This hits a little bit too close to home
Sep. 13th, 2020 01:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolorosa_12I've been avoiding Twitter for quite a while now, so I missed the latest instance of ghastly identity policing to have bubbled up on YA publishing Twitter, but the beats are as predictable as they are infuriating. As far as I can work out, a bunch of people decided to start calling out author Becky Albertalli for being straight, writing books about queer teenagers, and 'taking up slots' for the books of queer authors which might otherwise have been published. Albertalli, rightly upset by all this (for reasons which will soon become apparent), was thus forced into outing herself as bisexual not at a time of her own choosing, but in a way which was upsetting, and in the wake of harassment. (There seems to then have been a bit of subsequent goalpost-shifting by Albertalli's harassers, who, when they realised they now looked like awful people for bullying someone out of the closet before she was ready, started backpedalling and saying their issue with Albertalli's books had never been that their author was straight, but rather that they clearly weren't written by someone immersed in 'the queer community' — as if this were a monolith, and as if it were a universal requirement for a queer identity.)
I've been watching iterations of this play out in both transformative fandom and certain corners of professional publishing for at least a decade now, and I'm coming to the frustrated realisation that concepts such as ownvoices or writing certain tropes/pairings 'to cope [with trauma]' are reaching the limits of their usefulness. Ownvoices, which started out as a powerful tool to point out structural inequalities and ill-informed and harmful narrative choices and stereotypes, has become watered down at best into a marketing tool, as well as a shield publishers can wield to protect themselves from criticism. But at worst — and far more commonly, in my experience — it seems to be weaponised in instances of professional jealousy in the case of professional publishing, and personal jealousy in the case of fandom. The consequences can be awful: sourceland POC policing the experiences of those in the diaspora (and vice versa), people outed against their will, people feeling pressured to reveal mental illnesses and other invisible disabilities, people forced to make public past traumatic experiences to justify media they consume or stories they write, with the risk that these traumas are now known to their own harassers. I've been speaking in the general sense, but I have witnessed multiple concrete examples of every single one of the things I've described.
I really don't know what to suggest as a solution to this, because I believe it is right to point out structural inequalities in publishing (as it is in other fields), and I believe people are entitled to think critically about their own fannish, narrative, and tropey preferences. (I am slowly, however, coming around to the idea that outside of formal — by which I do not mean 'paid' — reviews and criticism, people need to take a step back from criticising or lamenting the fannish, narrative or tropey preferences of other people, or of fandom as a whole.) I certainly think we need to avoid falling into the trap of thinking of (marginalised) identities as monolithic, and we need to strive against linking purity, morality, experiences and identity from fannish, shipping, and narrative preferences. Of course certain stories and pairings and fandoms will resonate more than others — we are in fandom precisely because of these resonances — and sometimes that will be down to our own identities or experiences. I'm quite open about this when such things are true for me. But we don't owe those identities or experiences to anyone — we are entitled to choose how much of ourselves we make public, and no one is owed an explanation or justification for the fanworks we create, the professional fiction we publish, or the media both paid and fannish we engage with.
I've been watching iterations of this play out in both transformative fandom and certain corners of professional publishing for at least a decade now, and I'm coming to the frustrated realisation that concepts such as ownvoices or writing certain tropes/pairings 'to cope [with trauma]' are reaching the limits of their usefulness. Ownvoices, which started out as a powerful tool to point out structural inequalities and ill-informed and harmful narrative choices and stereotypes, has become watered down at best into a marketing tool, as well as a shield publishers can wield to protect themselves from criticism. But at worst — and far more commonly, in my experience — it seems to be weaponised in instances of professional jealousy in the case of professional publishing, and personal jealousy in the case of fandom. The consequences can be awful: sourceland POC policing the experiences of those in the diaspora (and vice versa), people outed against their will, people feeling pressured to reveal mental illnesses and other invisible disabilities, people forced to make public past traumatic experiences to justify media they consume or stories they write, with the risk that these traumas are now known to their own harassers. I've been speaking in the general sense, but I have witnessed multiple concrete examples of every single one of the things I've described.
I really don't know what to suggest as a solution to this, because I believe it is right to point out structural inequalities in publishing (as it is in other fields), and I believe people are entitled to think critically about their own fannish, narrative, and tropey preferences. (I am slowly, however, coming around to the idea that outside of formal — by which I do not mean 'paid' — reviews and criticism, people need to take a step back from criticising or lamenting the fannish, narrative or tropey preferences of other people, or of fandom as a whole.) I certainly think we need to avoid falling into the trap of thinking of (marginalised) identities as monolithic, and we need to strive against linking purity, morality, experiences and identity from fannish, shipping, and narrative preferences. Of course certain stories and pairings and fandoms will resonate more than others — we are in fandom precisely because of these resonances — and sometimes that will be down to our own identities or experiences. I'm quite open about this when such things are true for me. But we don't owe those identities or experiences to anyone — we are entitled to choose how much of ourselves we make public, and no one is owed an explanation or justification for the fanworks we create, the professional fiction we publish, or the media both paid and fannish we engage with.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-18 02:42 am (UTC)Mark Oshiro is the kind of person who deeply tests my capacity for compassion. Again, it's not that I think he deserves the full YA Twitter treatment, but the sheer level of active misogyny in his writing that's gone almost entirely without comment is mindboggling. And his next book is a lesbian romance! Wonder how that ties into the whole "only write ownvoices" discussion?
no subject
Date: 2020-09-18 10:44 am (UTC)I totally agree with you: it would be hypocritical of me to wish a Twitter pile on of these authors, but it is ... interesting who end up being the targets of these pile ons, and who seems to be immune to them, even if the representation in their books is demonstrable worse than that of the people they target.
Regarding Mark Oshiro and lack of criticism — he might not be getting it from within professional publishing/reviewing, but if you go to Goodreads, the 1-star reviews are highly critical.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-18 10:05 pm (UTC)