May 2014

SF/F Commentary

In Response to a Bad Argument About SF/F, Racism, etc.

If you haven’t seen Damien Walter’s piece on diversity and vocal opposition to it in SF/F, you’ll probably want to read it for context.  One of the loudest voices in the comments section is a fellow who calls himself Fail Burton (I assume he’s a he, but I could be wrong — looked on his profile; he says he’s a he).  He’s made a remarkable number of absurd claims.  I’d like to respond to one of those here: There is no proof SFF needs any conversation of the sort. Innuendos about a “narrow set of authors” without documentation or any sort or definition of what “narrow” means in the first place are just that, innuendos. There is also no “compared to what?” If SFF needs this conversation then so does women’s romance novels, the NBA, rap music and Indian cricket. Surprise – the politically correct have no interest in that, and the reason is obvious. This is not being offended by a neutral principle everyone can benefit from. This is specifically and only targeting anything too white, too male, and too heterosexual because it’s an auto-KKK. Everything else gets a pass. The PC do the same with history – there is only ever British or European colonialism. Mughals, Aztecs, Incans, Arabs, Ottomans and Mameluks all disappear in their complaints, as if by magic. There has never been institutional white or male supremacy in SFF. The idea is as ridiculous as race, sex, gay = interesting literature. 1) That there are no conversations about biases in other fields does not invalidate discussions about such things in sf/f.  This assumes nobody is having those conversations, but I gather you, like me, are not an expert in Indian cricket or romance novels, or the NBA, or rap music (though, I’ll accept that you might be an expert in one of those).  This means the point is irrelevant.  At best, it’s a faulty comparison fallacy. There’s also the assumption here that fans of sf/f who are critical of its representation of people are obligated to talk about representation issues in other fields.  This would be like telling the Financial Times it is now obligated to cover Seattle Seahawks games or Nature to cover horse racing or a Congressman to represent the interests of people in another state.  These things may be connected on some sort of common ground, but they are not contextually relevant to the declared interests of each thing.  At best, this is absurd. 2) Context matters for what we discuss.  People talk about European slavery in the West because it is the most relevant, immediate history of slavery *for the West.*  Whether Aztecs had slaves isn’t relevant to the immediate history of slavery here, nor to the structural racism that followed the end of the slave trade in Europe and, eventually, in the United States.  This applies to colonialism as well.  If we were discussing a cultural context in which another form of colonialism or slavery were relevant, it would certainly be important to acknowledge such things. Indeed, even within discussions of U.S. slavery (and colonialism), there are long debates and discussions about, for example, black people buying and trading other black people as slaves (a fact which makes sense only if you put it in the context of the slave trade in the U.S., which was primarily run by and in service to white people — crazy, I know).  These topics *are* discussed regularly in academic circles, but considering that most Americans couldn’t tell you much about a random African, Middle Eastern, or, hell, even European country (except, perhaps, random stereotypes (not necessarily negative ones) and little tidbits of info), this seems a moot point.  I can no more control what people don’t know than you can.  Yeah, all those other places (as far as I know) had slavery.  Did the Aztecs have slaves during colonial times in America?  No.  So why would a conversation about slavery in America or England need to discuss these other issues?  You seem to have a problem with the fact that people aren’t raising irrelevant issues in specific cultural contexts where that would be bizarre at best.  If you want to hear about Aztec slavery, there are books on tlacotins. 3) Your claim that diversity arguments are exclusively an attack on white, heterosexual males is not quite a straw man, but close enough that I’ll call it one.  Considering that there are women who have been criticized for their positions on various things (Elizabeth Moon and Sarah Hoyt, for example — not necessarily on the same scale) and plenty of folks who are white, hetero males have been part of the call for diversity, I can easily conclude that your statement is nonsense. Next, the argument that there has never been an institution of white supremacy in sf/f is laughable.  Considering what Samuel R. Delany says here, and the fact that publishing in general was in fact structurally racist throughout much of the 20th century (earlier too, but that’s obvious), any claim to the effect that sf/f has not been affected by racism or white supremacy (this is the wrong term, but given your loose use for it, I’ll let it slide) is woefully ignorant of actual history.  One would have to have read a lot about the Harlem Renaissance and learned about decades of sf/f history, and then one would have to pretend all of that never happened.  That’s the only way this claim works.  Blind, willful ignorance (or, technically, just ignorance). 4) Just because you don’t find certain kinds of literature interesting does not mean others do not.  I don’t much care for a lot of things, but I’m happy to recognize that a lot of people do like those things.  Good for them. 5) This whole thing is about you playing victim, not because you’re actually a victim, but because being one is convenient for your “cause.”  And that’s sad. And that’s probably all I’ll ever say about this individual.  Laters.

