Diversity is Not a Selfie (or, Amazing Stories + Felicity Savage = Here We Go Again)
Apparently Amazing Stories has become a version of controversy bingo. Attacks on liberals? Check. Attacks on subgenres? Check. Attacks on women? Check. Attacks on people of color? And check… I’m obviously not going to link to the story here. Instead, I’ll point you to “Diversity is not Narcissism: A Response to Felicity Savage” at The Other Side of the Rain, “Mirror, Mirror: Quien Soy?” by Silvia Moreno-Garcia, and “False Equivalence: Selfies and Diversity in SFF” at Radish Reviews. They’ve covered much of what I’m going to babble about here, though I’ll try to add to that existing discussion.[1] So here goes. Savage begins her diatribe by discussing the validity of “selfies,” an understandably amusing practice which has become the subject of much parodying. Of course, Savage doesn’t note that selfies have also been used for arts projects, such as the numerous videos on YouTube in which the user takes a single picture of themselves everyday for a set period of time — the purpose of these videos is not unlike a self-portrait, which Savage raises to “art” status, albeit in the form of a time capture. You might wonder what selfies have to do with diversity in SF/F. You’d be right to wonder just that, as the analogy Savage wishes us to buy into is already fallacious from the outset, as the purpose of a selfie, as she defines it, bears little resemblance to the purpose of diversity projects like Expanded Horizons or the various other magazines which have posted diversity policies. In Savage’s own words, a selfie is as follows: The principle here is a familiar one. The harder you try to look good the worse you will actually look. The pictures on the left and right illustrate of the difference between a self-portrait and a selfie. Hint: the self-portrait is the one where the subject isn’t trying to look good. Selfies remove objectivity from the subject-artist loop of creation. Add in a professional photographer or portrait artist and beauty happens. Conversely, grotesquerie is inherent in the selfie creation process, this having been reduced to a mirror-gazing session. What does this have to do with diversity in SF/F? Well, Savage doesn’t exactly say. She throws out a random line about the community seeming like a hall of mirrors, and then conveniently changes topic, leaving the weak analogy in place, but without even the attempt at explication. The only other line that references the several-paragraph description of selfies is a throwaway I’ll come back to later. The implication of these first paragraphs, however, is quite clear. If we’re to take the analogy as it is presented, then Savage believes seeking out diversity in SF/F is grotesque in the same way as a selfie: it is without objectivity; it is without art; it is simply staring into a mirror. We’re off to a good start, no? The central premise of Savage’s argument is simply this: attempting to create diversity by deliberately seeking out non-white and/or non-male writers is narcissism of the highest order: But the call for diversity is usually interpreted with deadly literal-mindedness as a call for more characters who are female / black / Asian / what have you. Why are we all so keen to see ourselves on the page? Never mind that people of all colors and genders (let alone orientations) are calling for diversity, and leave it to Savage to conveniently forget that these variations of self are merely variations of the human, let alone that the default subject has historically been white and male. That we are seeing exceptions to that rule makes those variations no less valid or important than the stock standard white dude. Savage, of course, seems remarkably oblivious to the impact of fiction or imagery on a population’s view of different peoples. There’s a reason by the Romani people are still viewed so unfavorably, and it’s not because there’s something inherently wrong with them. The public image of Romani people, as fed to us through the arts and other mediums, is rarely positive; culture undeniably functions via transmittal, and the most effective way to do so is through various forms of media. The narratives of colonization were transmitted through written travelogues, art, advertising, and so on; these held, in many cases, for centuries. In the U.S., the image of the “lazy negro” persisted well into the 20th Century, supported by plantation propaganda in the form of comical advertisements (look up “negro with watermelon” for an example) and so on. The dominant class, whoever that may be, will always seek transmittal of their cultural values.[2] The production of such diversity in admittedly artificial. Savage, however, seems to believe diversification in such artificial terms destroys SF/F’s image by reducing it to the literary equivalent of a drug-addicted celebrity: “Just don’t stare into the mirror too long or your reflection may start to look like a trout-pouted minor celebrity with a cocaine hangover.” She likewise criticizes Expanded Horizons as a space for mixing and matching “your preferred ethnic / sexual identifiers to create your very own comfort zone.” The point, however, is quite clear: diversity is actually a bad thing. Either it is a form of tokenism — a legitimate problem — or it destroys the face of genre. The latter of these two problems is an attack on diversification as a process, as it seems to suggest that a challenge against the status quo — inserting people of color or women into roles which had previously been dominated by white men — violates the sanctity of a pure space of difference. This becomes more clear when Savage writes the following: What speculative fiction does well is diversity on the species level. Our aliens, dragons, orcs, and even or especially our far-future selves ask us, in as many ways as there are books, what it means to be human. The pure space of difference — a largely white and male space — is challenged by diversity only in situations when the purity can be preserved.
