Truth in Fantasy and LGBT Heroes
by Andrew J. Peters
I don’t know how I got into writing fantasy exactly. I certainly didn’t follow the popular advice: write what you know. My books tend to involve ancient world settings and characters from myth. Not much from my everyday experience to draw on there.
I guess it’s been a matter of what feeds my creative soul. I like earthy mysticism and imagining what it would have been like to live in an ancient time. My writing takes me through a lot of research, and when I read books about ancient history and myth, sparks ignite in my brain for stories that could have or should have happened if someone had taken the time to write about them.
Sci fi/fantasy author S.P. Somtow was famously credited with saying: “Fantasy is the most intelligent, precise, and accurate means of arriving at the truth.” That’s a wonderfully provocative statement about a genre that is often criticized as not being “real” literature because it’s too imaginative, too far flung from contemporary human experiences.
I believe that fantasy can reveal truths about our lives, and it can do so just as elegantly as any other genre. But up until quite recently, fantasy hasn’t revealed much truth with respect to LGBT young people. Its authors typically portray LGBTs as sideline characters, if they include us at all, which is a truth perhaps for some heterosexuals who see us as part of the scenery: colorful but not especially important to the issues they confront in their daily lives.
The truth is: LGBT teenagers can overcome a haunting past and discover amazing, world-changing talents just like J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter. The truth is: LGBT teens can stand up to an unbreakable tyranny and lead the way to justice just like Suzanne Collins’ Katniss Everdeen.
The truth is LGBT young adults are heroes in small and epic ways every day.
I’ve always endeavored to write stories that expand the varieties of “truth” in fantasy. Growing up, I was starved for books that would show me that a young gay man could make something of himself in the world.
Fantasy enables us to sneak away from reality for a while and enter an adventure where unexpected heroes triumph and hard work pays off in the end. Fantasy is more than escapism. Through its ability to exhilarate and reach into that hopeful place inside the reader, it shows that any one of us can be a hero, which is arguably the most important truth of all.
The hero in my latest release Banished Sons of Poseidon is a sixteen-year-old boy named Damianos. He goes by Dam for short, which is suggestive of the “damned” life he was dealt, an evacuee to the underworld after the flood that buried Atlantis. He’s also on the margins of both aristocratic and peasant society. A disgraced priest with a reputation for getting played by aristocratic boys, he’s pretty much on the outs with everyone. Drawing on his will to persevere in spite of whatever the gods or mortals throw at him, Dam leads an unthinkable adventure that is the only way to save the people he loves. It’s also the only way to deliver his countrymen from a cold, barren world, which is a huge test of his character given his past mistreatment by his peers.
You don’t have to travel to a fantastical world to find stories about LGBT heroes, although as a fantasy author, I do wish that more readers would. For this guest post on GayYA, I thought I’d share some recent real-life heroes who inspire me in and out of my writing life. They’re young people who in their own way have slayed dragons or outwitted cruel wizards or survived dystopias right in their own backyards.
Source: Instinct Magazine
Sean Warren, a high school junior from Phoenix, Arizona, who recently came out as gay in the traditionally homophobic culture of high school football.
Source: RH Reality Check
Harmony Santana, a young transgender actress, who got her first film role while living in a New York City foster care residence and garnered an Independent Spirit Best Supporting Actress nomination.
Source: Washington Blade
Subhi Nahas, a young, gay Syrian refugee, who addressed the United Nations Security Council to raise awareness of LGBT persecution in Islamic military states.
Source: Common Dreams
Evan Young, a high school valedictorian from Colorado, who triumphed over censorship to come out as gay to his classmates and their families during his graduation address.
Source: Twitter
Jay Abang, a young, lesbian human rights activist in Uganda, who courageously stands against a government that seeks to imprison and put to death LGBTs.
Those real-life stories are an inspiration board for my writing. Somehow, fantasy always captures my imagination when I write about LGBT young adults, so my heroes end up in otherworldly settings, not always infused with magical abilities, but leading lives that are at least on the surface pretty different from those of modern young adults.
I still think fantasy can resonate in critical ways. When we live vicariously through a hero’s adventure, we can discover our inner truths. We may not have supernatural abilities or magical relics, but by stepping into a fantasy hero’s shoes for a while, we are reminded of the values and the characteristics that help us overcome the challenges that we face: self-belief, facing down our fears, and the undeniable virtue of being true to who we are.
