Announcement: Comments Moderation Change
A while back, I changed my comments system to un-moderated w/o all the CAPTCHA and Google account requirements. I did that as an experiment. Overall, it’s been a good one, as folks have been able to comment without much difficulty. However, the spambots have become a little more persistent and “clever” in recent weeks, which means some spam comments are getting through the spam system. This requires me to go into the comments area and manually mark them as spam (the email notifications only sometimes let me mark them as spam from there). As such, I’m making a change to how I handle comments here. As of now, all comments will be moderated. CAPTCHA and other such requirements will remain off. I can’t imagine this will have any discernible impact here, as I tend to approve almost all messages anyway (unless you’re super creepy or a jackass). But this way, the spam will never get through. Anywhoodles.
Non-Binary SF/F and Message Fiction (or, “I don’t know what that is or why non-binary SF/F fits”)
(Note: comments will be monitored on this post due to the nature of the debate surrounding this topic. I hope I won’t have to remove anything, but I have a low tolerance for rude behavior right now. If you can’t make your point without being a jackass, even if that point agrees with my own, then take it elsewhere.) You might have seen the response to Alex MacFarlane’s Tor.com post, “Post-Binary Gender in SF: Introduction.” If not, you can read the words of Jim C. Hines and Justin Landon, who both have things to say of their own. I’m not going to address content of the primary response to MacFarlane (well, not the whole of it, anyway) or offer a line-by-line critique a la Hines. Rather, I want to talk about a specific issue within this debate: message fiction. I would also be remiss to neglect to mention my post entitled “Gender Essentialism, Genre, and Me,” which is amusingly relevant to the larger discussion being had in the community right now. First, though I’m going to try to tease out the definition of message fiction in general by the end of this post, I should note that I’m not altogether clear on what certain individuals mean when they revile message fiction, except insofar as the politics are concerned. Of the many references some in this debate have made to “the message”, none of them properly defines the term and most engage with a strawman version of MacFarlan’es argument. MacFarlane’s column concerns the tendency to marginalize works which feature non-binary genders by exceptionalizing them. Her primary example is The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin, which she says has been held up as the pinnacle of post-binary SF, while other equally important works have fallen away, such that we are constantly “re-discovering” them: It seems to me that there’s a similar process for post-binary texts: they exist, but each reader must discover them anew amid a narrative that says they are unusual, they are rare, they sit outside the standard set of stories. This, at least, has been my experience. I want to dismantle the sediment—to not only talk about post-binary texts and bring them to attention of more readers, but to do away with the default narrative. MacFarlane, in other words, is interested in this narrative, not quotas or checklists — the narrative which says “these texts about non-binary genders are not normal precisely because they are unusual.” The problem with this narrative is in its ability to provide a rationale for ignorance, not on some political territory where these works must be ignored because they violate some central tenet of an “ism” — though this is true to an extent — but rather on the simple basis of cultural amnesia. If we are not talking about works of a particular form, we are submitting to the possibility that those works will be forgotten, and along with them, the value they produce for the communities to which they might belong. It is for this reason, I think, that she begins the post with the following: “I want an end to the default of binary gender in science fiction stories” (emphasis mine). The word “default” is not insignificant in the context of the entire post.[1] The post isn’t calling for fiction to deliberately include non-binary genders for the sake of doing so (i.e., for an agenda); rather, it calls for SF/F to remove the default assumptions about gender in order to open up wider possibilities for inclusion (who does the including isn’t exactly relevant, since nobody has to do anything here). I think this is a far too lofty goal, and deeply hyperbolic, but it seems like some have missed that careful nuance for one reason or another. The idea that all SF/F must, by necessity, court the content of MacFarlane’s argument isn’t a notion supported by the argument itself. In all of this, the question for me becomes: do the works MacFarlane wishes to discuss in this series deserve to be remembered? Personally, I think they do for various reasons, though the most relevant here, I think, is the fact that these works, even in their most obscure forms, are an example of SF/F’s remarkable imaginative, extrapolative, and critical potential. And that potential is not isolated to “stuffy” works; rather, it is found in a whole sea of exceptional and memorable texts from before the codification of the genres to the present. This is what SF/F does best! Most of the time, it’s a lot of fun (in my entirely subjective opinion). All of this brings me back to the point about “message fiction.” The entirety of discussion about this topic concerns a term which has no defined criteria by which we can discern message fiction from just fiction. The only criteria, as far as I can tell, is that message fiction isn’t fun, but since “fun” is entirely subjective, it’s impossible to apply that in any significant way. Some who attack message fiction provide an explanation for one of message fiction’s functions, which is to subvert the natural drive of a narrative by bogging down the whole with an agenda, but the best explanation on offer boils down to “here are some works which have messages.” Even upon a deeper search into certain individuals’ posts revealed little useful material for understanding, at the very least, how they define the term. There are numerous claims about liberals taking over Worldcon, making it impossible for conservative message stories (or books by conservatives, by extension) to appear on the ballots[3] and people avoiding SF because of messages. At what point does fiction with political issues in them become “preachy” or “message-y”? No idea. The argument is never made; we’re simply supposed to accept it as accurate on the basis of someone’s word, which you’ll notice is quite difficult when so much of the discussion centers around political affiliations (liberals this, liberals that). The claims are weirdly paranoid, like the Illuminati
Announcement — 2010: A SFF Film Odyssey begins in February!
