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There have been many excellent conversations on Twitter about how tropes such as chosen one fantasies, vampires, queer coming out stories, etc. are often viewed as "cliché" and "overdone," but the problem is that such labels are usually slapped on after white authors have written them ad nauseum and don't give authors of color a fair chance to tackle the tropes. Especially since authors of color can bring fresh takes on old tropes.
I want to address this in a specific context: M/M romances.
While it's true that (cis) M/M romances *are* overrepresented compared to F/F, romances with trans and nonbinary characters, etc....
Authors of color writing cis M/M romances are—you guessed it—vastly underrepresented compared to white authors writing cis M/M romances.
So yeah, it's hurtful to be told the genre I'm writing in is "overdone" and "already gets enough attention" when I have first-hand experience that authors of color writing M/M romances featuring QPOC do not have an easy time promoting their work.
(And I write M/M for complicated gender reasons (which mean that, when I've tried to write M/F romances, they've basically all sucked) and, believe me, I've *tried* to stop writing in this genre.)
To add insult to injury, white authors writing about QPOC in M/M romances are the ones who are often applauded for "writing diversely" (even though such books are usually racist in some form or another) while ownvoices QPOC authors are largely ignored because our QPOC M/M romances are "cliché" or not groundbreaking enough.
These are situations I've actually seen:
Review of white author writing queer Asian MC: Loved this book! I was *so* excited to read a M/M book with an Asian MC!!
Review of Asian author writing queer Asian MC: The Asian character didn't feel Asian enough. They might as well have been a white character.
I mean...ouch. That sounds flippant, I know, but at this point I just don't have the words for how much it hurts to see this other than "ouch."
*
On the same topic, but a different focus, I want to talk about how authors of color are often set up for failure.
Readers generally react VERY negatively if they think one book is "copying" another. However, publishing actually incentivizes similar books through its heavy reliance on comp titles. This means that publishing doesn't care as much about books with similar premises as readers might, because publishers think a book similar to Bestseller X will also be a bestseller. Also, authors may write and try to publish totally original books, only to be rejected because publishers don't want to "take a risk" on something that looks like nothing else on the shelf.
When I looked at advance reviews for Nocturna by Maya Motayne, I noticed several readers giving the book low reviews for being supposedly too similar to A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab.
I haven't read Nocturna yet because it hasn't yet been released, but honestly? I'm sympathetic to the author. It's a no-win situation for authors of color, who will often come to the table "late" and then be accused of "copying" a bestseller by a white author.
This isn't the first time an author of color has been subjected to this, either. The Girl King by Mimi Yu has been called "too generic" and "too similar" to books such as those of Sarah J. Maas (white). In an even more outrageous example, The Gilded Wolves by Roshani Chokshi has been compared ad nauseum to Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo (white), even though the authors have cited different heist movies as inspirations! SOC's inspiration was Ocean's Eleven while TGW's inspiration was National Treasure, yet I've never heard anyone say Ocean's Eleven and National Treasure are copies of each other.
So authors of color are set up for failure. Write something totally original and risk no publisher wanting to take it on; write something too similar to a bestseller by a white author, and readers turn up their noses.
It's honestly a really difficult situation to be in.
*
One last thought (which honestly deserves a blog post all on its own in the future, maybe):
The whole idea of ownvoices representation/non-Western SFF by authors of color not being "ethnic/exotic" enough is insulting and especially hurtful to diaspora authors, who may not have strong ties to their heritage. Underlying reviews like that, I feel, are assumptions by white readers that stories about POC need to be "educational" in a sense; they need to have obvious markers of Otherness so that the white reader can "learn about" X culture/experience.
Nocturna, as I mentioned above, has been criticized for "not having enough Latinx elements to be a Latinx fantasy," despite it being written by a Latinx author. An advance review for Stronger Than a Bronze Dragon by Mary Fan complained that the Asian steampunk fantasy didn't have enough descriptions of Asian food.
But...does anyone go into a Western steampunk fantasy expecting there to be tons of detailed descriptions of food?
No.
That's one of the clearest examples I've seen of the demand for exoticization, Otherness, and perhaps implicitly educational value in non-Western SFF.
And it's exhausting, because that kind of demand is such a burden on authors of color who want to tell a story first and foremost.
I want to address this in a specific context: M/M romances.
While it's true that (cis) M/M romances *are* overrepresented compared to F/F, romances with trans and nonbinary characters, etc....
Authors of color writing cis M/M romances are—you guessed it—vastly underrepresented compared to white authors writing cis M/M romances.
So yeah, it's hurtful to be told the genre I'm writing in is "overdone" and "already gets enough attention" when I have first-hand experience that authors of color writing M/M romances featuring QPOC do not have an easy time promoting their work.
(And I write M/M for complicated gender reasons (which mean that, when I've tried to write M/F romances, they've basically all sucked) and, believe me, I've *tried* to stop writing in this genre.)
To add insult to injury, white authors writing about QPOC in M/M romances are the ones who are often applauded for "writing diversely" (even though such books are usually racist in some form or another) while ownvoices QPOC authors are largely ignored because our QPOC M/M romances are "cliché" or not groundbreaking enough.
These are situations I've actually seen:
Review of white author writing queer Asian MC: Loved this book! I was *so* excited to read a M/M book with an Asian MC!!
Review of Asian author writing queer Asian MC: The Asian character didn't feel Asian enough. They might as well have been a white character.
I mean...ouch. That sounds flippant, I know, but at this point I just don't have the words for how much it hurts to see this other than "ouch."
*
On the same topic, but a different focus, I want to talk about how authors of color are often set up for failure.
Readers generally react VERY negatively if they think one book is "copying" another. However, publishing actually incentivizes similar books through its heavy reliance on comp titles. This means that publishing doesn't care as much about books with similar premises as readers might, because publishers think a book similar to Bestseller X will also be a bestseller. Also, authors may write and try to publish totally original books, only to be rejected because publishers don't want to "take a risk" on something that looks like nothing else on the shelf.
When I looked at advance reviews for Nocturna by Maya Motayne, I noticed several readers giving the book low reviews for being supposedly too similar to A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab.
I haven't read Nocturna yet because it hasn't yet been released, but honestly? I'm sympathetic to the author. It's a no-win situation for authors of color, who will often come to the table "late" and then be accused of "copying" a bestseller by a white author.
This isn't the first time an author of color has been subjected to this, either. The Girl King by Mimi Yu has been called "too generic" and "too similar" to books such as those of Sarah J. Maas (white). In an even more outrageous example, The Gilded Wolves by Roshani Chokshi has been compared ad nauseum to Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo (white), even though the authors have cited different heist movies as inspirations! SOC's inspiration was Ocean's Eleven while TGW's inspiration was National Treasure, yet I've never heard anyone say Ocean's Eleven and National Treasure are copies of each other.
So authors of color are set up for failure. Write something totally original and risk no publisher wanting to take it on; write something too similar to a bestseller by a white author, and readers turn up their noses.
It's honestly a really difficult situation to be in.
*
One last thought (which honestly deserves a blog post all on its own in the future, maybe):
The whole idea of ownvoices representation/non-Western SFF by authors of color not being "ethnic/exotic" enough is insulting and especially hurtful to diaspora authors, who may not have strong ties to their heritage. Underlying reviews like that, I feel, are assumptions by white readers that stories about POC need to be "educational" in a sense; they need to have obvious markers of Otherness so that the white reader can "learn about" X culture/experience.
Nocturna, as I mentioned above, has been criticized for "not having enough Latinx elements to be a Latinx fantasy," despite it being written by a Latinx author. An advance review for Stronger Than a Bronze Dragon by Mary Fan complained that the Asian steampunk fantasy didn't have enough descriptions of Asian food.
But...does anyone go into a Western steampunk fantasy expecting there to be tons of detailed descriptions of food?
No.
That's one of the clearest examples I've seen of the demand for exoticization, Otherness, and perhaps implicitly educational value in non-Western SFF.
And it's exhausting, because that kind of demand is such a burden on authors of color who want to tell a story first and foremost.
Book thoughts: Undertow by Brooklyn Ray
Sep. 15th, 2018 08:33 pmUndertow by Brooklyn Ray
(Trigger warning: this book heavily implies a character is physically abused by their parent)
Full confession: I've read only about 15% of this book so far, but what I read made me so angry I had to stop and blog about it.
I had a bad time with the first book in this series, Darkling. In general, this author has serious issues with portraying PoC and Asian American characters in particular, even though they frame themselves as kind of the "champion" of the queer community on Twitter (really, mostly a champion for white queer Twitter + their few QPoC friends).
