Codependent relationships are often romanticized, and that's unfortunate. If a person's entire self-worth is based on their partner's acceptance, then that's an unhealthy form of love. It also means that the marginalized character hasn't really worked through their own self-hatred/internalized -ism/-phobia, so it's not really an empowering message for marginalized readers to read.
Which brings me to my next point...
C. It doesn't feel like such narratives were written with readers of that marginalization in mind.
Especially if the non-marginalized character is the only POV narrator, it often feels alienating and othering to read about for readers who have that particular marginalization, to have to view themselves from an outsider's perspective, oftentimes experiencing the non-marginalized character's initial -ism/-phobia (before the marginalized character "teaches" them better) and/or the marginalized character's internalized -ism/-phobia, which can often feel toxic.
Or, in other words:
D. Such stories feel like they were obviously written by & for allies to feel good about themselves for being "progressive."
The feeling, which is often hard to escape, is that the story is showing off how the non-marginalized character (and by extension, the [presumed] reader—see above) is so *progressive* for being a *good ally* and *accepting* the marginalized character, in spite of the difficulties their marginalization may cause.
Ally stories are patronizing and condescending. They rely on framing marginalized identities as tragedies so that the ally can swoop in, save the day, and feel good about themselves for doing so. (Now that I think about it, White Savior narratives are like a cousin to acceptance narratives.)
Here's an idea instead: consider not making a character's marginalization the main obstacle to a romantic relationship in fiction. Because marginalized people already have to deal with that reality all the time.
What's an acceptance narrative, you ask? It's:
- a story with a relationship (almost always a romance)
- between a marginalized character and a character who does not have that marginalization;
- the marginalized character is consumed with self-hatred/internalized -phobia/-ism regarding their identity
- and the focus of the narrative is on how the non-marginalized character's love and acceptance allows the marginalized character to overcome their self-hatred and become happy.
What's wrong with an acceptance narrative, you might ask? Several things:
A. It removes any agency from the marginalized character regarding their own well-being.
In real life, many marginalized people—especially those who have a marginalization that lends itself to later realization, like sexual orientation or invisible disability—do a lot of research and their own soul-searching, and often find community through online forums. We aren't hapless victims passively waiting for our One True Love to appear and affirm our self-worth because...that doesn't happen for a lot of people. To remove the marginalized character's agency is to further victimize them.
B. It can lead to the inference of a codependent/unhealthy relationship.
Codependent relationships are often romanticized, and that's unfortunate. If a person's entire self-worth is based on their partner's acceptance, then that's an unhealthy form of love. It also means that the marginalized character hasn't really worked through their own self-hatred/internalized -ism/-phobia, so it's not really an empowering message for marginalized readers to read.
Which brings me to my next point...
C. It doesn't feel like such narratives were written with readers of that marginalization in mind.
Especially if the non-marginalized character is the only POV narrator, it often feels alienating and othering to read about for readers who have that particular marginalization, to have to view themselves from an outsider's perspective, oftentimes experiencing the non-marginalized character's initial -ism/-phobia (before the marginalized character "teaches" them better) and/or the marginalized character's internalized -ism/-phobia, which can often feel toxic.
Or, in other words:
D. Such stories feel like they were obviously written by & for allies to feel good about themselves for being "progressive."
The feeling, which is often hard to escape, is that the story is showing off how the non-marginalized character (and by extension, the [presumed] reader—see above) is so *progressive* for being a *good ally* and *accepting* the marginalized character, in spite of the difficulties their marginalization may cause.
Ally stories are patronizing and condescending. They rely on framing marginalized identities as tragedies so that the ally can swoop in, save the day, and feel good about themselves for doing so. (Now that I think about it, White Savior narratives are like a cousin to acceptance narratives.)
Here's an idea instead: consider not making a character's marginalization the main obstacle to a romantic relationship in fiction. Because marginalized people already have to deal with that reality all the time.