Literary Fiction Does Not Exist (or, Please Shut Up About Literary Fiction)
Last month, Storyville posted a definition of literary fiction. As with all definitions of a genre, it is functionally useless, in no small part because it offers utterly subjective criteria, most of which apply to such a wide range of literary forms that the attempt to define collapses under the weight of its own uselessness. For example: Often, literary fiction will be introspective, examining the thoughts and feelings of its main characters. There will be a deep study of a person or persons, showing us layers of experience, emotion, thought, and behavior. OK, but what exactly does “deep study” mean? Are James Patterson’s Alex Cross novels not “deep studies” of Alex Cross? If not, then how do you show or define a “deep study” in any useful way? They don’t say, so I have no idea. Based on this vague definition, anything James Patterson has written (or put his name on) would technically qualify, but I suspect that’s not what they meant when they came up with this definition. All of the criteria are as poorly explained as the example above, which presents a very real problem: What is literary fiction? If we can’t define it, then why are we talking about it? It makes sense to me why we define the popular genres (science fiction, fantasy, romance, western, crime, etc.), even if we cannot approach a viable definition. At the very least, science fiction is noticeably different from, say, an Alex Cross novel, most notably because of its settings, etc. Though such “differences” are not absolute (hence the existence of cross-genre work), we can at least acknowledge the literary traditions of genres like science fiction. Ultimately, the genres are useful only for the market: to help readers find something like that other thing they liked. Literary fiction, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have any true separation. “Literary merit” doesn’t actually mean anything, as what receives “literary merit” can exist in any genre (see the Western Canon — there’s all kinds of fantasy and SF in there). And, of course, a science fiction novel can avoid what the folks at Storyville define as a “plot,” too. What makes it “not a science fiction novel” if it is, in fact, a science fiction novel? The literarinessessess? Over the years, definitions have become more and more meaningless to me. This might explain why I prefer to think about science fiction in Delany-an terms: as practice, not “thing.” His second collection of essays, Starboard Wine, for example, suggests that the best way to understand what science fiction is requires us to look at how science fiction works. We can sit around arguing definitions until we’re blue in the face, but if we look at how the narrative of SF functions, how the worlds are imagined and share common operations (in narrative terms), and so on, we might get just a little closer to understanding what science fiction is, even if we can never define it. If there is a Starboard Wine or Jewel-Hinged Jaw for literary fiction, I haven’t read it yet. All of these definitions of literary fiction, however, haven’t helped the “cause.” I don’t think literary fiction exists. It’s an artificial category; it is abstract; it is meaningless. When we define something as “literary fiction,” we say nothing. It is an unsolicited subjective opinion about the quality of a work, but not a definitive classification of that work. And the more we keep talking about this divide between genre and literary fiction, and the definitions therein, the more I’m convinced that the latter never existed at all. There is no such thing as literary fiction. And once we all acknowledge that, we can shut up and move on with our lives…
That Readers vs. Writers Thing on Strange Horizons (or, Some Disconnected Nonsense From Me)
I’m sure you’ve all heard about this Strange Horizons column already. If not, go read it, then come back and read what I have to say (or don’t…up to you). As I pointed out by way of a link-laden question the other day, I really don’t understand what the frak is going on in the SF/F community right now. It’s like a whole group of fans, writers, and bloggers decided they’d all take crazy pills as part of a New Year’s resolution, and unlike every other resolution (to lose weight, to drink less, to tell your significant other that you’ve fathered (or mothered) nine children with an alien from Mars), they seem to have actually gone through with it. And the crazy really hit the fan this month. So here are some random thoughts about everything, written as such to avoid treading too far onto ground so many others have already covered: Authors Commenting on Blogs Honestly, I’ve never had an issue with authors commenting on this blog, though I haven’t stated as such before. But I’ve also never had (at least, in recent memory) one of those experiences where