In Darkling, Tyler Li—the only Asian American character—is the antagonist. He is portrayed as the least tolerant, most bigoted person even though he is literally surrounded by white characters. He is also pitted against the book's only other PoC character. Because Ryder is the protagonist in Darkling, the reader is essentially positioned to hate Tyler Li and think he's a massive jerk.
In the beginning of Undertow, it's heavily implied that Tyler is a jerk because his father is physically abusive toward him.
Let's unpack this.
Abuse within Asian American families is a sensitive issue. It happens, and it's often swept under the rug as a normal "tiger parents" thing. It's on the spectrum of Asian Americans who have difficulties with their parents. I'm not against the portrayal of Asian American characters with difficult or even abusive parents.
But for a white person to insert themselves into this intracommunity issue is swerving out of their lane to the extreme.
And it's not just that in Undertow; I'm sensitive to portrayals of abusive relationships in fiction, and the whole thing is treated in a way that felt incredibly disrespectful to me: Ryder (the protagonist of the previous book, remember) essentially mocks Tyler for being abused by his father.
What. The. Actual. F**k.
Author—how dare you? How dare you make the Asian American character the most intolerant and reviled one out of your majority white cast, how dare you decide that his jerkishness is due to him being a survivor of parental physical abuse, and how dare you then have the previous (white) protagonist mock him for it?
What is wrong with you??
How dare you call yourself an ally to POC???
(Trigger warning: this book heavily implies a character is physically abused by their parent)
Full confession: I've read only about 15% of this book so far, but what I read made me so angry I had to stop and blog about it.
I had a bad time with the first book in this series, Darkling. In general, this author has serious issues with portraying PoC and Asian American characters in particular, even though they frame themselves as kind of the "champion" of the queer community on Twitter (really, mostly a champion for white queer Twitter + their few QPoC friends).
In Darkling, Tyler Li—the only Asian American character—is the antagonist. He is portrayed as the least tolerant, most bigoted person even though he is literally surrounded by white characters. He is also pitted against the book's only other PoC character. Because Ryder is the protagonist in Darkling, the reader is essentially positioned to hate Tyler Li and think he's a massive jerk.
In the beginning of Undertow, it's heavily implied that Tyler is a jerk because his father is physically abusive toward him.
Let's unpack this.
Abuse within Asian American families is a sensitive issue. It happens, and it's often swept under the rug as a normal "tiger parents" thing. It's on the spectrum of Asian Americans who have difficulties with their parents. I'm not against the portrayal of Asian American characters with difficult or even abusive parents.
But for a white person to insert themselves into this intracommunity issue is swerving out of their lane to the extreme.
And it's not just that in Undertow; I'm sensitive to portrayals of abusive relationships in fiction, and the whole thing is treated in a way that felt incredibly disrespectful to me: Ryder (the protagonist of the previous book, remember) essentially mocks Tyler for being abused by his father.
What. The. Actual. F**k.
Author—how dare you? How dare you make the Asian American character the most intolerant and reviled one out of your majority white cast, how dare you decide that his jerkishness is due to him being a survivor of parental physical abuse, and how dare you then have the previous (white) protagonist mock him for it?
What is wrong with you??
How dare you call yourself an ally to POC???
Simply put: Because people who want representation want enough variety to be able to find a book that not only represents them, but also that they like.
Like, I have a LOT of reasons why I might not like books even if they have representation I'm looking for:
Right now, there are almost NO asexual books that I like, because there are almost no asexual books that match my experiences.
There are also NO queer books about Asian characters that I like right now. (Aside from the fact that a lot of the ones on the market have bad Asian representation.)
And that's why I'm really insistent in pushing for more asexual books and more books with queer Asians.
Like, I have a LOT of reasons why I might not like books even if they have representation I'm looking for:
- It's a marginalized identity I share, but I can't actually connect with the experiences presented in that particular book.
- I don't like the writing style.
- I don't like that genre.
- I don't like the plot.
- The author has ended up on my personal blacklist for some reason (usually: I've seen them be an egregious jerk online, or they've published something else with problematic representation. Sorry, but I take that stuff really seriously).
Right now, there are almost NO asexual books that I like, because there are almost no asexual books that match my experiences.
There are also NO queer books about Asian characters that I like right now. (Aside from the fact that a lot of the ones on the market have bad Asian representation.)
And that's why I'm really insistent in pushing for more asexual books and more books with queer Asians.
List of East Asian rep in queer fiction
Feb. 1st, 2018 11:36 amA work in progress. Indie pub only (not traditionally-published books).
(Mostly MM, unless otherwise noted.)
*Note: This is a neutral list, NOT a recommendations list.
Taking into account that I am, by necessity, unable to keep track of EVERY single book in MM romance alone, here are the ones I know of with East Asian rep. East Asian rep by East Asian authors is indicated using green.
Books (40k words or longer):
- Sword & Silk series by Sedonia Guillone - Japanese
- The Way of the Yakuza duology by H.J. Brues - Japanese
- Pipelines in Paradise by Foster Bridget Cassidy - Japanese
- Southernmost Murder by C.S. Poe - Japanese
- Hearts of Darkness by Andrea Speed - Japanese
- The Mechanical Crysanthemums by Felicitas Ivey - Japanese
- Everything East of the Sumida River by Kaneyoshi Shinkaku & Heiko Shihenkei - Japanese
- Dim Sum Asylum by Rhys Ford - Japanese (biracial)
- Sinner's Gin by Rhys Ford - Japanese (bi/multiracial)
- Half by Eli Lang - Japanese (unclear bi/multiracial)
- Heated Rivalry by Rachel Reid - Japanese (biracial) (UPCOMING)
- Night Kiss by E.T. Malinowski - Korean
- The Quarterback by Mackenzie Blair - Korean
- City Of Jade by L.J. LaBarthe - Korean
- The Cole McGinnis series by Rhys Ford - Korean & Japanese (biracial)
- The Yuchae Blossom by Asher Quinn - Korean (UPCOMING)
- Hitting the Mark by Aidan Wayne - Korean (UPCOMING)
- The Great Wall by Z. Allora - Chinese (mainland)
- Hong Kong Nights series by J.C. Long - Chinese (Hong Kong)
- Counterbalance by Aidan Wayne - Chinese (mainland)
- The Last Concubine by Catt Ford - Chinese (mainland, historical)
- To Terminator, With Love by Wes Kennedy - Chinese American
- Better With Bacon by Matthew Lang - Chinese (diaspora)
- Decision by YH Lim - Chinese & Japanese
- Hawaii Five Uh-Oh by Z.A. Maxfield - Chinese American
- Apocalypse Alley by Don Alimon - Chinese (biracial)
- Spirit Sanguine duology by Lou Harper - Chinese (biracial)
- Cassie Tam series by Matt Doyle - Chinese (biracial)
- Curved Horizon by Taylor Brooke - Chinese American (FF)
- Inside Darkness by Hudson Lin - Chinese (diaspora)
- Three Months to Forever by Hudson Lin - Chinese (Hong Kong)
- The Doctor's Secret by Heidi Cullinan - Taiwanese (UPCOMING)
Under 40k words:
- Ibuki by Kathryn Sommerlot - Japanese (FF)
- On Andross Station by J.C. Long - Japanese
- Valhalla by L.A. Ashton - Japanese
- The Dusk Parlor by S.A. Stovall - Japanese & Japanese (biracial)
- Sharp Shooter Tokyoite by Charlie Godwyne - Japanese (biracial)
- Meet Me in Shanghai by Luca Domani - Chinese American
YA:
- Seven Tears At High Tide by C.B. Lee - Chinese American
- Not Your Sidekick by C.B. Lee - biracial Chinese/Vietnamese
(Mostly MM, unless otherwise noted.)
*Note: This is a neutral list, NOT a recommendations list.
Taking into account that I am, by necessity, unable to keep track of EVERY single book in MM romance alone, here are the ones I know of with East Asian rep. East Asian rep by East Asian authors is indicated using green.
