The Impact of Representation
I had something else I was going to write on representation. But then I heard about Robin Williams, and I thought of other things. About feeling alone. About depression, that horrendous, hideous beast that traps you and makes you feel like there’s no reason to get out of bed. I thought about my depression, which I still struggle with. What I struggled with during high school, particularly (I hesitate to say because of) my struggles with my sexuality, with not feeling like I belonged anywhere, especially when I was still in the closet.
It was lonely. God. I can’t speak for everyone but I felt so God damned lonely, all the time, like no one understood this fog that had taken over my brain. I wasn’t sad. I didn’t feel anything except loneliness and an acute desire not to get out of bed. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to do anything.
But wading through the fog gets easier with help. For me, that help was friends and writing. Writing is what’s been there for me when I can’t get out of the slump. Sometimes it’s the only thing I do in a day, sometimes it’s just twenty words or a scene but some days that feels like enough, and when I want to just lay in bed and sleep it helps to immerse myself in this fictional world that I’ve created, replace the fog with words. Writing, it would seem, helped more than anything else has.
Reading helps, too. Reading, especially now, is my way of not feeling alone. It’s my way of connecting with characters who are feeling the same things I’m feeling, regardless of whether or not they’re fictional. And as books have become more diverse it’s been easier to find those characters, whether they suffer from mental illness or are queer or any number of things. They help me not feel alone.
And that, I think, is what it boils down to. At least for me–this issue of representation, of seeing yourself in literature. Because the worst part of depression, bar the not getting out of bed, bar the fog, bar the sadness, was the indescribably crushing loneliness. That’s why books helped, that’s why reading was so important to me, because of representation. Good, accurate, thoughtful representation where my issues and fears and doubts and feelings were important. Where I was important, where I could feel like I was, and because of that—because of those books where people like me were valued—I began to find value in myself, too.
Because when you can’t find yourself represented, not only in literature but in every type of media, you start to feel like you don’t exist. When all you read are straight protagonists, you begin to feel like your story isn’t worth telling. Where every YA has a cis-male love interest for the cis-female protagonist, where the only books with queer protagonists you can find involve the angst of coming out and how awful it is to live in a world and be queer, you start to think that people like you don’t get a happy ending, or even a story at all. You begin to feel like you don’t deserve a story, or your story has to end in angst and tears. And if you’re me, it means that, for awhile, you just stop looking for your story at all. You stop looking for queer protagonists, you stop hoping that maybe you’ll find yourself in the pages, that the girl will fall in love with her best friend rather than the boy next door. You give up. You just… you stop.
But I do exist. My story does have value. I can have a happy ending, even if I have to write it myself. And you, reading this, whoever you are—you have value too. You exist. You are so, so important to the world, and to me. Even if you don’t see it yet. You are important. Your story is important, and I won’t tell you it gets better, but there are things that haven’t happened to you yet that are going to be amazing. And you need to experience them.
You’re not alone. I promise. Even if it feels like it, even if you can’t find yourself in a book right now, there’s someone out there experiencing the same things with you. If you tell your story, I guarantee you’ll get someone agreeing with you, with your experiences. Just stick around to tell it.
Nita Tyndall is a tiny Southern queer with a penchant for sweet tea, cardigans, and words. She’s been writing since she was five, and her first piece was Scooby-Doo fanfiction in bright pink, all caps font—though now she prefers to write about sad teenagers. She’s currently in college attempting to get an English degree, and briefly was a college columnist for the lesbian webmagazine, Autostraddle. You can find her on tumblr at nitatyndall where she occasionally writes about YA and queer things, on Twitter at @NitaTyndall, or at her website nitatyndall.com.
We Are Not Just a Diversity Checkbox Part 2
Editors note: Part One of the We Are Not Just a Diversity Checkbox mini-series addressed background MOGII characters in media, and why there is no good excuse to leave out queer characters. In Part Two, Emily K, one of our Teen Voices, goes further into this, looking specifically at speculative fiction. This series updates every Friday, and will be wrapping up the first week of September.
It doesn’t stop at just a lack of queer characters. Many YA speculative fiction books take place in worlds where the existence of MOGII people isn’t even considered. The possibilities in world-building for speculative fiction is limitless. We already live in a heteronormative and cissexist world; it doesn’t need to carry over into science fiction and fantasy stories.