SF/F Commentary

Criticism Does Not Equal Bullying (or, What Bullying Means to Me)

(Update regarding comments:  if you’re here to leave a flippant comment about the issue in question, it is unlikely to get through.  Either engage or move on.  This is likely to become my comment policy from now on because I really don’t have patience for people who want to treat my comments section as if my blog were an opinion piece on HuffPost.) If you missed the events of the last 36 hours, you should probably catch up here.  I linked to that post earlier today; in short, Charles A. Tan takes an editor to task for their problematic anthology submission guidelines, among other related things.  Earlier today, that same editor, after declaring on Twitter that they felt persecuted by people like Tan, etc., decided to delete his Twitter account and make his FB profile inaccessible (I think the latter is true).  This came on the heels of this editor’s belief that he was being bullied by the people who he had un-affectionately called “rotten meat” (you can see the Twitter exchange for part of that here). I’m not here to talk about the editor’s submission guidelines or any of the major criticisms offered by Tan or others regarding what this editor has said about Africa and other things.  Instead, I want to talk about the charge that Tan, myself, and others who have criticized the editor (Natalie Luhrs and Jim C. Hines, for example) are bullies.  In short, I will say this:  criticism is not the same as bullying. First, bullying is not: Being told why a position you took is racist Being told why something you wrote could be misconstrued as X Being told why your editorial decisions are contradictory and are not as inclusive as you think Being told you got something wrong Being told you offended someone Being told you said something sexist Being told you need to think about things and stop resorting to name-calling because you got criticized These are not instances of bullying.  The nature of these “instances” are not, in principle, irrational, though they may be unwanted, and so they fall more clearly under the domain of “criticism,” as they are, indeed, criticisms of a position.  One could be wrong about any one of these, but it’s impossible to discover the truth of a given matter if one does not treat it as initially valid.  Indeed, I’ve been criticized for many things in the past and have disagreed (and agreed) with a variety of different positions.  Articulated properly, a disagreement about a position is far more useful than blanket condemnation of that position as “bullying.” Second, bullying is a far more pervasive and insidious practice than some who use its name seem willing to accept.  A good definition of bullying can be found on the U.S. government website, Stop Bullying.  I won’t include the whole definition here, but here is a relevant excerpt: Bullying is unwanted, aggressive behavior among school aged children that involves a real or perceived power imbalance. The behavior is repeated, or has the potential to be repeated, over time. Both kids who are bullied and who bully others may have serious, lasting problems.  Let’s toss aside the bit about children because I think most of us would agree that bullying can happen between adults, too.  The same page lists a number of behavior types which are defined as bullying, from taunting to unwanted sexual comments to name-calling (i.e., a variation of an ad hominem attack, to be honest) to exclusion , etc.  Notice that the definition makes clear that power is an essential feature. If I could criticize this page, it would be that it doesn’t make explicit the difference between normal social control (wherein a behavior is rationally excluded on the basis that it is bad — i.e., someone who believes women shouldn’t have any rights and belong to men) vs. coercive social violence (i.e., using ridicule, public shaming, and other tools to prevent someone with legitimate concerns from engaging in a community, such as a woman who speaks out about a sexual assault being repeatedly told by a community and the police that she should shut up — see Steubenville).  I think these are valid distinctions.  The former is a normal consequence of a social culture (women wouldn’t have the rights they have now without some variation of social control); the latter is abusive and can happen in a variety of situations and in a variety of communities, even sf/f (such as someone being blacklisted on the sole basis that other people don’t like them). None of what falls under the “bullying” category should be misconstrued as “criticism.” Here’s what bullying means to me: It means being afraid you’ll get punched by someone with a spiked ring, but also so terrified to tell an adult because you don’t think they’ll do anything about it and because you’re afraid the kid will follow you home and punch you when you’re off school grounds. It means feeling helpless to protect yourself and feeling like nobody else will help you even if you really need it. It means being openly ridiculed for literally no viable reason (you’re short; they just don’t like you; they want someone to pick on; they don’t like your glasses; they don’t like your hair; you have freckles; you look different; you talk different; you wear the wrong clothes) and being unable to stop yourself form taking on the names and knock pegs off your self-esteem. It means running home from the bus because you’re afraid of what the other kids will do to you. It means closing in on yourself because you can’t reason with someone who hates you for no reason, who won’t listen to adults, who looks for every opportunity to punish you, who follows you around, who abuses you physically and mentally, who reminds you that you’re really just a worthless pile of shit. It means starting to believe that you just might be worthless, or close enough to it. For the record:  most