Books (40k words or longer):
- Sword & Silk series by Sedonia Guillone - Japanese
- The Way of the Yakuza duology by H.J. Brues - Japanese
- Pipelines in Paradise by Foster Bridget Cassidy - Japanese
- Southernmost Murder by C.S. Poe - Japanese
- Hearts of Darkness by Andrea Speed - Japanese
- The Mechanical Crysanthemums by Felicitas Ivey - Japanese
- Everything East of the Sumida River by Kaneyoshi Shinkaku & Heiko Shihenkei - Japanese
- Dim Sum Asylum by Rhys Ford - Japanese (biracial)
- Sinner's Gin by Rhys Ford - Japanese (bi/multiracial)
- Half by Eli Lang - Japanese (unclear bi/multiracial)
- Heated Rivalry by Rachel Reid - Japanese (biracial) (UPCOMING)
- Night Kiss by E.T. Malinowski - Korean
- The Quarterback by Mackenzie Blair - Korean
- City Of Jade by L.J. LaBarthe - Korean
- The Cole McGinnis series by Rhys Ford - Korean & Japanese (biracial)
- The Yuchae Blossom by Asher Quinn - Korean (UPCOMING)
- Hitting the Mark by Aidan Wayne - Korean (UPCOMING)
- The Great Wall by Z. Allora - Chinese (mainland)
- Hong Kong Nights series by J.C. Long - Chinese (Hong Kong)
- Counterbalance by Aidan Wayne - Chinese (mainland)
- The Last Concubine by Catt Ford - Chinese (mainland, historical)
- To Terminator, With Love by Wes Kennedy - Chinese American
- Better With Bacon by Matthew Lang - Chinese (diaspora)
- Decision by YH Lim - Chinese & Japanese
- Hawaii Five Uh-Oh by Z.A. Maxfield - Chinese American
- Apocalypse Alley by Don Alimon - Chinese (biracial)
- Spirit Sanguine duology by Lou Harper - Chinese (biracial)
- Cassie Tam series by Matt Doyle - Chinese (biracial)
- Curved Horizon by Taylor Brooke - Chinese American (FF)
- Inside Darkness by Hudson Lin - Chinese (diaspora)
- Three Months to Forever by Hudson Lin - Chinese (Hong Kong)
- The Doctor's Secret by Heidi Cullinan - Taiwanese (UPCOMING)
Under 40k words:
- Ibuki by Kathryn Sommerlot - Japanese (FF)
- On Andross Station by J.C. Long - Japanese
- Valhalla by L.A. Ashton - Japanese
- The Dusk Parlor by S.A. Stovall - Japanese & Japanese (biracial)
- Sharp Shooter Tokyoite by Charlie Godwyne - Japanese (biracial)
- Meet Me in Shanghai by Luca Domani - Chinese American
YA:
- Seven Tears At High Tide by C.B. Lee - Chinese American
- Not Your Sidekick by C.B. Lee - biracial Chinese/Vietnamese
Salty rant about PoC in queer fiction
Jan. 30th, 2018 03:26 pmSo I spent too long on Twitter today, and now I'm really salty.
I don't think white authors (including queer white authors & disabled white authors) really understand WHY making their characters of color prejudicial and pitted against the white characters because of their prejudice strikes such a nerve for readers of color.
So, if you're a queer white author/reader, imagine this:
You're reading a book that is full of cis straight characters, except for ONE queer character. And the ONE queer character is hateful and antagonistic toward the straight characters in a way that frames them as Obviously Wrong and is meant to make the reader sympathize with the Poor Straight Characters who have to endure this Unjust prejudice.
Want more specifics? Say one of the cis straight protagonists is mentally ill, and the single queer character derides the protagonist for their mental illness by saying a lot of ableist things, so that the reader is obviously meant to sympathize with Cis Straight Mentally Ill Protagonist against Ableist Prejudiced Queer Character.
Or, say one of the cis straight protagonists belongs to a reviled fantasy group, like a Dark Magician, and the single queer character keeps talking about how Dark Magicians are so awful and inherently predisposed to be villains, etc. etc.
Does this make you feel uncomfortable?
If it does, this is how I feel as a reader of color encountering this trope with characters of color.
I hate, absolutely HATE it when I'm meant to dislike the only, or one of the only, characters of color for being prejudiced. Especially when it comes to ableism. I'm a disabled person of color, and I HATE it if I'm supposed to dislike a character of color for being ableist. I can't just disregard one part of my identity in favor of another, but this is exactly what these books are making me do.
And it's inherently loaded when it comes to race because while, yes, minority groups can be prejudiced toward other groups, white authors should REALLY ask themselves why they're making a character of color the MOST discriminatory out of their entire (or mostly) cast of white characters. Why did they choose the character of color to be the discriminatory one, instead of a white character?
(All of what I'm saying does not apply, by the way, if the entire cast of characters in a book is made up of PoC. This is specifically about when characters of color are portrayed as discriminatory relative to the white characters in the book.)
If you are a white author who does this, please rethink your writing.
This is not just "characters being flawed" (if it is, why do you always choose your characters of color as the ones being flawed this way?).
Just rethink your writing, or admit that you don't care about positive representation of people of color.
I don't think white authors (including queer white authors & disabled white authors) really understand WHY making their characters of color prejudicial and pitted against the white characters because of their prejudice strikes such a nerve for readers of color.
So, if you're a queer white author/reader, imagine this:
You're reading a book that is full of cis straight characters, except for ONE queer character. And the ONE queer character is hateful and antagonistic toward the straight characters in a way that frames them as Obviously Wrong and is meant to make the reader sympathize with the Poor Straight Characters who have to endure this Unjust prejudice.
Want more specifics? Say one of the cis straight protagonists is mentally ill, and the single queer character derides the protagonist for their mental illness by saying a lot of ableist things, so that the reader is obviously meant to sympathize with Cis Straight Mentally Ill Protagonist against Ableist Prejudiced Queer Character.
Or, say one of the cis straight protagonists belongs to a reviled fantasy group, like a Dark Magician, and the single queer character keeps talking about how Dark Magicians are so awful and inherently predisposed to be villains, etc. etc.
Does this make you feel uncomfortable?
If it does, this is how I feel as a reader of color encountering this trope with characters of color.
I hate, absolutely HATE it when I'm meant to dislike the only, or one of the only, characters of color for being prejudiced. Especially when it comes to ableism. I'm a disabled person of color, and I HATE it if I'm supposed to dislike a character of color for being ableist. I can't just disregard one part of my identity in favor of another, but this is exactly what these books are making me do.
And it's inherently loaded when it comes to race because while, yes, minority groups can be prejudiced toward other groups, white authors should REALLY ask themselves why they're making a character of color the MOST discriminatory out of their entire (or mostly) cast of white characters. Why did they choose the character of color to be the discriminatory one, instead of a white character?
(All of what I'm saying does not apply, by the way, if the entire cast of characters in a book is made up of PoC. This is specifically about when characters of color are portrayed as discriminatory relative to the white characters in the book.)
If you are a white author who does this, please rethink your writing.
This is not just "characters being flawed" (if it is, why do you always choose your characters of color as the ones being flawed this way?).
Just rethink your writing, or admit that you don't care about positive representation of people of color.
This is a complicated issue, but I tend to lean towards "Don't review outside of your lane if you can avoid it."
Here's my example. I've seen a review for a book about a white character in Hong Kong, written by a white reviewer who lives in Asia (but not Hong Kong or China, I should mention). The reviewer was upset about the white character being shown to be knowledgeable about Hong Kong customs, saying that was "centering whiteness."
And I was like...okay. If the reviewer had been Asian, I would say they're entitled to their opinion. However, they're not, and I happen to disagree with them.
I do roll my eyes at the trope of "white character competent in Asian setting." I think it's uncreative. But I wouldn't get worked up about it. Now, if the white character is shown to be better than Asians at being Asian, that's where I start harping about bad representation. But "as good as" only earns an eyeroll from me, and then moving on. Because it does actually happen (hello, white professors of East Asian history), and especially considering the setting of Hong Kong, which does actually have a lot of white people there, I don't care quite as much.
I only view this situation as "centering whiteness" in the sense that white authors always seem to default to writing about white characters, regardless of the setting. But that's a much broader problem than one individual book. Again, I'm willing to discuss this issue with other Asians, but not necessarily with white reviewers.
This same reviewer, on the other hand, gave a glowing 5-star review to a book that I overall liked, but had problems with due to the fact that it portrayed Chinese characters as conservative, prejudiced traditionalists, featured the sole named Asian (Chinese) character as the closest thing to an antagonist, and basically was just overall problematic for portraying a person of color as the most prejudiced person in the book.
The point is: if you're not from a certain marginalized group, you're probably not going to be in tune with which tropes are harmful to that group. That's just a fact. I don't feel comfortable talking about representation outside of my experiences because I know this is true. Conversely, I don't like it when people talk for me. I sometimes disagree with other people who share my marginalizations about certain things, but those are in-group discussions to have. I never like being told what I "should" be upset about, because hey! Things are nuanced! Issues are nuanced! People are going to approach things differently depending on their experiences! Even Asians vs. Asian Americans disagree on things because our experiences are fundamentally different!