Acid by Emma Pass
It’s worthwhile to note that it is possible to set a story in a society that ignores same-gender couples in order to point out the heteronormativity. For example, the novel Acid by Emma Pass (Delacorte Press, March 2014) is set in dystopian London, and the main character, Jenna, meets an explicitly stated f/f couple. It leads Jenna to wonder about other same-gender romantic relationships and how they had to live with the heteronormative government-mandated match-making. This is a positive example also because it doesn’t use the pain of MOGII characters to further the growth of a main character, both girls in the couple are named, and they have multiple conversations with Jenna in the chapters they appear in. While this is better than what most books in the genre have done, there’s no need to take such baby steps when there are books with, ya’ know, canon queer protagonists.
Minor characters who are MOGII are important, though. In the words of Rainbowheart, another contributor to the Goodreads thread, “side characters are as important as main characters because it reflects the diversity of our world. So teens can read these books and see that parents, siblings, friends, teachers and so on are not necessarily straight by default.” While that’s important for cishet teens to realize, “queer characters do not and should not have to ‘make straight people see how normal we are’…Queer characters should first and foremost be for queer people. If straight people get anything out it, then that is a neat perk.” (Sarah Stumpf)
Otherbound by Corinne Duyvis
Some authors try to pass off subtext, allegories, “undefined relationships,” and “love that’s open to interpretation” as equal to blatant textual evidence that a character is MOGII-identified. While that was really the most people could hope for in terms of representation 50, 40, or 30 years ago, that’s not the case anymore. For example, Malinda Lo has written four novels picked up by mainstream publishers, none of which feature cishet protagonists. Ash (Little, Brown 2009) is a lesbian retelling of Cinderella with more fantasy elements, Huntress (Little, Brown 2011) is a prequel to Ash that features two queer female protagonists, and her duology Adaptation (Little, Brown 2012) is a science-fiction story with a bisexual female protagonist. Lo has been a guest at speaking events, book panels, book conferences, and signing tours since first being published in 2009; her books have sold well and all four of them are either already published or soon to be published in the U.K. and Australia.
Despite the success of Adaptation and other Young Adult sci-fi books with one or more canon bisexual major characters such as Otherbound by Corrine Duyvis, Saga by Brian K. Vaughan (which is a graphic novel series, but still worth noting in this list), The Summer Prince by Alaya Dawn Johnson, and Love In The Time of Global Warming by Francesca Lia Block, people are spending time writing articles about whether Divergent is the science fiction genre’s first bisexual allegory. It seems backwards to congratulate books for having possible queer interpretations of characters when books with canon queer characters, many of which are written by MOGII-identified authors, exist and are going unnoticed (which is also due to the fact that the books with MOGII characters are given less press and are allotted less money for marketing than their cishet-palooza counterparts).
Drop a comment to let me know what you thought of this week’s post, or talk to me on Twitter @captainbooknerd.
I’m Emily, an asexual kinda-girl/kinda-agender lesbian in an American high-school straight out of a TV teen drama. I’m also a sci-fi/fantasy book and comic enthusiast. I can be found in one of the three libraries I have a card for, my local bookstore, the awesome comic store in my town that has fluffy cats, or at my computer. My goal is to become an editor at a Young Adult fiction publishing imprint. Twitter: @captainbooknerd, tumblr: adventureswithinthepages.tumblr.com
Jack by Shannon LC Cate: review by Simren Handa
Mama doesn’t like boys, but Jack’s not like most boys.
Born a girl during the Civil War, Jack has been passing as a boy in the slums of Five Points, Manhattan, since running away from an orphans’ home at age eight. He makes his living at petty thievery, surviving pocket watch-to-pocket watch until he discovers a talent for gambling.
Lucy is a bright girl trapped in a dreary life with her widowed mother. When she meets Jack on the street, her days are happier than they have ever been. But her heart is broken when mother takes her far from New York, perhaps never to see Jack again. Her new home in a rowdy Arizona mining town is as dismal as ever, but she finds a glimmer of hope in dreams of a career on stage.
Now, to find their way to the life they promised each other, Jack and Lucy will have to dodge dangers and take risks they never dreamed of as childhood sweethearts.