—
Andrew J. Peters is the author of the Werecat series and two books for young adults: The Seventh Pleiade and Banished Sons of Poseidon. He grew up in Buffalo, New York, studied psychology at Cornell University, and has spent most of his career as a social worker and an advocate for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender youth. A lifelong writer, Andrew has been a contributing writer at The Good Men Project, YA Highway, Reading Teen, Dear Teen Me, GayYA, and La Bloga among other media. Andrew lives in New York City with his partner Genaro and their cat Chloë. For more about him and his books, visit his website.
How To Make Your Library a Safe Space for Queer Teens
by Angie Manfredi
Last year, I chose Alex London’s YA dystopian thriller Proxy as my teen book club’s selection. This meant my library would purchase multiple copies, many teens would read it, and then we would Skype with Alex to talk about it. Why did I choose Proxy? Well, partially because it’s superb YA: a well-written, engaging, fast-paced read that asks interesting questions about debt and income inequality. But I also partially chose it because it has a gay, biracial lead character and the author is a gay man. I wanted my teen readers to experience a swashbuckling gay lead, come to root for him and be on his side. I wanted my teen readers, straight and queer, to have a window and a door thanks to Proxy. We all know books can do that. But one of the most important follow-ups is that, for many teens, it will take the help of an adult to find these books. And that’s where librarians can and should step in.
I’ve worked in a public library directly with children and teens for the past eight years. In that time, it’s been my great joy to help many teens find characters like themselves for the first time in fiction and non-fiction. Over the years, teens have found me at the public library to ask for recommendations for queer books in a number of ways but the number one has just been letting my community know that I am an ally. How have I done that? How can YOU, as a librarian, let your patrons and community know that you are an ally and make your library a welcoming place for queer teens? Here’s some tips to get you started.
- Fill your collection with books with queer content. I know, seems simple but it’s the first and best step. You might be worried there’s no audience for these books and they’ll never circulate. But there are teens in your community who need them as their doors and windows. So buy them. It’s really that simple. If you work in a conservative community or a school and are worried about pushback, start with books that are award-winners and positively reviewed: this will give you grounds to justify the purchase. The Stonewall Award and Lambda Literary Award both have children’s and YA award lists and there’s The Rainbow List for a recommended list of reads.
- Integrate queer content with all of your displays and booklists. Are you making a list of great romances? Make sure you include a title with queer content. Are you making a display of amazing summer reads? Add something with a queer character. Making sure that you include queer titles alongside all your recommended reads lets teens who may not ever be brave enough to approach you know that not only do books with queer content exist in your collection but are recommended and appreciated by you, the adult who knows books. This really counts. And it can help straight teens work towards being better allies too as they expand their reading world. This is why I chose Proxy as a book club book – we should work towards seamless and constant integration of queer YA alongside all our programs, displays, and booklists.
- Think about including booklists inside books with queer content. This might not be right for every library, but if you slip in a list of read-alike “If You Like This Book, Try….” inside well known queer YA like books by David Levithan or The Bane Chronicles you have a chance to reach out to patrons who, again, might be uncomfortable talking to an adult for a request like this.
- Try to reach out to your local Gay/Straight Alliance or any queer youth groups. Ask if you can provide outreach and if they’re interested in hearing booktalks. This can be a great way to let adults and teens know that the library is a safe space and has material for them. Look at the GSA Network for more information and resources.
- Make your library a safe space. Much like my library code of conduct does not allow for vulgar language, I do not allow for abusive language of any kind. If I hear teens using any kind of slurs, I step in and let them know that’s not how we speak to each other in the library and, in fact, that we shouldn’t speak to each other that way ANYWHERE. Yeah, that can be awkward, but it can also open a dialogue. I have also created posters for our teen space from ThinkB4YouSpeak, a public education campaign fromGLSEN. Both these sites have good information for educators and I recommend librarians and teachers read them. GLSEN even has a Safe Space kit, including a sticker you can print out to show your library/office is a safe space.
When my teen readers heard Alex London talk about how he wrote Proxy because he wanted to see a hero like himself, the kind of hero he wanted to be – one who was dashing and had adventures and was also gay, I could see their eyes light up. I knew there were queer kids and straight kids in that room and I knew in that moment doors and windows were opening wide and, yeah, lives were being changed. As librarians, we can help make that change.