So, to conclude with a pro-tip: If you want to comment on representation of a marginalized group you're not part of, ask people who are actually from that group to provide their opinions. Not someone "close" or "adjacent" to a group—someone actually from that group.
Here's my example. I've seen a review for a book about a white character in Hong Kong, written by a white reviewer who lives in Asia (but not Hong Kong or China, I should mention). The reviewer was upset about the white character being shown to be knowledgeable about Hong Kong customs, saying that was "centering whiteness."
And I was like...okay. If the reviewer had been Asian, I would say they're entitled to their opinion. However, they're not, and I happen to disagree with them.
I do roll my eyes at the trope of "white character competent in Asian setting." I think it's uncreative. But I wouldn't get worked up about it. Now, if the white character is shown to be better than Asians at being Asian, that's where I start harping about bad representation. But "as good as" only earns an eyeroll from me, and then moving on. Because it does actually happen (hello, white professors of East Asian history), and especially considering the setting of Hong Kong, which does actually have a lot of white people there, I don't care quite as much.
I only view this situation as "centering whiteness" in the sense that white authors always seem to default to writing about white characters, regardless of the setting. But that's a much broader problem than one individual book. Again, I'm willing to discuss this issue with other Asians, but not necessarily with white reviewers.
This same reviewer, on the other hand, gave a glowing 5-star review to a book that I overall liked, but had problems with due to the fact that it portrayed Chinese characters as conservative, prejudiced traditionalists, featured the sole named Asian (Chinese) character as the closest thing to an antagonist, and basically was just overall problematic for portraying a person of color as the most prejudiced person in the book.
The point is: if you're not from a certain marginalized group, you're probably not going to be in tune with which tropes are harmful to that group. That's just a fact. I don't feel comfortable talking about representation outside of my experiences because I know this is true. Conversely, I don't like it when people talk for me. I sometimes disagree with other people who share my marginalizations about certain things, but those are in-group discussions to have. I never like being told what I "should" be upset about, because hey! Things are nuanced! Issues are nuanced! People are going to approach things differently depending on their experiences! Even Asians vs. Asian Americans disagree on things because our experiences are fundamentally different!
So, to conclude with a pro-tip: If you want to comment on representation of a marginalized group you're not part of, ask people who are actually from that group to provide their opinions. Not someone "close" or "adjacent" to a group—someone actually from that group.
Can we not do the thing...
Jan. 16th, 2018 03:55 pm...where we celebrate white authors for writing a book that has two white leads, "but the secondary characters are all people of color!!"
This is such a minimum bar of representation that I feel like we really shouldn't give white authors cookies for, considering how overwhelmingly white LGBTQIAP+ romance is.
If you're a reader of color, and you feel empowered by a secondary character who's a PoC? More power to you. But if you're a white reader, please don't hold this up as "great representation for PoC." I'm not nearly as moved seeing an Asian secondary character as I am seeing an Asian protagonist or love interest.
This is such a minimum bar of representation that I feel like we really shouldn't give white authors cookies for, considering how overwhelmingly white LGBTQIAP+ romance is.
If you're a reader of color, and you feel empowered by a secondary character who's a PoC? More power to you. But if you're a white reader, please don't hold this up as "great representation for PoC." I'm not nearly as moved seeing an Asian secondary character as I am seeing an Asian protagonist or love interest.
Salty ramblings
Nov. 8th, 2017 07:59 pmCaptive Prince is, by itself, a problematic series, but I think it might be the behavior of its fans and its author that makes me even angrier about it than I already am.
I just find the author's defenses of her book incredibly disingenuous. It feels to me like she tries to deflect criticism of her books by talking about how #ownvoices they are (without specifically using that term, but still), which is incredibly subtle and yet that just makes it worse because it's, again, completely disingenuous.
Like, she simultaneously insists that Damen is dark-skinned but also insists that "because he's Mediterranean" there are no racial problems with having a brown-skinned character enslaved to and then in a romantic relationship with his white master. And she spends a lot of time talking about how Damen supposedly represents her own experience of being from a Mediterranean culture because Mediterranean people are supposedly discriminated against in Australia. I'm not going to comment on that part, not being Australian and all, but my question is: if she intended for Damen to be positive representation of a "minority" group, why did she write Damen as being enslaved, tortured, raped, and then made to fall in love with his rapist?
Because that's not exactly an empowering narrative of fighting against prejudice and oppression? At all?
I also hate this disingenuous deflecting of criticism, because I think it ignores a very important idea: You can write a story that is true to your own experiences and still have it framed in a way that is harmful toward another group, and THAT MAKES IT PROBLEMATIC.
If I wrote a story in which a dark-skinned Asian is enslaved to a pale-skinned Asian and make a romance out of it, and people criticize that story for having race problems, I'd be completely unjustified in trying to defend myself by saying "But they're Asians, so GTFO with your criticisms about race-based slavery." That's why Captive Prince can't escape race problems, so long as the author insists that Damen is dark-skinned.
I just find the author's defenses of her book incredibly disingenuous. It feels to me like she tries to deflect criticism of her books by talking about how #ownvoices they are (without specifically using that term, but still), which is incredibly subtle and yet that just makes it worse because it's, again, completely disingenuous.
Like, she simultaneously insists that Damen is dark-skinned but also insists that "because he's Mediterranean" there are no racial problems with having a brown-skinned character enslaved to and then in a romantic relationship with his white master. And she spends a lot of time talking about how Damen supposedly represents her own experience of being from a Mediterranean culture because Mediterranean people are supposedly discriminated against in Australia. I'm not going to comment on that part, not being Australian and all, but my question is: if she intended for Damen to be positive representation of a "minority" group, why did she write Damen as being enslaved, tortured, raped, and then made to fall in love with his rapist?
Because that's not exactly an empowering narrative of fighting against prejudice and oppression? At all?
I also hate this disingenuous deflecting of criticism, because I think it ignores a very important idea: You can write a story that is true to your own experiences and still have it framed in a way that is harmful toward another group, and THAT MAKES IT PROBLEMATIC.
If I wrote a story in which a dark-skinned Asian is enslaved to a pale-skinned Asian and make a romance out of it, and people criticize that story for having race problems, I'd be completely unjustified in trying to defend myself by saying "But they're Asians, so GTFO with your criticisms about race-based slavery." That's why Captive Prince can't escape race problems, so long as the author insists that Damen is dark-skinned.
"Neurotypical savior" part 2
Oct. 23rd, 2017 11:31 amPreviously, I talked about "neurotypical savior"-type characters in the context in which being around the NT savior causes the mentally ill (MI) character's symptoms to improve. This time, I want to talk about "NT savior" characters in the sense that the NT savior, even without being told that the MI character is mentally ill, always knows exactly what to do to make the MI character feel comfortable, and this causes the MI character to fall in love with them.
First, some clarification: While I generally don't like this trope (for the reasons I'll explain below), it could work if the NT character happens to be a psychiatrist/psychologist, and/or has had prior personal experience with mental illness. But only in these circumstances.
Why do I not like this trope? Because it's unrealistic.
Part of a "savior" narrative—which you can see very clearly in a book like Antisocial by Heidi Cullinan, in the context of asexuality (the allosexual love interest literally has a voice in his head telling him how to act around his asexual love interest, even though the ace character has never brought up the idea that he might be ace to him)—is the idea that the "savior" is a perfect, gold-star ally. And, I don't think non-marginalized people understand why this idea makes marginalized people uncomfortable. Not only is it unrealistic, because there are some -phobias/-isms that are so deeply ingrained that not even the nicest ally will understand them intuitively, but to me, it also feels like a way for allies to not feel bad about themselves, by insinuating that a "real" ally will "intuitively" know these things and therefore doesn't have to do the hard work of messing up, getting called out, and learning from it.
To be clear: I'm NOT saying that I want to read a book that is mired in -phobic/-ist attitudes that the non-marginalized love interest bombards the marginalized love interest with before they learn better. That's also not the right way to go about it, because it treats the marginalized character as merely a learning opportunity for the non-marginalized character to "become a better person." But, there IS a middle ground that exists.
For example: Marginalized character tells non-marginalized love interest about their marginalization. Non-marginalized character listens and asks questions to better understand. There may be some misunderstandings as the non-marginalized character learns to live with their love interest's marginalization, but the characters can always talk things through and resolve the issues.
This is the best way to handle it, in my opinion. But, sadly, it's not that common. Partly because of the reasons I mentioned above, and partly because a lot (a LOT) of romance books thrive on drama due to lack of communication.