What is it? The SFF Film Odyssey (2010 edition) is the result of a twitter conversation I had last year, in which I remarked that it would be super cool if I could figure out a way to review every SF/F movie released since 2000 in one year. Unfortunately, that’s nearly 1,000 films, and I have three jobs…so clearly that’s impossible. Instead, throughout 2014, I will watch and review every science fiction and fantasy film released in 2010! A more reasonable goal, and one that will give me a reason to go through the years of SF/F film one at a time! What will it entail? Reviews, discussions, and rants about SF/F movies from 2010. I’m keeping away from a single format for these posts in order to add some variation, which will hopefully keep readers interested…and me. A couple caveats: Films that do not have English subtitles or dubs (where relevant) will be removed (I don’t think this will matter, but just in case). Films released straight to DVD do not apply, nor do films which appeared on television, but not in theaters. Films which are sequels will be replaced by the first film in the series (there are only a handful in the list right now). If I have time, I’ll review an entire series. I am sure to miss some films, as my list currently consists of what can be found here and here. There are roughly 63 films there, but if you know of any others that should be considered, leave a comment here or send an email to arconna[at]yahoo[dot]com Films which are not American in origin will be discussed on The Skiffy and Fanty Show blog, which is currently on a World SF Tour. When exactly will it start? It’s possible I’ll get things started next week, but since my laptop will need to go in for repairs on Monday, it may be a little while before I’m able to really dig in deep. On a more realistic note, this thing will likely start around the first or second week of February. And that’s that. So…time to get to work! —————————- *Thanks to Justin Landon for helping me with the name for this feature. He gets three gold stars for his efforts.
Gender Essentialism, Genre, and Me
I’m late to the party. The first major SF/F controversy party. And while this post won’t be about Kemp’s argument specifically, it does come out of the discussions about his post — most particularly the criticisms.[1] Part of the problem I have with traditional gender roles is the way they assume what manhood (or womanhood) is based on behaviors which are definitively not gendered. There’s nothing explicitly masculine about aggression or nobility. There’s nothing explicitly feminine about child rearing, except insofar as it is currently required for women to be the carriers of unborn children. Gender essentalism, however, assumes there are definitely gendered behaviors, such that chivalry is read as “male/masculine” and cowardice is read as “female/feminine.” If this association sounds negative, that’s because the construction of male/female or masculine/feminine is frequently a negative. These associations are also oriented around agency, where masculine behaviors are active and feminine behaviors are passive. There are all manner of gendered constructions, and each is based on arbitrary, culturally-determined factors. The impact of gender essentialism in this particular context is often unintended, but, by the nature of a culture’s ability to transmit its behavioral modes, it is also pervasive. We are all coded by our gender without ever having a say in the matter. My culture tells me I should behave in certain ways because that is what men do; it tells me there is a true form of manhood; and it tells me that I am deviant, even in an innocuous sense, if I do not conform to these standards. It’s that absence of agency which should make all of us pause. In effect, I am, as Louis Althusser might argue, interpellated by/into my culture’s gender paradigms as it codes my identify for me and I, as all children do, react by internalizing these values.[2] As I grew older, it became clear how pervasive and abusive these standards and values were. When I was told as a young man that I was not masculine (i.e., male enough) because I did not engage in feats of strength, it was implied that I must acquire that masculine behavior to properly assert my manhood. If I wasn’t into sports, I was naturally feminine. If I shared my emotions, I was more woman than man. In other words, my youth was a process of cultural assault, by which my behaviors had to be coded along gender lines, interpreted, and then rejected if they did not conform to the norm. This is not exactly a unique experience, either, though my examples above are certainly reductive. Women are told all manner of similar things, too, so I imagine I’m not wrong in asserting that the psychological impact of gender essentialism is rarely positive for any gender. It reinforces gender roles as fixed, when in fact they are anything but, and it shames those who do not conform by implicitly stripping them of their gender and assigning a new one. Thus, women who are aggressive are “manly.” A great genre example is Grace Jones’ performance of Zula in Conan the Destroyer (1984). Here, we’re presented with a woman who is every bit as aggressive and noble (or not) as Conan (Schwarzenegger). She wields spears and screams warcries as she cuts into enemies. She doesn’t shy from battle or give in to injury or the intimacy of others.