It was something as simple as a story but it was so much more.
The “Acceptance” Narrative in Trans YA
by Vee S.
Transgender people, like most marginalized groups, have continuously had their stories taken from them. Throughout the years, they’ve been told that the feelings of their oppressors are more valid and important than their own. Their stories have been repositioned to put cisgender people in the center of them.
This happens in real life– the opinions of cisgender people on trans issues are prioritized above those of transgender people—and in fiction. In this post, I focus on the fictional aspect, and how it relates to real life.
In fiction, a narrative has come forth that centers on a cisgender character “learning to accept” a transgender character. I call this the “acceptance” narrative– emphasis on the quotation marks. In the past decade or so, this narrative has emerged in YA literature. (Luna by Julie Anne Peters, Almost Perfect by Brian Katcher, and Jumpstart the World by Catherine Ryan Hyde.)
An “acceptance” narrative (as I define it) is solely told from a cisgender character’s POV. The narrative follows this basic plot:
- Cisgender character encounters a trans character
- Cisgender character is transphobic and freaks out
- Cisgender character is thrown repetitively into situations with the trans character
- The cisgender character does terrible things to the trans character, feels slightly bad about it.
- The cisgender character thinks awful things about the trans character, feels slightly bad about it.
- Something horrible happens to the transgender character
- The cisgender character realizes the error of their ways and now understands that they shouldn’t be mean to trans people
- Bittersweet ending where the cis character comes to love the trans character, but the trans character has to leave.
- While leaving, the transgender character typically thanks or forgives the cis character
I talk about the YA books that include this “acceptance” narrative frequently, explaining why this narrative is problematic. Whenever I do, the main counterpoint I hear is that these books are realistic, and I probably just don’t want to accept how hard life is for a trans person, or I don’t want to see it represented.
My first question is, to the cis people who tell me this, do you really think that I don’t know this is realistic? Do you really think that I, as a trans person, do not understand that there are a lot of cisgender people who behave exactly like these characters, and think exactly the same way?
Secondly, do you really think I don’t want the experience of how hard life is as a trans person to be represented? I do, believe me. I have read many trans YA books and not a single one has even come close to truly depicting just how damn hard it is.
The “acceptance” narrative puts trans characters through some really hard experiences. But, it totally ignores the feelings and experiences of the trans character. For example, in Luna by Julie Anne Peters, we get to hear all about how hard it is on Reagan, Luna’s sister, to have a trans sibling. We get to hear all about Regan’s problems with Luna transitioning, how she’s afraid to make friends because they might find out, how she’s upset about “hiding” Luna’s secret from Luna’s best friend. We’re also privy to Regan’s wishy-washness on pronouns, and how she thinks of her sister as “he” but switches to using “she” whenever she feels that Luna has “appeared”.
What we don’t get to hear about is any of this from Luna’s perspective. We don’t get to hear what it was like for Luna to go to school in feminine clothing for the first time. We don’t get to hear how hard it is for her to keep this secret from her best friend. We don’t get to hear any of her opinions on what she’s going through, how she sees herself, where she sees herself going…
These books do depict a harsh reality for trans people, but not in a way that I can personally connect to. Unfortunately, I’m just not here for a narrative that says that cis peoples’ inner turmoil about how they’re treating trans people deserves more attention than how trans people feel about being treated that way.
But I’m pretty sure the “it’s realistic!” response isn’t an attempt to try to cis-splain the trans experience, although it comes off like that. What I think is actually being said is that the protagonist’s response to the trans character is relatable. In other words, the people who say this have thought the same things about trans people as the transphobic protagonist did.
I’m not going to shame people for that—I’ve felt a lot of those things about trans people, too. A lot of the beliefs we have about marginalized folks are programmed into us, and it is a process to work through them.