To bring things back to the context of mental illness: It's not realistic to me to read a book in which an NT character, without knowing their love interest has a MI, somehow still acts and behaves to perfectly accommodate the MI character. Again, unless they have a background in psychology, most people are quite bad at recognizing the symptoms of mental illness/past trauma. (This isn't necessarily even a criticism; it's just a fact.) Also, most NT people, including many self-identified nice people, do not like being around people they deem to be "weird" or "unstable" if they have no idea there is a context for that behavior, and mental illness definitely often makes MI people seem "weird" or "unstable"; plus, because of ableism, MI people are often extremely reluctant to disclose their mental illness.
These are not things that an author can reasonably ignore if they want to convince me of a deep love between a NT and MI character without making me think "NT savior!" Especially if the two characters come to a mutual agreement to just not talk about things they don't want to talk about—in that case, there should be a LOT of misunderstandings and abrasive conflicts. No one has an intuitive understanding of mental illness (not even MI people themselves, oftentimes).
Just...I really need realism in this context.
First, some clarification: While I generally don't like this trope (for the reasons I'll explain below), it could work if the NT character happens to be a psychiatrist/psychologist, and/or has had prior personal experience with mental illness. But only in these circumstances.
Why do I not like this trope? Because it's unrealistic.
Part of a "savior" narrative—which you can see very clearly in a book like Antisocial by Heidi Cullinan, in the context of asexuality (the allosexual love interest literally has a voice in his head telling him how to act around his asexual love interest, even though the ace character has never brought up the idea that he might be ace to him)—is the idea that the "savior" is a perfect, gold-star ally. And, I don't think non-marginalized people understand why this idea makes marginalized people uncomfortable. Not only is it unrealistic, because there are some -phobias/-isms that are so deeply ingrained that not even the nicest ally will understand them intuitively, but to me, it also feels like a way for allies to not feel bad about themselves, by insinuating that a "real" ally will "intuitively" know these things and therefore doesn't have to do the hard work of messing up, getting called out, and learning from it.
To be clear: I'm NOT saying that I want to read a book that is mired in -phobic/-ist attitudes that the non-marginalized love interest bombards the marginalized love interest with before they learn better. That's also not the right way to go about it, because it treats the marginalized character as merely a learning opportunity for the non-marginalized character to "become a better person." But, there IS a middle ground that exists.
For example: Marginalized character tells non-marginalized love interest about their marginalization. Non-marginalized character listens and asks questions to better understand. There may be some misunderstandings as the non-marginalized character learns to live with their love interest's marginalization, but the characters can always talk things through and resolve the issues.
This is the best way to handle it, in my opinion. But, sadly, it's not that common. Partly because of the reasons I mentioned above, and partly because a lot (a LOT) of romance books thrive on drama due to lack of communication.
To bring things back to the context of mental illness: It's not realistic to me to read a book in which an NT character, without knowing their love interest has a MI, somehow still acts and behaves to perfectly accommodate the MI character. Again, unless they have a background in psychology, most people are quite bad at recognizing the symptoms of mental illness/past trauma. (This isn't necessarily even a criticism; it's just a fact.) Also, most NT people, including many self-identified nice people, do not like being around people they deem to be "weird" or "unstable" if they have no idea there is a context for that behavior, and mental illness definitely often makes MI people seem "weird" or "unstable"; plus, because of ableism, MI people are often extremely reluctant to disclose their mental illness.
These are not things that an author can reasonably ignore if they want to convince me of a deep love between a NT and MI character without making me think "NT savior!" Especially if the two characters come to a mutual agreement to just not talk about things they don't want to talk about—in that case, there should be a LOT of misunderstandings and abrasive conflicts. No one has an intuitive understanding of mental illness (not even MI people themselves, oftentimes).
Just...I really need realism in this context.
Disclaimer before I start: I'm asexual but not demisexual. If any demis want to chime in with their experiences, please feel free.
So I started thinking about this topic after reading a review for a book with a demisexual character. This is a book I've wanted to get my hands on, but haven't been able to as of yet, so unfortunately I can't speak about my own take on the book. Anyway, this is a book about a demisexual character—however, the character is never explicitly stated to be demisexual in the text (only on the publisher's website), which is a problem we'll get back to soon. The reviewer (who thought the protagonist was ace-spec but didn't know he was demisexual) basically said they were uncomfortable with how the demisexual character progressed from total sex repulsion to interest in sex as soon as his love interest showed up, linking it to harmful messages about how ace people are often pressured with regards to "just wait until the right person comes along, and then you'll be interested in having sex/sexually attracted to them."
There's a lot to unpack here, and I'll do my best to cover all my bases.
First thing I want to get out of the way is that I'm not sure whether this is an #ownvoices story about demisexuality or not. Normally, I am 100% not a fan of asking authors to out themselves with regard to sexual orientation, but whether this is an #ownvoices story or not could change the optics of it. If the author is ace-spec, I'd be more hesitant about criticizing the portrayal of demisexuality, as I'm not demisexual (even though #ownvoices isn't a shield against producing problematic content). If the author isn't, then I'd be a lot more openly critical of the rep. I am extremely wary of when allosexual (non-asexual) authors write about asexuals who begin as sex-repulsed and then progress to "Oh, but I'm okay with sex if it's with you, Designated Love Interest." There is an element of—to me—almost fetishization of ace-spectrum identities, positing their sex-repulsion as an obstacle to a romantic relationship to be overcome, in a way that is very loaded coming from an allosexual author.
Another issue with if the book isn't #ownvoices goes to accuracy. Again, I can't speak to the demisexual experience. But, based on my own cursory research, many demisexuals seem to report that it can take quite a long time for them to develop sexual attraction to someone they have a close relationship with. Whereas, in the book, reviewers report that the sexual attraction seems to happen quite quickly. Again, not saying that that's completely impossible, but the optics of it are different if written by an allosexual writer vs. a demisexual author.
The next thing is, clearly, the book suffers from not explicitly identifying the protagonist as demisexual in the text. Given that that kind of narrative could be less problematic with a demisexual character than with a not-demi ace character, it becomes critical to make that clear in the book, which this book failed to do.
So let's go to the next issue, which is: assuming the portrayal of the demisexual character is authentic to at least some demis' experiences, does this nevertheless create a problem with making sure we don't convey the message that asexuals can be "cured" by meeting the right person?
Again, there's a confounding factor at play here, and that's that demisexuality tends to be represented only in one very specific way, by usually allosexual writers (so far), and that's: demisexual is sex-repulsed and/or uninterested in sex, until they meet the "right person," and now suddenly they are down for sex with Mr./Ms./Mx. Right 24/7.
Right now, we don't have portrayals of demisexuals who have a low libido even once they experience sexual attraction to someone, and/or demisexuals who may still experience sex repulsion after meeting Mr./Ms./Mx. Right. And that becomes a problem, again, when allosexual writers are dominating the portrayal of demisexual characters right now. (A cynical view could be that some of said writers want to write "cured asexual" narratives but know enough to know that that's offensive, so they go, "Okay, let me just make the character demisexual instead!")
My point is: Everyone deserves to have their experiences represented, of course. But, while I'm not arguing for this portrayal of demisexuality to be banned, I think authors have to be very careful with this narrative, because it does lead to splash damage for non-demi asexuals.
Asexuals are very, very vulnerable to sexual coercion. Many aces, too, spend years questioning themselves, wondering, "But what if I *do* experience sexual attraction at some later point? Maybe I'm not really asexual?" Rates of sexual assault against asexuals are not well studied, but some evidence suggests that asexuals experience higher rates of assault than most other sexual orientations (excepting bisexuals). You can draw your own conclusions about how allosexual sexual predators view asexuals from that data.
So I get nervous whenever I see a narrative about a sex-repulsed asexual who "learns" to like sex because of Mr./Ms./Mx. Right. I just can't be certain that an allosexual reader won't read that narrative and take away the idea that "don't worry, sex-repulsed asexuals can still learn to like sex after meeting the 'right' person."
If you're an allosexual author, there's an easy way out: Just don't make your ace-spec character sex-repulsed! Problem solved! Don't use sex-repulsion as an obstacle to be overcome in your romance, because all that does is throw sex-repulsed aces who will never "learn" to like sex or experience sexual attraction to the wolves.
And, again, even if it's a demisexual author writing about their own demisexual experiences? If you frame it that way, you have to be aware of the possibility of splash damage to other aces.