an author shows up and has a hissy fit in my own space. If authors feel inclined to post here, they are free to do so (encouraged, even), but under the following caveats: You understand that you do not control interpretation; it is the domain of readers. You avoid being an asshole. (Note: this only applies to posts about the author or the author’s work, of course; outside of such posts, the only rule I have is “don’t be an asshole,” but that applies to everyone, not just authors.) Do I think there’s necessarily anything wrong with an author posting in spaces where his/her work is being discussed? No. I also don’t think it’s a terribly good idea, in most cases. It all comes down to how you engage, really, and I’m not the type of person to tell someone the proper method for engaging in such scenarios. I can only tell you what not to do (see one of the sections below). The Big Deal? Maybe it’s just me, but I never interpreted what Renay said as absolutist. Even if what she said was absolutist in form (there are some lines here or there in the comments that give that impression), it doesn’t follow that she’s necessarily right (obviously, she and I don’t agree on this point) and it doesn’t mean you’re somehow beholden to what she says authors should do. After all, Renay is just a reader and a fan (a great reader and fan, I might add); she’s not God. The idea that her words should be viewed as gospel seems anathema to the concept of a fan writer, or a semi-pro zine featuring articles by fans. So when the reaction to the whole scenario devolved into name-calling (yous bullies and idiotas!), misdirection, merry-go-round arguments, and, eventually, threats of sexual assault against Renay and others, I couldn’t help feeling a bit lost. What exactly did these folks say to justify such behavior (in the minds of people who think such behavior could be justified, of course)? In other words: WTF? The lesson writers and readers should have taken from the whole thing seemed obvious to me: some people are uncomfortable talking with authors about their work on their own blogs, and those that are comfortable are probably pretty obvious about it (see the above section). And, well, the point Renay tried to make (and what others also tried to point out in the comments sections at various places) got completely lost. It’s not about whether an author is allowed to comment somewhere, but whether doing so is a good idea. And there were a number of interesting reasons for why authors shouldn’t: Authors can stifle honest, open discussion (public blogs provide the illusion of this; our culture is so voyeuristic, that all one really needs is the appearance of privacy, since all of us know, on some level, that we’re always being watched…) Authors can sometimes impose their interpretation of their own work onto the reader, which can present a conflict between reader and writer (namely, a conflict about the appropriate interpretation). This can also stifle discussion. Authors can sometimes be assholes. Really big assholes. I’ll cover that last one in the next section. Basically, in the relationship between “reader” and “author,” the positions are not equal — at least, not in the minds of some folks (their perspectives are valid). While I understand Ben Aaronovitch’s contention that “he’s just some guy who writes books,” I think he (and I) sometimes forget that in the universe of books, authors are our celebrities. I’m sure a lot of movie stars would love to get ignored like the rest of us in their everyday lives, but we all know that won’t happen. They’ve reached a different plane of existence(?) that, however artificial, puts the movie star above the movie viewer. The same thing happens with authors. In fact, I still struggle with this myself. I’ve admitted before (here or on The Skiffy and Fanty Show) that I sometimes have a hard time talking to authors in person. This is mostly true for authors whose work I’ve been following for a while. I get nervous. Yes, they are all “just people” like me, but they are also the folks who have made things I love. They are Joss Whedons in a book world. While that’s changed a lot in the last few years (mostly by actually interacting with authors I admire), I still understand that there are sometimes unequal relationships. That’s not the way it has to be, of course, but it’s crucial to understand that for some readers, the hierarchy exists, even if only on a psychological level. Some of us will move beyond it, as I’ve worked to do over the past few years, but others may choose to keep the distance for their own reasons. Appearances Are Weird
Oh, John Ringo and Your Silly Fantasies About People (or, I Now Like Redshirts)