But the fact that these books depict accurate and relatable transphobic cis people does not make them infallible. Books always uphold messages through their narrative structure—whether or not the author intended to do so. People often agree with me that trans teens shouldn’t read these books. But the second counterpoint I hear is that cis people need to read them. The idea is that if a transphobic cis person reads about a transphobic character who has to work through their transphobia, the transphobic cis person will work through their own transphobic beliefs, and become more accepting. Unfortunately, it hasn’t worked that way. In fact, some people who’ve read these books have said far worse things about trans people than those that haven’t bothered to read anything about transgender people. The problem is, the cis protagonists don’t actually work through their transphobia. While the “acceptance” narrative takes the cis character to task for being “mean,” it doesn’t challenge the transphobic beliefs or actions of the character. It doesn’t call out their judgement, fetishization, or objectification of the trans character. It doesn’t challenge the notion that trans men and women aren’t really men or women; that trans people are pretending, or putting on an act; that it’s ok to be wishy-washy on pronouns. In some ways, the “acceptance” narrative is very similar to the “hate the sin, love the sinner” mentality (though religion is typically not involved in the former). That mentality positions gay people as depraved lost souls who just can’t help being gay. It positions the straight people who “accept” them as holier-than-thou saviors. It allows homophobic people to continue to be homophobic and while also feeling good about themselves because they can forgive and love and accept gay people. The “acceptance” narrative functions in the same way. It positions trans people as depraved, crazy, and pitiful. It says that all cis people who can find it in themselves to not be terrible to them deserve gold stars. It says they don’t need to challenge their transphobia, because of course trans men and women aren’t real men and women. Of course they’re kidding themselves. Of course it’s OK to judge and objectify them. The narrative never challenges this behavior. It actually—very subtly and insidiously—supports it. It lets cis people off the hook, placing all the blame for their beliefs and behavior on the trans person. It positions trans people as a stepstool for cis people to use to feel good about themselves. Certainly, not all cis readers of these books will come out of the book thinking this way about trans people. I know dozens of wonderful cis allies who’ve read (and liked) a book that upholds the “acceptance” narrative. And in many cases this narrative is a stepping stone for many cis people into truly challenging their thoughts and behaviors. However, that’s not the case across the board, and I feel that what this narrative actually upholds gets swept under the rug. This narrative needs to be challenged. The three best-known trans YA books fit this “acceptance” narrative. That is changing—slowly—as trans YA that moves beyond this narrative gets more recognition. But by and large if you ask someone for a recommendation of a trans YA book, they’ll eagerly point you toward a trans YA book that has the “acceptance” narrative in it. I think this praise comes from the fact that for so many people this is the only book they’ve read with a trans character in it. They’re unaware of anything else existing. As a result, these books get hyper-praised, and the narrative is (almost) never questioned. I‘m sure that the community is trying to be supportive and inclusive by recommending these books. Whenever someone does point out that one of these books is problematic, others chime in and treat it as an intellectual debate. People take “devil’s advocate” positions (“what if a trans person wrote a book like this?”) or say meaningless things like “you didn’t get the point of the book”—both of which completely derail the conversation. I know that a lot of this is because people really don’t understand the narrative. (It’s typically not the narrative that is pointed out as problematic, but specific elements of the specific books. Those critiques are incomplete and very easy to refute with “but it’s realistic!”) And that’s why I’m writing this post. Because for me, as a trans person, this goes so far beyond an intellectual discussion. The “acceptance” narrative doesn’t just show up in these books—it also shows up in how trans people are treated in the world at large. And, specifically, it shows up in how we’re treated in the YA community. When trans people speak about trans representation in YA, they are often told (sometimes by the author themselves) that we should be grateful for this representation, that authors are “allowed” to write about anyone, or that we’re stirring up an “interesting debate.” Many reviews of trans books misgender the characters, present them as people who are “pretending” to be a different gender, and include such phrases as “kudos to the [cisgender] author for writing about such a controversial issue.” In discussions about trans representation and transgender people, cisgender authors of trans YA are given authority to speak on trans issues, with very few people questioning when they say incredibly problematic things. I’m sick and tired of how trans people are treated in the YA community. It is not a safe space for trans people, and I want to make it into one. I think that most of the community wants this too. Unfortunately, many people have made a lot of inappropriate assumptions about how it is OK to talk about and treat