This is not, by the way, something unique to this situation. Writers can write about gay characters feeling pressured by heteronormativity to date the opposite binary gender but, if they're not careful, can end up throwing bisexuals under the bus, for example. Lateral oppression between different axes of marginalization happens all the damn time. And it's never okay.
Don't throw other marginalized groups under the bus. Just don't do it. No matter how strongly you feel about your own experiences as a marginalized person, there's always a way to frame it to be inclusive instead of harmful to some other group.
**EDITED TO ADD: I found these relevant twitter threads from gray-aces/demis:
https://twitter.com/SH_Marr_Writes/status/919984008402014208
https://twitter.com/mixeduppainter/status/920005662666575873
So it sounds like I was right to be intuitively wary of "character is gray-ace/demisexual, meets Right Person, BAM basically allosexual" narratives.
So I started thinking about this topic after reading a review for a book with a demisexual character. This is a book I've wanted to get my hands on, but haven't been able to as of yet, so unfortunately I can't speak about my own take on the book. Anyway, this is a book about a demisexual character—however, the character is never explicitly stated to be demisexual in the text (only on the publisher's website), which is a problem we'll get back to soon. The reviewer (who thought the protagonist was ace-spec but didn't know he was demisexual) basically said they were uncomfortable with how the demisexual character progressed from total sex repulsion to interest in sex as soon as his love interest showed up, linking it to harmful messages about how ace people are often pressured with regards to "just wait until the right person comes along, and then you'll be interested in having sex/sexually attracted to them."
There's a lot to unpack here, and I'll do my best to cover all my bases.
First thing I want to get out of the way is that I'm not sure whether this is an #ownvoices story about demisexuality or not. Normally, I am 100% not a fan of asking authors to out themselves with regard to sexual orientation, but whether this is an #ownvoices story or not could change the optics of it. If the author is ace-spec, I'd be more hesitant about criticizing the portrayal of demisexuality, as I'm not demisexual (even though #ownvoices isn't a shield against producing problematic content). If the author isn't, then I'd be a lot more openly critical of the rep. I am extremely wary of when allosexual (non-asexual) authors write about asexuals who begin as sex-repulsed and then progress to "Oh, but I'm okay with sex if it's with you, Designated Love Interest." There is an element of—to me—almost fetishization of ace-spectrum identities, positing their sex-repulsion as an obstacle to a romantic relationship to be overcome, in a way that is very loaded coming from an allosexual author.
Another issue with if the book isn't #ownvoices goes to accuracy. Again, I can't speak to the demisexual experience. But, based on my own cursory research, many demisexuals seem to report that it can take quite a long time for them to develop sexual attraction to someone they have a close relationship with. Whereas, in the book, reviewers report that the sexual attraction seems to happen quite quickly. Again, not saying that that's completely impossible, but the optics of it are different if written by an allosexual writer vs. a demisexual author.
The next thing is, clearly, the book suffers from not explicitly identifying the protagonist as demisexual in the text. Given that that kind of narrative could be less problematic with a demisexual character than with a not-demi ace character, it becomes critical to make that clear in the book, which this book failed to do.
So let's go to the next issue, which is: assuming the portrayal of the demisexual character is authentic to at least some demis' experiences, does this nevertheless create a problem with making sure we don't convey the message that asexuals can be "cured" by meeting the right person?
Again, there's a confounding factor at play here, and that's that demisexuality tends to be represented only in one very specific way, by usually allosexual writers (so far), and that's: demisexual is sex-repulsed and/or uninterested in sex, until they meet the "right person," and now suddenly they are down for sex with Mr./Ms./Mx. Right 24/7.
Right now, we don't have portrayals of demisexuals who have a low libido even once they experience sexual attraction to someone, and/or demisexuals who may still experience sex repulsion after meeting Mr./Ms./Mx. Right. And that becomes a problem, again, when allosexual writers are dominating the portrayal of demisexual characters right now. (A cynical view could be that some of said writers want to write "cured asexual" narratives but know enough to know that that's offensive, so they go, "Okay, let me just make the character demisexual instead!")
My point is: Everyone deserves to have their experiences represented, of course. But, while I'm not arguing for this portrayal of demisexuality to be banned, I think authors have to be very careful with this narrative, because it does lead to splash damage for non-demi asexuals.
Asexuals are very, very vulnerable to sexual coercion. Many aces, too, spend years questioning themselves, wondering, "But what if I *do* experience sexual attraction at some later point? Maybe I'm not really asexual?" Rates of sexual assault against asexuals are not well studied, but some evidence suggests that asexuals experience higher rates of assault than most other sexual orientations (excepting bisexuals). You can draw your own conclusions about how allosexual sexual predators view asexuals from that data.
So I get nervous whenever I see a narrative about a sex-repulsed asexual who "learns" to like sex because of Mr./Ms./Mx. Right. I just can't be certain that an allosexual reader won't read that narrative and take away the idea that "don't worry, sex-repulsed asexuals can still learn to like sex after meeting the 'right' person."
If you're an allosexual author, there's an easy way out: Just don't make your ace-spec character sex-repulsed! Problem solved! Don't use sex-repulsion as an obstacle to be overcome in your romance, because all that does is throw sex-repulsed aces who will never "learn" to like sex or experience sexual attraction to the wolves.
And, again, even if it's a demisexual author writing about their own demisexual experiences? If you frame it that way, you have to be aware of the possibility of splash damage to other aces.
This is not, by the way, something unique to this situation. Writers can write about gay characters feeling pressured by heteronormativity to date the opposite binary gender but, if they're not careful, can end up throwing bisexuals under the bus, for example. Lateral oppression between different axes of marginalization happens all the damn time. And it's never okay.
Don't throw other marginalized groups under the bus. Just don't do it. No matter how strongly you feel about your own experiences as a marginalized person, there's always a way to frame it to be inclusive instead of harmful to some other group.
**EDITED TO ADD: I found these relevant twitter threads from gray-aces/demis:
https://twitter.com/SH_Marr_Writes/status/919984008402014208
https://twitter.com/mixeduppainter/status/920005662666575873
So it sounds like I was right to be intuitively wary of "character is gray-ace/demisexual, meets Right Person, BAM basically allosexual" narratives.
I 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.
Thoughts on Book Twitter drama
Sep. 29th, 2017 03:46 pmSo, recently, there's been some drama at Book Twitter regarding 27 Hours by Tristina Wright and the author's perceived lack of receptiveness regarding criticisms of the book's colonization plot, contrasted with the fact that she had previously been an outspoken ally for marginalized communities, and the fact that readers seem more hesitant to call out the race issues in 27 Hours due to its positive queer rep and the fact that many people are friends with Wright, and...yeah.
It's a huge mess, as you might've guessed.
I, personally, am not really surprised by what went down, because I think social justice sometimes gets turned into a thing of "let me prove how Woke I am" rather than actually internalizing the principles of how to be an ally.
Specifically, the idea, floated by many people with some kind of privilege, that "I promise you can call me out and I'll apologize!"
And the cynic inside me is always like, "Are you sure?"
It's easy to say those things, but it's not actually easy to deal with criticism, especially social justice call-outs. People don't like to admit they haven't been the best allies. They just don't.
Like, at least I'll be honest and say, I don't know how I'd react if I were called out for writing something problematic. I imagine it wouldn't be easy to deal with. Especially since I have a baseline of social anxiety that gets triggered if people even suggest that I've been offensive to another person—I literally lost a friend because I had an emotional breakdown when she told me a Tumblr post I made, saying that I didn't like a certain kind of narrative, would be offensive to people who liked that kind of narrative.
I wish we wouldn't have this collective idea that people will immediately fall over themselves to apologize if they're called out for unwittingly perpetuating -ism/-phobia/-misia. It's just not going to happen. I don't know what the solution is, though. People get extremely defensive when their image of being a "Good Person" is challenged, and that's just human nature.
It's a huge mess, as you might've guessed.
I, personally, am not really surprised by what went down, because I think social justice sometimes gets turned into a thing of "let me prove how Woke I am" rather than actually internalizing the principles of how to be an ally.
Specifically, the idea, floated by many people with some kind of privilege, that "I promise you can call me out and I'll apologize!"
And the cynic inside me is always like, "Are you sure?"
It's easy to say those things, but it's not actually easy to deal with criticism, especially social justice call-outs. People don't like to admit they haven't been the best allies. They just don't.
Like, at least I'll be honest and say, I don't know how I'd react if I were called out for writing something problematic. I imagine it wouldn't be easy to deal with. Especially since I have a baseline of social anxiety that gets triggered if people even suggest that I've been offensive to another person—I literally lost a friend because I had an emotional breakdown when she told me a Tumblr post I made, saying that I didn't like a certain kind of narrative, would be offensive to people who liked that kind of narrative.