[3] But she is definitively a woman, and expresses that behavior in ways particular to herself, not to her gender.[4] That she is the female opposite of Conan is not insignificant: she isn’t an enigma, but the embodiment of an anti-essentialist stance on gender (incomplete though that stance may be). Women can be warriors without becoming “men.” Women can be brutal and limited in their emotional expression without sacrificing their gender association. In other words, this idea that there are “gendered behaviors” in any pure or stable sense should seem absurd to all of us. We can easily point to examples whereat someone behaves contrary to their assigned gender, and yet in doing so, they do not cease to be whatever gender they so choose.[5] That’s the point I think more of us need to grasp in the SF/F/H community. If you want to write characters who behave like chivalrous knights, then do so. But there’s no reason to assume those characters must be male, or that their behaviors are masculine by nature. We can do without thinking in those terms. We’d certainly be better without it… ————————————————— [1]: Based on my interactions with Mr. Kemp, I think I am correct in saying that his post was ill-considered in certain respects. I understand what he is trying to say, but his methods for making that point were unintentionally sexist. Instead of saying “I like writing masculine stories because men,” he might have said “I like writing stories that feature these virtues and behaviors.” He might even have said he is most comfortable writing men, which is hardly an offense in my opinion. I, for example, am only semi-comfortable writing men, which might explain why many of my protagonists (in written, not published fiction) are women (or sometimes something other than straight white guys); whether my writing is good is a whole different question. In any case, it’s the fact that his post reinforces traditional gender roles and applies certain virtuous actions specifically to male behavior which poses the problem for most. [2]: This is a horrible reduction of Althusser’s work. I hope you’ll forgive me. [3]: In all fairness, she is perhaps naturally distrustful of others because she is treated quite poorly by the people of her world. I wish she had appeared in more Conan films, though. Zula is such a fascinating character, and easily one of my favorites. [4]: I should note that Zula was actually a man in the comic books. She may not be the best example to make my point, but I love her, so I’m sticking to it… [5]: I realize that there is some slipperiness in the
Self-Published Books vs. Literary Awards: In Response to Linda Nagata
I’m a little late to the party, but Linda Nagata kindly rebutted my original post on the logistical issues of literary awards as a rationale for the rejection of self-published books from the consideration lists. Here, I’d like to respond to some of her arguments. First, I’ll say that I don’t disagree with most of what Nagata has to say. As an author who has traveled in both publishing camps, she of course understands the issue on a different level, and thus has valid points to make about the value of literary awards to SPed authors, etc. My main point of contention surrounds this quote: The way I see it, there are two main purposes to a literary award: (1) to bring attention to specific books and authors, and by so doing (2) to shape the genre. Whether (1) & (2) come to pass or not, neither purpose is harmed or diminished by consideration of a self-published work. This may be an issue of wording, but I don’t consider these two components as the purposes of literary awards. While the “shaping the genre” is certainly an effect of an award, to some extent, it is also a somewhat ambitious concept to apply to an extremely focused practice, particularly since “shaping,” as I see it, is organic rather than artificial. We shape the genre by our reading choices and what we talk about as a community, not by recognizing works as “good” by a set of disparate, cross-purpose standards — as all awards invariably are. Awards certainly cross over with the trend-setters and shaping works, but I find it hard to imagine the genre shaped purposefully by awards as opposed to by side effect. This is particularly true of populist awards, which certainly suggest some potential for shaping, but which themselves are fickle, shifting, and disparate in form. What the public likes one year will not match what they like the next, and in the long course of time, what they liked in 1987 may have been forgotten in 2007. Curated awards suffer from a separate issue, which I’d simply call the limits of critical focus. (This is a somewhat truncated explanation, so I hope the reader will forgive me here.) The first of Nagata’s points is, of course, related. For me, awards are not there to bring attention to works, but rather to recognize works that fit