trans people. So how do we challenge those assumptions and change the behavior? Well, one way is to challenge this narrative. Because the “acceptance” narrative mirrors how trans people are treated in the YA community, and because the narrative and the behavior are both assumed to be OK, challenging the narrative is a very effective way to challenge the behavior of the community. (The flipside of this, is that brushing it aside as “just a book” or “realistic” furthers the unquestioned acceptance of this behavior.) So what can you do? When you see one of these books recommended, let the person know the narrative is problematic. Maybe point them towards this post. That, in my mind, is an important first step. If you want to challenge more of the real-life communal behavior, start with these things: Hopefully, this post will help people look at this narrative in context, and people will stop excusing it. Understanding why a narrative is problematic can reveal so many things about the way we’ve been trained to perceive the world. I really hope that this post will be one of the stones in the river that will create ripples of change. We all need to understand what the “acceptance” narrative says, and look at the extreme acceptance of it in the YA community. [i] I don’t believe that any of these authors set out to do damage—in fact, I think that set out with the very best intentions in mind. In an interview, Julie Anne Peters (author of Luna) said: “I’m not trans. I never will be. My authenticity bias couldn’t be compromised. To be authentic and honest, the narrator, the main character, would need to act in the role of observer. I decided to create a sister for Luna, Regan. Regan would be Luna’s confidante throughout life and in that way she could see, and relate to the reader, the childhood manifestations of being born transgender.” I can’t speak for the other authors, but I would bet that their reasons for writing their book the way they did would be very similar. Also, specific to the case of Luna, I fully recognize how groundbreaking it was. Luna was the first YA book published with a transgender character, and it opened a lot of doors. [ii] Some great trans authors/writers to follow: Casey Plett, Morgan M Page, Tom Leger, Cheryl Morgan, Alex Gino, Everett Maroon, Pat Schmatz, Kate Bornstein, Janet Mock, Charlie Jane Anders, Julia Serano —
Labels, Erasure, Visibility: A Q&A About (Not) Writing Bi Characters
by Corinne Duyvis
Identification. Labels. Exploration.
These topics are often brought up in YA. Even more so in queer YA: after all, discovering your own identity and who you are or aren’t attracted to is a huge part of many queer kids’ lives. Something that often leads to even more confusion—on all sides—is when someone is attracted to more than one gender. Yes, the “confused bisexual” borders on stereotype, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t occur. I mean, I was super confused about my orientation as a young teenager (which I’ve written about at DiversifYA before) and I had a very easy time of it compared to many others.
There are a couple of reasons for this common confusion. One is that there’s still a stigma about bisexuality/biromanticism. Greedy, confused, fakers, insatiable, etc. If those are the main messages you hear, then no wonder you wouldn’t want to apply that label to yourself.
Another is that bi people are still comparatively underrepresented in the media. There’s a long history of erasing bi people and their orientation, both in real life (current celebrities, historical figures) and in fiction (in the work itself, in reviews and discussions). Sometimes these people are labeled straight or gay, or there’s a ton of debate about “straight vs. gay” without ever allowing for other options; sometimes their same-gender or other-gender relationships are dismissed or written off as platonic; on the rare occasion the person’s or character’s attraction to multiple genders is acknowledged, they’re often identified as experimenting, confused, fluid, liberated, straight-with-an-exception, gay-with-an-exception, or disliking labels.
The words “bisexual” or “biromantic” are rarely used, despite being very common ways for real-life people who are attracted to multiple genders to identify. Many still shy away from the word(s). Thus, when authors do explicitly label their characters as bi, it stands out. Author Tess Sharpe (of the fabulous Far From You) has often spoken of the amazing reactions she’s received from teenagers in regards to her identifying as bi, and writing a character who does, too.
This kind of representation matters. It’s important to use the word, to defy stereotypes, to explore what this identity means. I’m glad more and more people realize how much bi visibility matters.
At the same time, this advocacy for bi representation raises many questions. In fact, when Malinda Lo suggested I write about this topic on Twitter (thank you, Malinda!) several people immediately chimed in ditto-ing their interest.
After several years seeing these questions and rebuttals online, I thought I’d put together some of the questions I’ve most often seen.
(These are specifically about bi visibility/erasure/identification—if I were to include terminology and stereotypes, we’d be here all day.)
But isn’t it true that teenagers often are confused or experimenting? Isn’t that what YA is about? Shouldn’t those teenagers also be represented?
Sure, it’s true for a lot of people. It was true for me! Not everybody leaps—or has to leap—to the label. People should never feel pressured into identifying a certain way. Bi advocates like myself need to be careful not to shove the label on people who may not want it.