I wish we wouldn't have this collective idea that people will immediately fall over themselves to apologize if they're called out for unwittingly perpetuating -ism/-phobia/-misia. It's just not going to happen. I don't know what the solution is, though. People get extremely defensive when their image of being a "Good Person" is challenged, and that's just human nature.
I saw a book reviewer make this comment—that he couldn't enjoy a book about an asexual romance (although my understanding was that it was a gray asexual romance) because a sexless romance, to him, felt "immature" and therefore "squicky" because it made him feel like a voyeur into "teenage puppy love."
That comment made me feel sick.
It may seem less blatantly acephobic than a lot of other comments asexuals get, but it's acephobic nonetheless because it's positing asexual romantic attraction as "childish," "not as mature" as "adult" romance which by necessity must involve sex and sexual attraction.
Also, logically, it makes no sense. A lot of YA romances these days involve sexual attraction on some level (though it's often desexualized relative to adult romance/erotica). But even a sexual relationship can be written in an immature way.
The difference—which is something that depresses me to think about—is that people are conditioned to view sexual relationships as "automatically" *mature* and *adult.* So you could write about a sexual relationship between two characters who whine and complain at each other and throw tantrums, OR between two characters who are very mushy and lovey-dovey and serenade each other with their undying love every single day, but it will STILL be considered "adult" as long as they're shown having sex.
That's not only acephobic, it's also incredibly reductive regarding what exactly is "mature" and what is "immature."
And I'm really goddamn sick of it.
That comment made me feel sick.
It may seem less blatantly acephobic than a lot of other comments asexuals get, but it's acephobic nonetheless because it's positing asexual romantic attraction as "childish," "not as mature" as "adult" romance which by necessity must involve sex and sexual attraction.
Also, logically, it makes no sense. A lot of YA romances these days involve sexual attraction on some level (though it's often desexualized relative to adult romance/erotica). But even a sexual relationship can be written in an immature way.
The difference—which is something that depresses me to think about—is that people are conditioned to view sexual relationships as "automatically" *mature* and *adult.* So you could write about a sexual relationship between two characters who whine and complain at each other and throw tantrums, OR between two characters who are very mushy and lovey-dovey and serenade each other with their undying love every single day, but it will STILL be considered "adult" as long as they're shown having sex.
That's not only acephobic, it's also incredibly reductive regarding what exactly is "mature" and what is "immature."
And I'm really goddamn sick of it.
So, when I was reading a recent ARC review of 27 Hours by Tristina Wright, the reviewer was dissatisfied by the author's treatment of characters of color in part because they felt that the characters of color had been written to be indistinguishable from white people. Even though the book takes place in the future, where all languages and cultural barriers have disappeared (and I'll agree that that's not necessarily a progressive outlook), the reviewer said that at least microaggressions should exist.
Which...I don't really agree with. Or at least, I don't agree with the implication that microaggressions need to be written into a story to distinguish characters of color from white characters.
My main reason for disagreeing is that I have seen other (white) authors do this, and they often execute it really poorly. To the degree to which I by default don't really trust white authors writing about microaggressions against people of color. For example, I've seen white authors who introduce characters of color by having white characters yell racial slurs at them (or, even worse, the character of color uses racial slurs to refer to themselves. Yes, really), and of course the incident is usually brushed aside. Sometimes, it's even used to make a white main character look "progressive" by having them defend the character of color from the racial slur, and I just...this is not how white authors should portray characters of color.
Another thing is that microaggressions can be difficult to understand if you don't actually come from that marginalized group, which is part of why I think many white authors don't portray them well. Maybe I am just very jaded and cynical, but it starts to seem like white authors feel obligated to toss out a statement about racial profiling/affirmative action/etc. if they have a black character, "stop treating Asia as my homeland" if they have an Asian American character, and so on. It just feels incredibly superficial and thereby trivialized.
In the end, I think we don't often discuss that readers of color are going to have varying perspectives on how characters of color are treated. I, myself, don't want to read a book that is constantly reminding me about microaggressions against Asian Americans unless the author can deal with it in a sensitive, nuanced, thoughtful way, instead of with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. And that nuance is just hard to replicate if you don't come from that cultural context, so I'd rather not see it at all.
Which...I don't really agree with. Or at least, I don't agree with the implication that microaggressions need to be written into a story to distinguish characters of color from white characters.
My main reason for disagreeing is that I have seen other (white) authors do this, and they often execute it really poorly. To the degree to which I by default don't really trust white authors writing about microaggressions against people of color. For example, I've seen white authors who introduce characters of color by having white characters yell racial slurs at them (or, even worse, the character of color uses racial slurs to refer to themselves. Yes, really), and of course the incident is usually brushed aside. Sometimes, it's even used to make a white main character look "progressive" by having them defend the character of color from the racial slur, and I just...this is not how white authors should portray characters of color.
Another thing is that microaggressions can be difficult to understand if you don't actually come from that marginalized group, which is part of why I think many white authors don't portray them well. Maybe I am just very jaded and cynical, but it starts to seem like white authors feel obligated to toss out a statement about racial profiling/affirmative action/etc. if they have a black character, "stop treating Asia as my homeland" if they have an Asian American character, and so on. It just feels incredibly superficial and thereby trivialized.
In the end, I think we don't often discuss that readers of color are going to have varying perspectives on how characters of color are treated. I, myself, don't want to read a book that is constantly reminding me about microaggressions against Asian Americans unless the author can deal with it in a sensitive, nuanced, thoughtful way, instead of with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. And that nuance is just hard to replicate if you don't come from that cultural context, so I'd rather not see it at all.
Random thoughts on publishing stuff
Jun. 21st, 2017 03:39 pmI never entirely understood why some POC are so salty about white authors writing about POC and getting published until my manuscript with an Asian MC/love interest was turned down by a publisher, whose current catalogue includes very few Asian protagonists & writers (4 East/South/Southeast Asian leading characters* that I know of out of however many books they've published, all written by white authors), and a week later they announced a book written by a white author with an Asian love interest.
Yeah, I'm suddenly very salty.
*Of those books that I've read/skimmed/heard about, 1 had a white savior problem, 1 had Asian representation that I had problems with, and 1 had Asian representation that wasn't terrible but felt inauthentic.
And that's the problem. I don't believe that non-Asian authors are categorically not allowed to write about Asian characters, and I don't believe that all Asian characters have to be very much embedded in their culture or whatever, but if none of your Asian characters (though, let's be honest, it's a tiny pool to begin with) are written by Asian authors, I begin to wonder why you appear to value white authors' perspectives more than Asians' on Asians.
Yeah, I'm suddenly very salty.
*Of those books that I've read/skimmed/heard about, 1 had a white savior problem, 1 had Asian representation that I had problems with, and 1 had Asian representation that wasn't terrible but felt inauthentic.
And that's the problem. I don't believe that non-Asian authors are categorically not allowed to write about Asian characters, and I don't believe that all Asian characters have to be very much embedded in their culture or whatever, but if none of your Asian characters (though, let's be honest, it's a tiny pool to begin with) are written by Asian authors, I begin to wonder why you appear to value white authors' perspectives more than Asians' on Asians.
Previously, I've rambled a bit about how LGBTQ romance/fiction (especially romance) is pretty darn white. This time, I want to muse a bit about published authors and race, using some numbers as a starting point.
( Read more... )
( Read more... )
Stop oversimplifying social justice
Apr. 18th, 2017 01:25 pmSort of a spiritual sequel to my last post.
I'm someone who struggles with the tendency to think in black-and-white terms, and yet even I'm tired of the way social justice is often oversimplified on social media.
I saw a Twitter thread about this blog post: "Dear cis gay men, here's why women in MM romance don't listen to you"
Obviously, that post title is pretty inflammatory, and the Twitter thread was blasting the blog author (a bisexual white woman) for writing the post primarily in response to a gay man of color (even though the post also addressed cis gay men as a group).
Here's the thing. White people are absolutely prone to being racist against and talking over people of color. But, men are also prone to being misogynistic towards and talking over women. These are separate oppressions that can coexist at the same time.
I'm personally not comfortable with the blogger's assertion that MM romance *belongs* to women. Yes, MM romance occupies a weird space because it seems to have grown out of women-dominated spaces and female writers, and that's a weird thing to deal with.