within a certain paradigm based on that paradigm’s criteria. This is where the wording comes in, as I see something different between “recognizing” and “bring attention to.” The first denotes the idea that this work deserves attention because it meets certain criteria, while the second seems to have a more directed shaping effect — i.e., here’s a work you should talk about. Recognition, however, is about achievement. In curated awards, it’s an acknowledgement that your work successfully fulfilled the award’s criteria, and is thus noteworthy. In populist awards, it’s the public’s acknowledgement of the same, but with less stringent and often impossibly variable standards. I suspect Nagata and I don’t actually disagree here, though. Basically, I see the literary award as contingent upon its established criteria, however nebulous, and the process of applying that criteria necessarily specifies texts and author. For example, the Nebulas only recognize science fiction and fantasy works from authors who are members of the SFWA; from there, the awards themselves only recognize what that small community determines is “the best,” which itself isn’t a hard set criteria we can accurately describe, since it is entirely subjective. As such, narrowing by publication method is just another set of arbitrary criteria. The other thing I should mention here concerns the idea that the awards we have in our community are naturally open to SPed works. While it is true that most (or all) of the awards are open to SPed works based on its given criteria for selection, there are few examples of such works appearing on lists from authors who themselves have not at one point, especially recently, had their work published traditionally. This distinction may seem trivial, but I think it is important to recognize how our community applies validity to a given work. In many respects, our community still does not look highly upon authors who have been published primarily on their own; it is far more forgiving when that author has a traditional publishing career either before or after the publication of an SPed work. That’s something we’ll see change in the future — possibly when SFWA raises its pro payment rate for magazines to $0.25/word (ha) — but probably not after some form of mass culling or shift within self-publishing. On that last sentence, I’d like to expand something I’d said before on the nature of the SPed world. Nagata doesn’t address at length my contention about the quality of SPed works (not that she needed to, mind), but she does say the following: “[That SPed works are more commonly bad in comparison to TPed works] is still a common assumption, so credibility is extremely important for a writer who chooses to publish her own work.” I concur that recognition via an award is certainly good for any author, particularly since, as Nagata discusses briefly in her post, awards can have a measurable impact on one’s career. However, Nagata’s track record is one that is fairly unique in the SP world. In comparison to the sea of SPers, most of them are not also traditionally published and award winners. Nagata, as it turns out, has won awards in the past — the Locus for best first novel[2] (The Bohr Maker) and the Nebula for best novella (Goddesses)(woot) — and she has most certainly had a decent career as a traditionally published writer of short and long fiction, though of late she has been primarily of the other stripe. I don’t bring this up to discount her argument, nor to poke mean fingers at her career or anything (a considerably one, actually), but rather to point out
A (Possibly Evolving) List of Great Novels by African Writers — for @jmmcdermott
I’ve been commanded by Lord McDermott to put together a list of great novels by African writers so he’d have some stuff to read. And that’s exactly what I’ve done. I’ve intentionally chucked out the books everyone has likely read, such as Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe (I know for a fact that Mr. McDermott has read this one, so that’s an easy task). In no particular order, here are the novels (a very VERY short list): Arrow of God by Chinua Achebe Ambiguous Adventure by Cheikh Hamidou Kane Devil on the Cross OR The River Between by Ngugi wa Thiong’o (Matagari is also excellent) The Famished Road OR Songs of Enchantment by Ben Okri Waiting for the Barbarians OR The Lives of Animals OR Disgrace OR Foe by J.M. Coetzee July’s People by Nadine Gordimer Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga Purple Hibiscus OR Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie In the Fog of the Seasons’ End by Alex La Guma Houseboy by Ferdinand Oyono The Dark Child by Camara Laye One Day I Will Write About This Place by Binyavanga Wainaina (a memoir, not a novel, but oh well) Bound to Violence by Yambo Ouologuem ————————————– Note: I have enormous gaps in my reading knowledge of African writers. You’ll notice that there are no writers from places like Egypt, for example, or some of the interior nations. Anyone who would like to suggest novels by writers from these missing countries is encouraged to do so in the comments below!