I think it’s possible, however, to acknowledge the trend of erasure and misrepresentation of bi people and characters and how this is often done by defaulting to other labels and descriptors, without in turn erasing the individual people who do use those labels and descriptors.
Bi advocates aren’t saying, All these characters should be bi, end of story. We’re saying, Realistically speaking, way more of these characters would identify as bi—why this persistent reluctance to call them that?
As someone who has been a confused teenager, and whose sexuality is fluid, I would never want to take stories about those experiences away. We need more queer representation of all kinds.
I just also want explicit bi representation.
We can have it all. (/bi slogan)
How would I even show my character is bi? I mean, what if they’re in a single relationship during the course of the book?
Bi people are still bi even when they’re single or in a relationship with a particular gender.
If I’m in a relationship with a man, I’m not straight; I’m still bi.
If I’m in a relationship with a woman, I’m not gay; I’m still bi.
If I’m in a relationship with a non-binary person, I’m (a) going to be extra pissed if you attempt to label me or said relationship as lesbian/gay/straight, and (b) still going to call myself bi.
And if I’m single, guess what? I’m still bi. Just … a lonely bi.
(Call me.)
So the way to show they’re bi is simple: have them be attracted to more than one gender. Just because you’re in a relationship doesn’t mean you can’t check out other people or refer to past/crushes relationships. Not to mention they can still be explicitly referred to as bi in dialogue or narration.
On that topic, why this insistence on using the word? What if it just doesn’t come up in my novel? Besides, it feels artificial. I don’t label my straight characters, either.
You’re right. Sometimes it doesn’t come up. In my second book On the Edge of Gone, there’s an important bi character who is never labeled as such. She was called bi in a line that was taken out in revisions, and I never found another good place to mention it. I still feel anxious about this, to be honest.
That said, the reason so many people are so keen on having authors use the word because it’s still so rare. I think it’s important for readers—and particularly questioning teenage readers—to have every road wide open to them. Part of that is seeing their options represented in books.
Straight people don’t suffer from erasure; in fact, they’re considered the “default setting.” On the other hand, if you don’t explicitly call a bi character bi, many people will interpret them differently.
Since bi erasure is so common, and so many authors have internalized biphobic ideas without realizing it, the best way to defy that is to be extra thoughtful about how we approach the topic. Decades of erasure don’t go away by accident or “the natural flow of things”—they go away by consciously countering that erasure.
That’s why it matters to at least try.
But isn’t sexuality fluid? Why bother with labels in books?
Labels aren’t always bad. Labels can connect you to a community, a history, peers. They can help you realize you’re not alone, help you make sense of yourself, help you realize that it’s normal and common and a real, existing thing.
I’ve always seen labels as descriptive (this is my behavior, and this term fits that behavior) rather than prescriptive (this term identifies me, thus I must behave in certain ways); I’ve never felt boxed in by them. If people want to assume parts of my identity based on a label, or see me as nothing but a label, the problem is with those people, and not with the label itself. I’m also not going to stop calling myself female just because that gives people incorrect ideas of what I am or should be.
For me, seeing more positive and explicit bi representation as a teenager would have made things far easier.
If a person doesn’t want to commit to a label, that’s their choice. The thing is, we do have to give them that choice. Part of that is having stories that represent all these identities, experiences, labels and lack thereof, and more.
By insisting on bi visibility, aren’t you erasing people who don’t want to be labeled?
I hope not. If I ever cross that line, I hope someone calls me on it.
As I said above, it’s possible to acknowledge and fight bi erasure without in turn erasing others; I don’t want less of one thing, I want more of another. That way there’s no pressure on any single character or person to identify one way or another and represent an entire group in the process.
But what if it’s a fantasy/SF world that doesn’t have the word? Or a historical setting?
In a historical setting, you of course have to be true to history. Easy as pie. (Note that even if the word or concept didn’t exist, the people sure did.) If you’re writing a fantasy roughly based on a historical era, you have more flexibility, in my opinion; why could dragons and magic exist, but a word to identify people attracted to multiple genders would be a step too far?
For speculative settings, it’s entirely up to you. If you want to use the word, you totally can. You’re the one building these settings, after all! It’s entirely possible that another world may have come up with their own terms for less common sexual/romantic orientations, or they could even straight-up use the same terms as we do. After all, plenty of other modern ideas are often used in fantasy worlds, and you are theoretically “translating” this fantasy language into English. It’s logical to use words that readers will be familiar with.