In relation to this year’s Hugo Awards, I am two things: An unabashed crazy leftish pinko liberal hippy gerfferrmerrfle (whatever that is) On the record for having disliked John Scalzi’s Hugo Award-winning Redshirts (truthfully, I hated it) But #2 is over with now. I still don’t think Redshirts is a good book, and perhaps some of my disappointment comes from the fact that some of his other work has blown me away in terms of quality; this one just didn’t have the strength of the others. But, as I said, I’m done hating it now. Why? Because John Ringo said this craziness: There’s nothing wrong with Scalzi’s writing. This is a reasonably good novel (from what I’ve heard) with no real SF or literary merit beyond being a reasonably good novel. But he’s been speaking truth to power about the degradation of women in SF along with other idiocracy and so he’s beloved by all the hasbeen liberal neurotics who control the Hugo voting and balloting. Look to many more in the future as long as he toes the Party line. Huzzah. Umm, what? So let me get this straight. Worldcon 2013 is just so jam-packed with liberals who have no standards that anything Scalzi writes will automatically win or get nominated because he says things we like to hear? Logical fallacy says what? First, how does Ringo account for all those other novels Scalzi wrote which didn’t win or get nominated for a Hugo Award. Was he just not liberal enough those years? Did the secret conservative cabal take over that year? Do you have to get in a pissing match with a sexist troll to earn the respect of the imaginary establishment liberals before winning an award? He does realize that liberals don’t Google-snoop every author to intentionally avoid nominating or voting for a novel they like, right? Maybe there’s a secret Google-snooping room somewhere… Second, how do you account for all the folks who didn’t vote for Scalzi’s novel? Are we all conservatives or closet conservatives? Are we secretly objectivist monkey overlords from Nerpton 7, hell bent on rigging a relatively small literary award in favor of people who don’t like seeing women treated like turdfactories? Oh, I know! In the Ringoverse, uh…conservatives were secretly denied voting rights and so they couldn’t vote on the books and now they live in a camp somewhere (we’ll call it Fartabulous Camp) where they eat oatmeal and watch re-runs of Charlton Heston movies. No? That’s not it? Damn. And here I was getting my hopes up…Drat. I won’t deny that there are a lot of liberals in the SF/F world, but let’s stop pretending for the time being that it’s all puppies and flowers for us libbies, or that all it takes to get in our metaphorical pants is a bit of political pandering. I agree with almost everything Scalzi says on a political level, but I didn’t actually pick Redshirts because I didn’t like it. His politics didn’t come into it. I know a lot of folks of the liberal persuasion who did not vote for Scalzi’s novel, whether on the nomination or the final ballot. Shockingly, they were able to decide for themselves that they didn’t like it (or they didn’t read it). Free will is a bitch. So, with that being said, I would like to thank John Ringo for making me a fan of Redshirts. It seems all it takes to convert us is for folks like Ringo to say demonstrably nonsensical things. We should hire him to convince all our children to eat their vegetables…
Worldcon Recap: The Nonsensical Version
I got back from Worldcon yesterday night. Things are still a bit of a blur. My mind has been dragged every which way by so many good feelings. Truly. Honestly. So what follows is a recap of things I can remember right now, in a completely random and nonsensical order. If I forgot you for some reason, please smack me in the comments. Friends! I went to Worldcon with my besterestestest friend ever! On top of that, I met a lot of folks I consider to be friends, but whom I have not met in person. Friendship is wonderful! Yay! General Reaction I’ve never been to Worldcon (or any straight SF/F convention), so I didn’t really know what to expect (I suspect the same is true for Jen, who came with me, but I can’t speak for her). Sure, a few folks offered a lot of opinions about it, but since we’re all a little different, I didn’t know exactly what to make of it all. There were also those worrisome bits involving The Song of the South and what not prior to the actual event. That said, I had an absolute blast. I’ve been to anime conventions before, but since I’ve never been embedded into the anime world, I always felt a little like an outsider at such places. At Worldcon, the tables had turned. I actually knew people. More surprising was the fact that some folks knew me. Nothing could really have prepared me for that. In a weird way, Worldcon felt like the kind of place at which I belonged — a literature-heavy SF/F/ bonanaza! Would I go again? Yes. And if I can afford to do so next year, it’ll happen. Podcasting We recorded a whole bunch of interviews and discussions at Worldcon. Expect them to appear on The Skiffy and Fanty Show soon! Needless to say, it