Are “safe” books really what we want?
Last week, in the comments to Kris’s wonderful post about abelist language and the stigmatization of mental health issues, several commenters raised questions about what words can and cannot be used ‘safely,’ and noted the complexity of words that have different meanings and different contexts. A word like “irrational,” for example, has great importance within the Social Sciences, but can also serve as an inappropriate substitute for “crazy” or “insane.” That discussion really had me thinking about how much context can matter, not only in terms of what we are presuming and implying when we use certain descriptions, but also where we are applying certain descriptions and to what end.
For example, one of the reasons I was uncomfortable with all of the references to Kathleen Hale as “crazy” – beyond the stigmatization problem – is that I also felt such a label pushed her behavior into a place where it seemed aberrant and therefore not necessary to criticize. Like because it was “obvious” she was “crazy,” we shouldn’t worry about “normal” authors stalking readers. Never mind the huge leaps made in ascribing her behavior and her motives to mental illness, but even beyond that, the prescriptive label of “crazy” also served for some as a kind of shield, behind which Hale could have safe harbor from “unreasonable” readers and bloggers who objected to her behavior, her post, the Guardian’s publication of it, Harper Collins’s silence, and the rallying of others to her defense. And suddenly, we were in a discussion about Hale’s purported motives, which we could not possibly be privy too, rather than a discussion about the behavior itself and the way readers and authors responded to that behavior.
Then, this week, Janine reviewed Ilona Andrews’s Burn for Me, and one of her comments seemed particularly relevant to the previous week’s discussion, namely that when she’s reading a book about a different cultural context – one she’s not familiar with – she can “overcompensate:” Sometimes I want to bend over backwards to make sure I’m being sensitive to all possible issues and I go too far as a result.
While some descriptions of Hale seemed thoughtlessly insulting, Janine’s comment seemed very much the opposite to me – so concerned with being on the ‘right’ side of the appropriation issue that she went too far the other way.
And in both cases, even though in so many ways they seem like diametrically opposed responses, there is a similar outcome, namely the potential to stifle complex, difficult discussion about boundaries, underlying issues, questions of representation, and investigation of what type of representation is appropriate and when.
Before I go further, let me say how much I appreciate Janine’s honesty and candor, because her willingness to engage in that discussion created an opportunity to talk about something that has been on my mind for many months now, and which I have similarly heard from many other readers and authors – namely, the ubiquity of a stifling fear of being called out for the ‘wrong’ view of a character or a book.
I realize this seems like an oxymoron. After all, don’t all the references to Hale as “batshit” and “insane” and “off her rocker” and whatever pejorative you might want to use here mean that we need to be more assiduous in policing each other when it comes to reading representations ‘correctly’ and displaying the appropriate understanding and respect for differences?
Contrary to what may seem like the obvious answer to some of you, I’m going to say instead, “Maybe not.” And here’s a very condensed explanation of why.
Disclaimer: Discussions related to representation are incredibly complex, often contentious, potentially volatile, and unresolvable into any true universal principles. Not to mention, far, far beyond what I’m attempting here. In fact, at this point, I’m less concerned about the representations, per se, as I am interested in looking at the conditions we are or are not creating around having those much more difficult and complex conversations.
Obviously representation matters. Words matter, how people and cultures and identities and conditions are represented in language matters. That said, I think fiction and real life are different contexts, and as such, they often present different challenges and opportunities.
For example, when we use abelist language to describe someone like Kathleen Hale, we’re making presumptions about a real person, and those presumptions unfortunately, if inadvertently or unintentionally, stigmatize certain conditions and the people who identify with them. Also, we just don’t know what Hale’s mental state is, so the presumptions are also, well, presumptuous, and even potentially dangerous.
If, however, you have a character in a book named “Mad Rogan,” I’m going to have all sorts of questions before I decide whether his name is ableist. For example, how did that nickname come about? Is the book challenging that name in any way? Is there a commentary in the story about madness and insanity? Are there differences between the way people use the word “mad” and the way they use “crazy” and do any of those differences apply here? In other words, my list of questions is going to be a hell of a lot longer than my questions as applied to a real-life woman for whom we have a woefully incomplete narrative.