Jack tells the story of a cross-dressing, biracial teenager in 1800s America, when tolerance was low and society was largely male dominated. Cate not only addresses the perils of being transgender in a historical context, but focuses on the corruption of a male dominated society and racial tension in the civil war era. But aside from all that, Jack is much more than a story that has the intention to educate. It is a novel which stems from romance; Jack, the titular character, strives to reunite with his childhood sweetheart, Lucy, after she and her mother leave New York to live in Arizona. And as Jack and Lucy inch towards their happy ending, they encounter adventure and heartbreak.
This novel, as a whole, was a breath of fresh air. The characters were a little two-dimensional, but I felt as if Cate’s intention was to focus more on the story-line than character development. The plot was fast paced, edgy for a historical novel, and, therefore, some of the development was a little too convenient for me, however, I enjoyed the mystery behind some of the characters, their schemes and foibles; there was parts in the story where I became breathless with excitement; parts where I swooned at the romance and particular parts where I couldn’t help cringing with disgust (as the author surely intended). Cate knows how to write a fast-paced adventure.
Perhaps this is me as a reader, but I love to know more detail. Yes, I love me some juicy imagery and slow, sensual description. Jack seemed to lack some depth where the writing was concerned. And although the short free prequel, Jump, gives the reader insight about Jack’s background, I still felt as if there was something holding me back from indulging in the character’s emotions; the love between Jack and Lucy was a little under-developed, very sudden and slightly rushed.
A particular racy scene between Jack and Lucy was much needed. The physical intimacy between the characters, not just Jack and Lucy, but Bill and Shanna gave the story a more mature angle, made their love slightly more believable and interesting, and developed the relationship, giving it a more realistic, grittier edge. Hats off to Cate for not blurring out the scene or eschewing it completely, but instead, telling her story exactly the way she desires it to be told.
Jack’s plot line and ingenuity was brilliant. I thought Cate pulled off the motif of gambling throughout her story well; Jack’s propensity towards gambling and the palm reading went well together, giving the book a mystical edge. The novel was well executed and I felt as if Cate had put as much thought into the character’s back-story and endgame as she did with the plot.
Overall, the novel itself is not unique because it features a transgender protagonist, but because it succeeds in creating a well written plot filled with a great romance and even greater adventure. I will definitely be reading more from this author.
Simren is an 18 year old student with a passion for reading and a glutton for romance, adventure and wit. She writes as much as possible in her free time, be it journalism, fiction or reviews.
Find her on twitter @Simren2105, or drop a comment down below.
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Read our interview with Shannon LC Cate here!
We Are Not Just a Diversity Checkbox Part 1
Editor’s note: We are so excited to be hosting this mini-series We Are Not Just a Diversity Checkbox. It will be updated every Friday and wrap up the last week of August. Emily K, one of our Teen Voices will be talking about MOGII (Marginalized Orientation, Gender Identity, and Intersex) representation in YA, specifically minority characters, and others that are included more or less to check us off.
When the hype for Disney’s animated feature “Frozen” was at its peak, many people were exuberant over the male store owner having a husband and children who were shown for two seconds sitting in the sauna. How wonderful! A huge corporation like Disney has finally provided some MOGII representation! Except, they didn’t. The scene was completely ambiguous, and there has been no official word from Disney as to whether the man in the sauna was the store owner’s husband. This is not representation. Even if they were a confirmed couple, after all the movies Disney has put out with heterosexual couples, one minor background couple whose scene is very short and so ambiguous that there would need to be a press release to confirm that they aren’t straight doesn’t count as progressive in the least bit. This is an extreme example, but it leads me to a question for the young adult genre: does having background/minor MOGII characters count as progressive?
There is quite a long answer to this question when you dive into the gray areas and specifics, which I will, but the straight-forward answer is no, a passing mention or appearance of an MOGII character shouldn’t be lauded now in 2014. Back in May of this year, I posed this question to fellow members of the Goodreads’ group YA LGBT Books. The group has brought about many lively discussions about issues in Young Adult literature with regards to the MOGII characters (or the lack thereof). In this thread, user Jay D. mentioned author Robert A. Heinlein, who intentionally wove positive MOGII characters into the plot of Stranger in a Strange Land (Putnam Publishing, 1961), though they were edited out. Jay had a very succinct answer to my question. “What Heinlein did with minor LGBTQ characters was groundbreaking but it would not now be any big deal.”