was awesome. WSFS Meetings After hearing about the horror show on the first day of the WSFS meetings (from Rachael Acks), I decided I’d rather spend my days talking with people who won’t make me feel like stabbing myself. There’s a podcast about this stuff coming soon… San Antonio It sucks. The Alamo is about as unimpressive as the giant ball of twine in Cawker City, Kansas. I get that you’re not really supposed to leave the hotels and convention areas, but San Antonio made it so you never had a reason to anyway. Maybe that’s kind of the point. Greycon I’m not sure if this is normal, having never attended before, but the average age of a Worldcon attendee seemed to be in the area of 55. More 20s-30s seemed to show up over the weekend, but they were insanely outnumbered by older folks. We talked about this very thing in one of the recording sessions at Worldcon, which will show up on The Skiffy and Fanty Show page eventually. Whitemalecon There were an awful lot of white male folks at Worldcon. Perhaps that has something to do with the venue, or maybe it’s just a normal occurrence. All I can say is this: it’s just weird. That’s how I feel about it now. I spend my workdays surrounded by women, people of color, etc. So going from a relatively (though incompletely) diverse space to one that seemed, at least from my view of things, nearly monolithic in form…well, it was just plain weird. Programming I’ll break this down into mini sections: I was genuinely surprised to see so many panels about SF from elsewhere in the world. Based on some of my interactions with certain factions of the SF/F community involved in Worldcon, I seriously expected the world to get ignored. Future Worldcons should certainly do more, but I applaud the effort. The combat panel with Elizabeth Bear, Elizabeth Moon, etc. was quite interesting, though Jen and I were both surprised at the weird gender split: this particular panel featured all women; the other combat-related panel featured all men. I don’t know what to make of that right now. In any case, the panel was awesome. I think we went to every panel on which Tobias Buckell was a panelist. He was awesome. Myke Cole did a stint as Lou Anders for a panel featuring authors I happen to really like. He was hilarious. Why were Scott Lynch, Nick Mamatas, Myke Cole, and so many other authors and professionals absent from the programming (with the exception of Myke, who moderated a panel)? Seriously. The most annoying thing about programming at Worldcon: all the folks who have no business being on a panel about X because they are not reasonable authorities about X. Jen and I went to several panels in which one or two of the panelists either didn’t know why they’d been pegged for that panel or simply didn’t belong. Case in point: the panel on the future of the US-Mexico border featured absolutely zero Mexican and/or Hispanic panelists (as far as I could tell). Apparently what counts as “qualified to talk about the US-Mexico border” are “folks who live or lived near or crossed a border somewhere on the planet.” This is probably the worst example, but we also saw a lot of panels about science or subgenres or writing that featured folks who simply didn’t fit in. There were so many professionals and knowledgeable folks at Worldcon, so it doesn’t make much sense, to be honest. Would it be possible to stop having panels about subjects SF/F peeps have been debating pointlessly for decades? And can moderators start cutting these questions out from consideration? Why are we still talking about the definition of space opera or loose explanations for the connection between science and genre? People The list of people I met, however briefly in some cases, is so long that I’m still drawing blanks. That said, I’d like to thank all of these folks for talking to me, even if only for a few moments (in no particular order): Julia Rios (for putting
Talking About Wonder Woman and Her “Problems”…Again
Some time back, I talked about the path I hope the studios will take for a film adaptation of the Justice. Since such an adaptation will naturally include popular characters like Wonder Woman and Flash, I felt compelled to talk about why the studios had to approach the whole venture carefully to avoid the pitfalls of camp that continue to plague the characters. Now, I feel compelled to talk a little bit more about Wonder Woman, and it’s all Tansy Rayner Roberts’ fault. Last month, Tansy Rayner Roberts took a stab at the reasons why people think Wonder Woman won’t work in film. I agree with Roberts that most, if not all, of the reasons are pretty dumb, especially the argument that movies with female superheroes are stupid. Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope. There are certainly bad movies which include female superheroes, but those movies suck because they are bad movies, not because you’re being asked to root for the ladies. Not surprisingly, people do actually go to movies involving female superheroes. Shocking, I know. I mean, how the frak is that even possible? It must be witchcraft…or a Kenyan government conspiracy involving the IRS. Anywhoodles. Roberts’ rightly points out, in agreement with Shoshana Kessock on Tor.com, that one of the major “problems” with Wonder Woman concerns her explicit feminist nature: I think Shoshanna at Tor is right on the money with her article – the “problem” with Wonder Woman is that most people don’t know how to deal with an unapologetically feminist character. Writers panic. Executives panic. The way that women in particular are written in Hollywood is so vastly different to the way that superheroes tend to be written, that when the two concepts are combined, fear and cosmetics companies and ice-cream tend to get thrown at the resulting mess until it goes away. I also agree with this premise, which is why I like the idea of Wonder Woman as a character, even though I think she frequently falls prey (in the public consciousness of her character) to a certain kind of campy optimism. Done right, she could make for a profitable and, well, qualitatively good franchise of films. I’d love to see some well-written Wonder Woman movies. Watch her battle to save the Earth and for equality. Of course, the character hasn’t always had this optimistic feminist view of things. I don’t know if Roberts has read the recent Flashpoint crossover event, but I would certainly like to hear her opinion on the portrayal of Wonder Woman and the Amazons in that particular set of comics. If any major event in the DC universe has been officially put in the studio’s list of “stuff we’re not going to put on the screen…ever,” it would be Flashpoint. Well, there are probably other things in there, and some sexist jackass is probably sitting in an office somewhere thinking about ways to kill (in the comic book definition of the word) Wonder Woman after turning her into a “misandrist” villain. Maybe not… I actually really liked her costume in Flashpoint… For those unfamiliar with the comics, I’ll briefly explain the main thrust of the Flashpoint event, though I won’t tell you how the event got started, as that would ruin the reveal at the end. Basically, something happens and the entire DC universe is rewritten, changing the entire power structure of the Earth. From the first few comics, we learn two crucial things: Wonder Woman and Aquaman had originally agreed to marry in order to unite their kingdoms, but an assassination plot led to the death of Wonder Woman’s mother (i.e., the Queen), followed by a massive war between the two kingdoms. Half of Europe is under water, the United Kingdom has been taken over by the Amazons, and all is chaos. In the middle of all of this, we learn that an entire faction of the Amazons (enough that Wonder Woman’s ignorance of their doings is rather difficult to believe) has been doing two things: 1) enslaving or killing men, and 2) subjecting women to genetic and psychological re-wiring to make them part of the Amazons, too. Can you see why this wouldn’t work all that well on film? Now, I’m not one to make grand Men’s Rights claims about misandry (these claims are, to put it bluntly, brainless). I don’t buy into the idea that feminism is the hatred of men. I’ve never met a feminist who hates me because I have a penis; I have met men who hate women because they have vaginas. But setting aside the motivations for the power games in Flashpoint, the simple fact remains that the Amazons are not portrayed as particularly positive feminists. If anything, I wouldn’t call them feminists at all in this alternate universe. They actively express their hate of men, engage in activities which involve the oppression of men, and manipulate, destroy, and/or augment women in an attempt to inject new blood into the ranks. They are, in effect, pretty much frakking evil (Wonder Woman, as I’ve noted, may not actually know what is going on under her nose; either that or she’s naive as hell)(truthfully, there aren’t that many “good people” in the Flashpoint universe). They’re kind of like a literal representation of what anti-feminists imagine actual feminists are like. You know the narrative: they run around trying to think about ways to oppress men, keep everything for themselves, ruin society, and so on and so forth. Basically, they’re an idiot’s wet dream. I bring all of this up because I think it’s important to recognize that Wonder Woman as a character can, as Roberts points out, ruffle feathers, in no small part because she is, largely speaking, an open feminist and advocate for women’s rights (in my experience, anyway). Flashpoint, however, is a terrible deviation from her positive narrative. And it’s canon. It’s part of her development in the modern age of comics. Studios will avoid it like the plague for what they think