I also am ambivalent about her claim that "what gay men want to see in MM romance doesn't matter." If you're writing about a marginalized group, the decent thing to do is to try to accurately reflect their experiences. That being said, the writer does have a point about how sometimes people complain when their specific experience isn't represented, even though their experience isn't necessarily the experience of everyone else within their group. It's a complicated, nuanced issue, basically.
But, to write off the blogger's post completely is to say that her experiences with sexist microaggressions and harassment from gay men are invalid, or don't matter, and that's something I'm not comfortable with, either.
(It's also weird to oversimplify this situation to "white woman whitesplains to a gay man of color" because the blogger does mention other gay men (without referencing their race, but I'd be shocked if all of the gay men she was talking about were men of color, though). There's also another intersection because both of the parties are LGB and the white woman was specifically hurt by the fact that the gay man of color in question called her "straight," invalidating her sexual orientation, which brings in another issue of gay men who have an issue with the MM romance genre often assuming that all female writers of MM romance are straight, even when that's not true.)
It's just frustrating to me because, as a multiply marginalized person, I'm way too used to seeing seemingly progressive social justice that will throw one of my marginalizations under the bus.
Social media social justice needs to be better at intersectionality, less black-and-white thinking, and acknowledging that issues are complicated and sometimes there's no "pure victim" or "pure aggressor," but rather separate oppressions intersecting in different ways.
I'm someone who struggles with the tendency to think in black-and-white terms, and yet even I'm tired of the way social justice is often oversimplified on social media.
I saw a Twitter thread about this blog post: "Dear cis gay men, here's why women in MM romance don't listen to you"
Obviously, that post title is pretty inflammatory, and the Twitter thread was blasting the blog author (a bisexual white woman) for writing the post primarily in response to a gay man of color (even though the post also addressed cis gay men as a group).
Here's the thing. White people are absolutely prone to being racist against and talking over people of color. But, men are also prone to being misogynistic towards and talking over women. These are separate oppressions that can coexist at the same time.
I'm personally not comfortable with the blogger's assertion that MM romance *belongs* to women. Yes, MM romance occupies a weird space because it seems to have grown out of women-dominated spaces and female writers, and that's a weird thing to deal with.
I also am ambivalent about her claim that "what gay men want to see in MM romance doesn't matter." If you're writing about a marginalized group, the decent thing to do is to try to accurately reflect their experiences. That being said, the writer does have a point about how sometimes people complain when their specific experience isn't represented, even though their experience isn't necessarily the experience of everyone else within their group. It's a complicated, nuanced issue, basically.
But, to write off the blogger's post completely is to say that her experiences with sexist microaggressions and harassment from gay men are invalid, or don't matter, and that's something I'm not comfortable with, either.
(It's also weird to oversimplify this situation to "white woman whitesplains to a gay man of color" because the blogger does mention other gay men (without referencing their race, but I'd be shocked if all of the gay men she was talking about were men of color, though). There's also another intersection because both of the parties are LGB and the white woman was specifically hurt by the fact that the gay man of color in question called her "straight," invalidating her sexual orientation, which brings in another issue of gay men who have an issue with the MM romance genre often assuming that all female writers of MM romance are straight, even when that's not true.)
It's just frustrating to me because, as a multiply marginalized person, I'm way too used to seeing seemingly progressive social justice that will throw one of my marginalizations under the bus.
Social media social justice needs to be better at intersectionality, less black-and-white thinking, and acknowledging that issues are complicated and sometimes there's no "pure victim" or "pure aggressor," but rather separate oppressions intersecting in different ways.
I'm annoyed, wrecked by anxiety, and really petty and bitter right now, so I've got absolutely no chill on this topic.
If you're aware of popular books in YA fiction, you've most likely heard of Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo. It's a book that has been praised to the high heavens for its diversity (including disabled, LGBTQ+, and people of color in its ensemble cast) and...gripping plot, I guess.
I haven't read the book. I tried, but I couldn't get past the first few chapters. I admit that I have a bias against Bardugo to start with because I found her Shadow and Bone series to be terribly plotted, sexist, cliché, and racist regarding Asian cultures/languages, and I have no idea why it became as popular as it did. The opening chapters of Six of Crows bored me to tears and failed to make me like either Kaz or Inej, so I dropped it.
Still, I can't go anywhere in the YA bookosophere without coming across a mention of Six of Crows. Blog posts bashing problematic books held up Six of Crows as a wholesomely diverse alternative. There are interviews with Bardugo all over the internet praising her for writing diversely.
I'm really tired of seeing this freaking book everywhere.
And I'm really, really tired of seeing one white author get praised as the pinacle of diverse writing over and over again.
It reeks to me of white authors getting praised for writing racial diversity much more than an author of color would be. Just like how straight actors are seen as "brave" for playing gay characters, while the reverse isn't true. The implications of that are offensive and insulting. Writers of color often have to put just as much effort as white authors into writing diversely, yet they don't get anywhere near the same level of accolades.
When this double standard exists, it feels like diversity becomes commodified, a prize for white authors to win and market as a selling point of their book rather than a baseline expectation.
And to clarify: I don't care that people love Six of Crows. I don't care that many people were moved by the positive representation. What I care about is that despite the cries of "#ownvoices" and "uplift marginalized writers" on places like Twitter, people still default to recommending a book, not only by a white author, but also one that is already a bestseller by one of YA's "rock-star" authors.
And it's making me extremely cynical about the book diversity movement and whether they actually care about correcting the racial imbalances in the publishing industry or not.
If you're aware of popular books in YA fiction, you've most likely heard of Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo. It's a book that has been praised to the high heavens for its diversity (including disabled, LGBTQ+, and people of color in its ensemble cast) and...gripping plot, I guess.
I haven't read the book. I tried, but I couldn't get past the first few chapters. I admit that I have a bias against Bardugo to start with because I found her Shadow and Bone series to be terribly plotted, sexist, cliché, and racist regarding Asian cultures/languages, and I have no idea why it became as popular as it did. The opening chapters of Six of Crows bored me to tears and failed to make me like either Kaz or Inej, so I dropped it.
Still, I can't go anywhere in the YA bookosophere without coming across a mention of Six of Crows. Blog posts bashing problematic books held up Six of Crows as a wholesomely diverse alternative. There are interviews with Bardugo all over the internet praising her for writing diversely.
I'm really tired of seeing this freaking book everywhere.
And I'm really, really tired of seeing one white author get praised as the pinacle of diverse writing over and over again.
It reeks to me of white authors getting praised for writing racial diversity much more than an author of color would be. Just like how straight actors are seen as "brave" for playing gay characters, while the reverse isn't true. The implications of that are offensive and insulting. Writers of color often have to put just as much effort as white authors into writing diversely, yet they don't get anywhere near the same level of accolades.
When this double standard exists, it feels like diversity becomes commodified, a prize for white authors to win and market as a selling point of their book rather than a baseline expectation.
And to clarify: I don't care that people love Six of Crows. I don't care that many people were moved by the positive representation. What I care about is that despite the cries of "#ownvoices" and "uplift marginalized writers" on places like Twitter, people still default to recommending a book, not only by a white author, but also one that is already a bestseller by one of YA's "rock-star" authors.
And it's making me extremely cynical about the book diversity movement and whether they actually care about correcting the racial imbalances in the publishing industry or not.
As I was taking a look at Dreamspinner Press's States of Love series, this topic came up in my mind.
They've only announced/released18 23 30 books (out of an assumed 50) so far, but let's take a look.
(I'm assuming character races based off cover picture/names, so if anyone has a correction, feel free to let me know.)
60 books makes 60 romantic love interests so far. Out of those 60, I found: 1 Asian, 2 Latino, and 1 Black/Latino. In other words, 4/60 characters of color, or a 1/15 ratio.
Those are some really pathetic numbers.
What about the novella set in New Orleans? Nope, it's about 2 white guys.We haven't gotten around to California, New York, Massachusetts, or Illinois (the states with the big, diverse cities), so we can hope that the numbers will even out over time, but for Christ's sake. New York? California? White guys. The American South does not consist of 99% white people and some Latinx (Houston, TX has a massive Asian population, for example), and that stereotype is actively damaging.
More thoughts when more books are released and we have final numbers.
They've only announced/released
(I'm assuming character races based off cover picture/names, so if anyone has a correction, feel free to let me know.)
60 books makes 60 romantic love interests so far. Out of those 60, I found: 1 Asian, 2 Latino, and 1 Black/Latino. In other words, 4/60 characters of color, or a 1/15 ratio.
Those are some really pathetic numbers.
What about the novella set in New Orleans? Nope, it's about 2 white guys.
More thoughts when more books are released and we have final numbers.