For one thing, in fiction we really can talk about character motivations, and we can interpret and debate and disagree about those interpretations. There are often narratives and meta narratives in a work of fiction, and what seems straightforward or uncomplicated on one level, may actually be working subversively or questioningly on another. And, of course, reasonable, bright people are going to disagree about how any given character or characteristic is represented, as happened in the discussion thread to Burn For Me, where several commenters really appreciated and liked the way Andrews represented Hinduism. I wonder, though, what would have happened had the first comments been from people who were dissatisfied with that portrayal. Because in order to even have that discussion, we’ve got to have a conversation space that feels safe enough for people to disagree without getting massively defensive or offensive. And I feel like what’s happening instead is that many people are simply not engaging at all.
I really started to notice this during the massive Fifty Shades backlash, where some people were talking about how they felt shamed, and others felt that shame was being conflated with critical discussion of the book, and rather than working through this dilemma, the discussion just kind of dissipated without resolution. Readers felt they needed to justify their reading tastes, complete with disclaimers for problematic texts. And in the wake of that, I wonder how much risk authors feel free to take, especially when it seems clear that we won’t have more diversity in the Romance genre without many conflicted portrayals and representational missteps along the way.
And most of all I wonder whether there’s a way we can be both critical of those representational missteps and still authentically and convincingly encouraging of more risk and more diversity. Because right now I feel like we’re crowding ourselves into a corner where we’re actually cutting ourselves off from what we claim to want more of. And ironically, what seems “safe” in Romance isn’t necessarily the kind of aware and enlightened representation that people reference when they talk about wanting more diversity.
Part of this, I think, goes back to what people believe that the Romance genre should do. Should it present moral exemplars and represent characters and characteristics in an “ideal” way? Is there a perceived standard of how certain characters and cultures and characteristics should be represented, and if so, are we essentializing that standard to the point where we are only willing to accommodate a narrow range of characters and circumstances?
Rarely in fiction do we get the kind of clarity about why certain representations are problematic that we do in real life. And I believe that’s part of what makes fiction so important – it can challenge us to think differently, to look at situations and characters from different perspectives, to question our own values and principles. Personally, I like moral and ethical ambiguity in Romance, although I know that many readers do not. But I also feel that the broader our boundaries are, the more of everything there is for all of us, and the better chance we have at true diversity and non-stereotypical representation. Problematic characters can be imperfect in ways that make readers think, dig deeper into their own views, and understand something familiar in a new way.
I’d rather have a book culture where authors don’t feel like writing outside some very narrow lines is considered risky, and where a single book doesn’t have to stand for – and be judged as — an entire identity system. And as much as I value critical analysis of representation in the genre, I think that the inclination to label characters and texts with all those “ist” terms is actually getting in the way of doing the work of analysis to break down how and why those representations are problematic.
I’ve heard comments to the effect that everyone is too sensitive these days, but I think it’s more that people are afraid of not being sensitive enough. Which may be even more paralyzing in the end, because uncertainty will feed the fear indefinitely, and both authors and readers will withdraw rather than engage in a way that feels unsafe.
In my more idealistic days, I figured what the hell — unconventional, talented authors will persevere and break through. Just as I used to think that bold readers will speak no matter what. Except that I’m pretty bold and I find myself holding back when it seems like more work than fun to talk about a book that’s perceived as a “bad example” of whatever.
So one thing I’m going to try to do less of myself is using labels as shorthand – misogynist, anti-feminist, racist, abelist (all the ists and isms)– when I can instead explain my issue with the conduct or the symbolism or whatever. I know that I can shut down when too many labels start flying around, even though I’m guilty of using them myself. Also, I’m going to try to overcome my own concerns about having to defend something I anticipate will be controversial, and just get out there with it, because I’ve self-censored many times over the past few years, and I’m not any more content for it.
But what do you think – do you feel like you’re walking on eggshells these days, or are you happy with the current discussion culture? Or maybe you feel that everyone just needs a swift kick in the ass and a big dose of get over yourself. Any thoughts of how we can cultivate more robust book criticism without discouraging diversity?
You wanna make an omelet, you gotta break eggs. But if the eggs fancy making a quiche, then they ain’t gonna break so they can be used in no humble omelet no matter how hard you hop and dance over their bones.