SF/F Commentary

Link of the Week: “Bigotry, Cognitive Dissonance, and Submission Guidelines” by Charles A Tan

I was going to write about this whole ordeal today, but by the time I got the chance to do so, I saw that Charles Tan had beat me to the punch (and by “beat me to the punch” I mean “he blogged about it and in no way actually beat me to anything because I own nothing”).  Instead of going on about the same things and repeating brilliant points already made by Charles, I’ll send you all over to his essay:  “Bigotry, Cognitive Dissonance, and Submission Guidelines.”  Here’s a quote: Wait, wait, a privileged Western white writer writing about Africa? This hasn’t been done before.  And Mike Resnick has written about Africa before. He must get it right, right?  In many ways, the editor’s oversight of this fact is part of a larger, arguably unconscious, racism on his part. Take for example his blog entry titled Broadening The Toolbox Through Cross Cultural Encounters: On Resnick, Africa & Opportunity. Instead of talking about writers from the continent of Africa (and it’s a large continent, so there’s a large pool of writers like Chinua Achebe, Lauren Beukes, and Joan De La Haye), we get Mike Resnick. Nnedi Okorafor gets mentioned but only as an off-hand comment, rather than the focus of the article.  So when talking about an anthology that’s diverse and inclusive, neither Mike Resnick, Kay Kenyon, or Jack McDevitt are what I’d consider the examples you should be touting as a contributors. Because to many, it appears that you are favoring the already privileged writers instead of those marginalized. Enjoy! (For the record, I have also written on things said by the editor mentioned in Charle’s post.  My post was on misery tourism, which may be of interest to some of you.)