Or maybe the world really doesn’t have any words for it. That could make sense, too, given how recent the terms we use are. In your world, maybe queer people are so oppressed and erased that it’s not ever spoken of; maybe queer people are so accepted and integrated that it feels odd to single it out.
Me, I had that latter situation in Otherbound. My fantasy-world protagonist is in a relationship with a boy but harbors an attraction to a girl. It’s never labeled or remarked on by anyone. Sometimes I wish I’d taken another route and been more explicit about her bisexuality; other times, I’m happy with my choice, as I know many queer people are hungry for these kinds of settings.
You’re got lots of options, really.
If my character is attracted to multiple genders or is exploring that option, and I decide not to have them identify as bi … am I contributing to bi erasure?
I mean … it depends? Everyone’s opinions are different, and I can’t comment on your book without having read it. All I ask is that authors strongly explore their reasons for this choice. It’s easy to internalize biphobic ideas and to default to a “simpler” option without genuinely investigating why.
If you do decide to have your characters identify otherwise or deny labels, I would personally love to see more genuine exploration and research of that character choice, rather than an off-hand mention as an apparent get-out-of-jail free card. Put in the work, either way.
One thing I would like to see more of is the existence of bi identity within these narratives, even if the character doesn’t identify as bi. After all, bi erasure doesn’t only refer to the way people are rarely called bi, but also to the way the option isn’t even brought up in situations where, logically speaking, it really should be at least mentioned.
There are lots of ways to do this, particularly when exploration of identity is part of the character’s arc. For example, have your character wonder about being bi; have them stumble on the idea during research if they’re not already familiar with the term; have someone else bring it up as an option; have a different character identify as bi; have your character perhaps go from identifying one way to identifying another.
For a specific example of how egregious this oversight can be, see my friend Kalen O’Donnell’s post about the TV series Faking It.
OK, but I don’t have a bi character or anyone attracted to multiple genders in my book.
I like that you’re reading through this long-ass post regardless! Not every book is going to have bi characters, which is fine, but keep in mind that the term and concept most likely still exist in your world. It means a lot it you could acknowledge that in places where it might logically arise. For example, by not jumping to gay the moment a character is interested in someone of the same gender.
I’m feeling awfully pressured right now.
In the end, the book and character are your own. I’m genuinely just trying to answer questions I’ve seen over the past few years.
Some of the people who asked these questions may have simply been defensive or actively trying to find ways to avoid representing bi characters. Still, I like to think that many of them were genuinely well-intentioned.
Openly discussing these matters—for example, the way Tess Sharpe has spoken about how meaningful her explicitly bisexual protagonist has been to readers—can make a lot of authors consider issues they wouldn’t have normally and change their approach in future books.
I’m not telling you what you should do; I’m trying to show you what your options are in different circumstances, and informing you of the wider context.
In the end, be honest about your character. Be honest about their experiences. Be honest about the bi, the pan, the fluid, the confused, the unlabeled, and the others.
But be honest about the world, too.
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A lifelong Amsterdammer, Corinne Duyvis spends her days writing speculative young adult and middle grade novels. She enjoys brutal martial arts and gets her geek on whenever possible. Otherbound, her YA fantasy debut, received four starred reviews—Kirkus called it “original and compelling; a stunning debut,” while the Bulletin praised its “subtle, nuanced examinations of power dynamics and privilege.” Her next book, a YA sci-fi set in Amsterdam called On the Edge of Gone, will release in March 2016.
Corinne is a co-founder of Disability in Kidlit and team member of We Need Diverse Books.
#BiVisibility
Bisexual Awareness Week Series: Day 6 – Previous Posts: Introduction to Bisexual Awareness Week Series – Bisexuality in YA – On Failing to Recognize Ourselves in Mirrors – The “B” Word – There Once Was a Girl – It’s Not Just a Phase
by Sarah Kettles
If you’re reading this, there’s no way you don’t know what a ridiculous and problematic and wonderful and frightening and enormously influential thing social media is, particularly in the lives of teenagers, and even more so in the lives of marginalized teenagers. Sites like Tumblr and Twitter and Instagram and my once-beloved LiveJournal have been bringing kids together for years, and it’s now easier than ever to find people who share your interests or who love to snark about the same things you do or who society has shoved into the same tiny box as you.