The discussion culture is the problem; fickle to the point where even it doesn’t know itself what it wants to talk about. You say, “unconventional, talented authors will persevere and break through,” but break through what; to where? What is the use of being a needle in a haystack if no one wants has a mechanism of searching the haystack.
The big gun reviewers seem to limit themselves to the works where they know that people will pay a few pennies to read their reviews. The blogging community is picking up the slack … and it seems like an awful lot of slack for them to wade through. So much so that a few have hung up their reading glasses; and I find myself concerned about the massive TBR piles that some of them are under.
The discussion culture appears to be a heard of sheep, but I can’t see the shepherd. So I’ll just sit here on my little patch of grass until they come over here and nibble me, because no matter how hard I shout and scream, no matter how hard I wave my arms, they will only wander over here and nibble at this little corner when everything else has turned brown and wilted.
I have certainly pulled back from participating in some discussions because I anticipated … conflict (the best word I can come up with right now) stemming not from disagreement with my ideas so much as a misinterpretation of my language. I love online discussions, but sometimes the challenge of expressing myself clearly in both word and tone (and tone is the more difficult, IMO) when I feel like the people I’m communicating with might be quick to see offense or insensitivity in my language … yeah, I usually hold back and think “it’s not worth it.”
If I feel like the people I’m communicating with online will give me the benefit of the doubt if I express something poorly in their opinion, or that they’ll be willing to ask for clarification before writing my opinion off as “wrong” or “insensitive” or whatever, then I’m much more likely to participate in discussions on sensitive or controversial topics. Of course, that places a burden on my readers, so the most I can really do is try to be a “generous” reader myself to hopefully contribute to a more open and diverse conversational environment.
If I feel like people have understood my view, but disagree anyway, then I’m okay with that. Everyone is not always going to agree on every issue and it seems silly to me to take that as a personal offense.
However, if I feel like someone is disagreeing with *their own skewed interpretation* of my view, then I start to have a harder time continuing to participate in that discussion.
I think what it comes down to is I really, really don’t like being misunderstood. :) But misunderstandings will happen, of course, so I try to remind myself to get over myself! It’s not a tragedy if I am (gasp!) misunderstood by strangers on the internet. I think I go through cycles where I’m more willing to take the risk of being misunderstood online, and there are some topics of discussion where I am more patient with misunderstandings than with others.
Sometimes it’s like walking on eggshells, and to be frank, you are always going to upset somebody, unless you are completely bland and boring and your characters are without fault and talk respectfully about each other at all times.
When I’m writing (and in real life for that matter) I consciously try to avoid statements that imply “everybody” or “you all.” I don’t always succeed, but it’s what I constantly aim for. It’s lazy thinking, and it’s downright wrong. I’m seeing it in real life in the way Islam is depicted, for instance. “They’re all terrorists,” that kind of thinking. If I had to list my pet hates, bigotry would probably come first.
I was brought up in a multicultural society. Many of my friends were Hindus, and ejected from Uganda by Idi Amin (Uganda used to have a strong Indian-based culture until Amin told them to get a suitcase each and leave). My experiences with them were no way typical of the Hindus from India and Pakistan that I got to know, or of the Sikhs, or of the Muslims. When you’re writing novels, there is no “typical.” So it can be avoided by thinking a bit harder about “that” person in “that” condition and creating a backstory for every person encountered. A bit more work, but hey, it’s worth it. Stop being generic, in other words.
I have a book coming out later this month which deals with the way madness was treated in the eighteenth century. Even then they knew there were different kinds of madness, but they tended to be locked up in places like Bedlam and forgotten. Adding a modern sensibility to the story would have been wrong. All I could do was minimise the possible insult, but when you’re working in a historical context, it gets even harder. I started a book about the early days of the abolitionist movement, but it remains half written. The terms they used are just not acceptable and I had to clench my teeth every time I wrote it.
BTW, “Mad” Rogan is an ex Marine who gained his nickname by storming the enemy position in the face of almost certain death after his parents back home are killed by a mugger in a senseless act of violence. He returns home with only one eye and his sanity barely intact.
I’d give him a bimbo to fall in love with, a woman who has been brought up in the public eye and used to think of herself as a commodity. Someone who has had all the plastic surgery money can buy, but underneath the plastic front she has a good heart and she’s more intelligent than anybody gives her credit for, especially the cameras that follow her every move.