Book Reviews

Book Review: Boys of Blur by N.D. Wilson

Admittedly, I don’t get a lot of opportunities to review literature for kids.  The occasional YA novel?  Sure.  Most of what I read for review, however, falls firmly within the “not marketed to kids” category (since “adult” means something else here).  This review may expose some of my weaknesses when it comes to this particular field, as N.D. Wilson’s Boys of Blur is certainly embedded in a tradition about which I am not as familiar as I should be.  Regardless, I will tread honestly here in hopes that I can offer some insight into this particular novel. Boys of Blur takes place in my state of residence:  Florida.  Specifically, it is set in the fictional town of Taper (near “Muck City,” a.k.a. Belle Glade), deep in the everglades, where nature is often stranger than the people that live there.  That’s certainly true of this novel.  When Charlie and his family visit Taper for a funeral, his stepfather, Mack, is offered the head coaching job at the local high school, which at one time was known for its fair share of decent players.  But Taper is a place of worry and concern for Natalie, Charlie’s mother, who left Taper after divorcing Charlie’s abusive father, Bobby; it also holds worry for Charlie, too:  after befriending his cousin, Cotton, Charlie discovers something wicked living and growing in the swamps.  Something evil.  Something that wants to take Taper for itself.  And it might just be up to Charlie to stop it before “it” and Taper’s residents tear themselves apart.   Astute readers will recognize some clear parallels to Beowulf here (or, perhaps, its amusing Norse-style adaptation, The 13th Warrior (1999))[1].  Much of the novel’s supernatural elements are of the form commonly associated with the classic epic, which are less direct and more boiled down to a template:  monster threatens town, boy seeks out monster, and boy defeats monster (I’m leaving out a few details to avoid spoiling things).  In fact, one of the things I loved about Boys of Blur was the way it courted the supernatural in order to provide a semi-bildungsroman with Beowulf as its center.  Indeed, from the almost zombie-like creatures that terrorize Charlie and Cotton to the deterioration of Taper as a community to the interesting commentaries on the nature of life and death, Boys of Blur seems like a perfect gateway for young readers who might be curious about the classic epics.   I must also admit that I personally enjoy renditions of this story type that opt for a darker vision.  Wilson certainly has an eye for the creep-factor.  Though some younger readers may find the novel a little terrifying, many will surely be gripped by the macabre nature of the novel’s horror.  When the novel is focused on its supernatural elements, it is at its strongest.  Wilson doesn’t always offer the level of explanation I would want, but he does thrust his young protagonist into a bizarre and often confusing world of things that shouldn’t exist.  Even the “good guys” are sometimes as creepy as the bad ones, which gives the supernatural a distinctly discomforting feel — there is no cutesy here. Wilson also does a fine job of presenting a narrative arc for Charlie that leads to modest, but largely positive changes.  Charlie’s family thrusts the reader into an awkward situation (albeit, more so for younger readers than adults):  his mother has remarried a supportive man who Charlie seems to accept, but doesn’t fully embrace at the start (a stepfather subplot bonus).  They are a mended family rather than a traditional nuclear one.  This gives the novel an endearing quality, as it tries to court both its fantastic major plot and its family-oriented subplots in different forms:  the former directly and the latter in a more nuanced, deliberately withdrawn sense.  Charlie, after all, is twelve, and so what he understands of adult relationships is less pronounced than his understanding of good and evil. Even Wilson’s handling of sports culture in small-town-America adds depth to the narrative — this coming from a reader who is bored stiff by sports-heavy sf.  I half expected this book to be reduced to its major plot, discarding any complicated and sometimes difficult material entirely.  But Wilson doesn’t do so.  Much like Holes by Louis Sachar, which the cover blurb uses as a comparison, this is a novel with a deep underbelly that offers food for thought, even if Wilson does pull his punches in places.  The epilogue, thus, serves as a positive conclusion to much of the novel’s subplots and gave me a sense that Charlie had not simply survived something horrifying, but had also come out of it with a renewed vigor.  This is, I suspect, fairly normal in books for young people. That said, there is one main concern I had with Boys of Blur.  While the narrative deals explicitly with domestic abuse from the perspective of a child, I think Wilson does so by limiting a deeper discussion of that issue.  In particular, the book itself provides little in the way of a resolution for this element, almost as though Charlie should have been too young to understand what has already transpired between his father, Bobby, and his mother, Natalie.  But Charlie is twelve and seems to understand what has happened in his family, even if he was too little to understand when his parents had divorced.  In the end, no significant conversation is had about Bobby, who is undeniably a violent abuser who has shown no real reform, and his involvement in his son’s life, despite the fact that Bobby appears to threaten Natalie in the novel.  Charlie does take a stand against Bobby, and the novel try to address the issue, but this is brief and largely forgotten.  If Wilson intended the concluding moments to be one of “going to bed with one’s enemy to conquer a greater foe,” then he needed to do so with a more deft hand; likewise, if he intended these other mentions of

SF/F Commentary

Mass Market Paperback Bingo: Pick a Book; I’ll Read and Review It

The title says it all.  Since I have a really large collection of unread books, I figure I could have some fun by letting the public pick one from my shelves.  Below, you’ll see two pictures from one shelf (front level; there is another level of books behind these).  You should be able to open the images to see the larger versions, which will make some of the titles and author names easier to read. Here’s how this will work: You pick a book. You offer a reason for why I should read that book in the comments.  Be creative, serious, or confusing.  It doesn’t matter. I pick the answer that most pleases me based on utterly random and totally subjective criteria I won’t disclose (basically, it’ll depend on my mood) I’ll read and review the book in question. Some of my shelves may include sequels and the like.  If you pick a sequel to a book whose predecessor I have not read, I will read the previous book instead.  These shelves used to be in order, but my cat has basically knocked half of the books from this shelf to the floor at some point, and I’ve yet to fix things. If this whole feature is successful, I’ll do it again with another part of the shelf (or a tower of books from elsewhere). So, have at it!

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