Looking for female-presenting humans who love superheroes (or villains)? #PrettyHeros
Wanting to know who else is banging their heads against their desks after hours of sitting in front of a blank page? #amwriting
Trying to find someone else who feels the same way you do about boys and girls? #bisexual
Now, there’s no denying that the Internet as a whole is not always safe – even its tiny corners that masquerade as safe spaces can be invaded by trolls. Most if not all hashtags, even the ones that seem truly non-contentious, have been hit by them. But choosing to dwell on the jerks and ignoring everyone else means you may be missing out on something amazing, something into which a lot of teens are charging head-first.
As of the moment I wrote this sentence, there were 2,777,298 posts on Instagram using #bisexual. Just searching ‘bisexual’ on Twitter brings up dozens of accounts for organizations seeking in some way to support the bisexual community. Obviously you need to be careful – there are plenty of sleazy accounts and people using the hashtag for bigotry*. But there are also plenty of respectful and/or confused and/or proud and/or kind and compassionate people out there looking for solidarity and community and someone else to shout ‘ME TOO’.
That’s an amazing thing about social media: it’s so easy to find other people who feel the way you do, because so many of them are shouting about it! Social media can help teens to realize that they’re not alone, no matter how lonely they may be in the ‘real world’. It allows people to realize that there really are safe spaces out there for them, whether the Internet happens to be that safe space or not.
This kind of acceptance and recognition that you’re not the only one is important for all teenagers, for everyone, but especially for those who don’t get that acceptance and recognition from the people around them. It’s tough being a member of a marginalized group.** It’s especially tough when some members of that group refuse – just like some people outside the group – to accept that your identity is real, as can be the case when people who identify as bisexual (or a number of other non-binary identities) spend time in groups that say they include the whole LGBTQ+ spectrum, but don’t really mean the ‘B’ part.
That kind of exclusion happened to me repeatedly when I was first coming out, to the point that I started saying I was gay even though I knew I wasn’t and felt horrible about saying it. I even started to convince myself that I might actually be gay and not bisexual, because hey – I’m attracted to more women than men (and yes, I AM married to a man), and being gay meant these groups would accept me.
Knowing that there were spaces in which my identity wouldn’t be erased, that there were other people struggling with this erasure, and that things like #bisexual and #BiVisibility existed would have made a huge difference for me at that stage in my life. They did exist – the spaces and the people and the hashtags – but I wasn’t social media-savvy enough at the time to understand how to access/use them. The thing about teenagers now, though, is that most are social media-savvy enough to use them, and if the ones they need/want/feel best represent them don’t exist, they create them.
This is, in part, why the lack of social media in many YA books rings so false with me (and why I love books like Becky Albertalli’s Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda for more than just their plotlines). The Internet is HUGE. Teens connect in real time with people from all over the planet. They’re funny and brilliant and vulnerable, sharing pictures of adorable animals and horrifying newscasts and their own true stories with people they know and people they don’t. And they’re constantly seeking others like themselves.
So what’s my point? Bisexuality is visible if you know where to look. It’s splashed all over the timelines of awesome bi-advocates both outside and within the YA community. It’s claimed loudly and proudly by teens and young adults all over Instagram and Tumblr. Yes, so is bi-erasure, but those of us who are bisexual (and those who aren’t but who are good allies) can and do shout over the biphobes.
And like Steve Berman said, we need to see more of that, of the way in which social media affects teens and young adults, particularly those who are made to feel ‘other’ by the people around them. Of the way in which the Internet, which can be horrible and dangerous and scary, can also be welcoming and comforting and full of other people screaming ‘ME TOO’.
Because yeah, ME TOO. #bisexual
*Protect yourself. I’m at a point mentally where I can flick past or report offensive/hurtful stuff without it affecting me too much, and offensive/hurtful stuff does NOT account for the bulk of posts tagged #bisexual (or most variations of this hashtag), but if you’re triggered by biphobia, I would consider reaching out to the online bisexual community in different ways. You can start with following other Gay YA guest bloggers on their various social media account, and also check out some of the great non-social media resources out there, including BiResource.net.
**Understatement of the century.
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