Books with MOGII protagonists have sold well, and a large portion of YA readers have made it clear that they are starving for books like that. Despite this, in 2013, books with YA MOGII characters make up, at the high end of the estimation, 2.4% of all YA books published that year. And that small slice isn’t very diverse; cis gay boys made up 59% of the protagonists in the Big 5 and 75% in specifically LGBT publishers. The representation of characters in multiple oppressed minorities, such as being MOGII and a person of color, is dismal. “The book won’t make money” can no longer be used as an excuse, nor can “There will be backlash from homophobes/transphobes,” for two reasons. First off, there will be at least some backlash for every book published. Books about genetic modification and cloning, drug/alcohol use, magic, political and religious viewpoints, or violence have all received backlash. Religious groups ran to libraries in droves to get the Harry Potter series banned because they thought that the magic would encourage satanism or occultism, yet now the series is famous the world over. Publishing houses are willing to publish books with scenes of graphic violence, but many seem to draw the line at stories with happy MOGII characters. Secondly, if authors and publishers are more interested in catering towards bigots than treating MOGII people with human decency, then they are part of the problem.
We need to show authors and publishers that we are not content with tiny scraps of representation, but I know how difficult it is to contain the excitement over those tiny scraps when we are starving. We need to make having MOGII characters or at the very least not excluding them during world-building an expectation instead of something non-MOGII authors are praised for.
Part Two of We Are Not Just a Diversity Checkbox will be up next week and is about MOGII characters (or really the lack thereof) in speculative fiction. I’d love to hear your opinions on Part One; leave a comment, or tweet them to @captainbooknerd on twitter!
Review: Love in the Time of Global Warming by Francesca Lia Block
First things first, this a beautiful book. You don’t even need to read it to realise that it’s beautiful: you can tell by the way the dust jacket is all textured and pretty, with the letters jutting out and being bumpy underneath your fingers. It is a gradient turquoise sky, a stormy sea, and a splash of orange that’s like the splash of hope this book will provide for the queer teenagers who read it or have read it.
Our August 2014 Book of the Month!
It’s a reimagining of Homer’s Odyssey, which is incredible in itself: this is a book I had read to me as a child as I lay in bed, listening, awestruck. Just like the Odyssey, it’s full of mythical creatures and adventure and the elements, and the story is driven by a hero. Francesca Lia Block even managed to capture the mood of the Odyssey, or at least the mood it inspired in me when I was seven years old: the feeling of being surrounded by wonderful things that you don’t quite understand but want to. It feels like it’s enchanted: the way the sentences are so beautifully and richly woven together and the way that flashbacks are placed amongst present tense narrative so that they blend in, perfectly, rather than feeling awkward as is the danger when an author takes readers away from the main storyline.
Reading this novel does require a certain amount of suspension of disbelief – things are constantly happening and changing and they are all fantastical without huge amounts of explanation. It’s set in a post-apocalyptic LA, but the way that the pre-apocalyptic world is described does not make it seem entirely realistic. Everything is very stylised, to the extent that reading the book is like looking at an impressionist painting. You know what’s happening but it’s not being presented in a lifelike way. For some people this might create distance from the story, but personally I liked this aspect of the book, because it once again captured the feeling of the Odyssey. I’m a Latin student so I love this sort of classically inspired writing with roots that go way back to the Ancient World, but the style isn’t for everyone.
My favourite part of the book, though, were the characters. There are four friends, all teens, all queer, and between them they go on an adventure to keep themselves safe and find the main character’s family. One of the most successful parts of the characterisation was that the sexual orientations and gender identities of all four of them seemed like a non-issue: only at one point did the characters actually discuss being queer. In the rest of the book, they just got on with their lives, falling in love and saving lives and making grand sacrifices. A primary theme was the importance and value of family, which was very nice to read about in a time when YA novels are often just romances without any other plot.
Altogether it was an incredible book! I would recommend it for teens that have grown out of fairytale books but would still like to escape the real world, and also for queer teens, because they may be able to see themselves reflected in the heroes of this story, which is how it should be.
Georgie is a teen writer and bookworm from England. At the moment she’s working on a gay YA novel of her own and can be found procrastinating on Twitter (@missgeorgie) or else ranting on her blog (georgiepenney.weebly.com).
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Learn more about Love in the Time of Global Warming.
Enter our Book of the Month giveaway for a chance to win a signed copy!