As a non-native English speaker, I have to admit that I am hesitant to comment on this site, afraid that I might unintentionally use inappropriate words. In Holland, where I am from, discussions about which words not to use are rare. We pretty much say what we want. Or at least it feels that way.
The first time I saw a discussion in the comments about the use of certain words I was surprised and did indeed think it was a bit extreme. But then I thought about it some more, and realized that I sometimes do use words that are probably hurtful to some people (e.g. using autistic, when I just mean someone is a bit rigid.) And I now try to change my way and not use these kind of words.
So even though I still think it is a bit extreme to shun the word mad (which to me seems such a general word and I love Meljean Brook’s Mad Machen), I really appreciate discussions like this because they made me think about the impact my words could have.
I do wonder, is being so careful with your words, mainly something that is done by women? Because most blogs I follow are written by women, and I have seen this discussion on several blogs. Now, because of reasons, I just started reading Marc Randazza’s blog. And wow, that was definitely different.
I find myself in an awkward position too for some of my guilty pleasures.
Take Sam Crescent books for example: a lot of them (especially the gang-related ones) have extremely hateful heroes who tell the women they sleep with before the heroines that they are only “whores” and they’re worthless and therefore they’re only good as a vessel for their desires to be discarded just after the act. To me, that’s extremely problematic as the only “good” women are the h and their friends’ wives.
Here’s an excerpt (available on Amazon) of her latest book, “The scarred one”:
“How was that, baby?” the woman said, smiling up at him.
“Fine.” He got to his feet, pulling up his pants and securing his belt into place.
“You’re going?”
“I’m not interested in seconds.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that about you.” The woman sighed, taking a seat on the bed. “All the girls said you were the love and leave ’em type of guy.”
“I don’t waste my time on pussy that’s known more cocks than a fucking lavatory. You’re a fucking whore, and I don’t need to waste my fucking time with you.” He threw some notes on the bed, hating the fact he’d used another whore.
This lovely dialogue takes place on page 2 of the book, making the hero sound like Jack the Ripper.
So, you ask, why do I keep coming back to these books? Because they’re strangely addictive, and extremely easy to read.
But if you ever reviewed the book and said the hero was misogynistic to the extreme, I would definitely agree with you. As long as you’re not advocating for censorship.
I am happy there are places we can discuss books and disagree about liking or disliking them and disagree about why we like or dislike them. So I’ll take the overly sensitive comments along with the not-sensitive-enough ones and on any given day know I could post either type too.
It can be difficult online to judge the tone of comments at times. In these cases I try to give people the benefit of the doubt.
It’s hard when you feel you’re the only person who dislikes a book others all seem to love. Or likes a book others loathe. But hang around the romance community online long enough and you realize most readers have felt that way at one time or another.
I don’t know how you can cultivate more robust book criticism other than to continue to post reviews. I know I’ve enjoyed many on the discussions here and the various tangents they’ve taken. I’ve certainly had my viewpoints challenged and I appreciate that in hindsight if not always in the heat of the moment. And when things have gotten heated I admire the way most keep a cool head. I think continuing to acknowledge other points of view helps as well.
I don’t comment on things I view as potentially controversial not because I’m afraid of the backlash, but because it adds too much stress in my life. I read online blogs to escape the stresses of real life and it defeats the purpose if I constantly engage in stressful conversations. I certainly appreciate the variety of discussion at this site, but it just seems easier to lurk than to comment. :) However, I recently decided that I’m going to make a more concentrated effort to take a part in the community. We’ll see how that goes. :D
@Lynne Connolly:
I’m a little confused by the end of your comment. Because “Mad” Rogan from BURN FOR ME doesn’t fit that description… Are you referring to something else?
@Divya: I’ve not read “Burn for Me,” I was just running with the name. It all came to me as I was writing it down, and when that happens, I let it go. I might even write it. Changing the name, of course. “Mad” Murphy?
@Lynne Connolly: Oh, lol. That plot sounds right up my alley!
Words have an impact beyond what may be intended, and refusing to acknowledge that, or dismissing those who are offended as too sensitive is rather like saying catcalling is just trying to start a conversation or pay a woman a compliment. Sometimes it is, but the men who shout out what they consider to be a neutral or friendly comment to a stranger need to be aware of the more aggressive and overtly misogynist catcalling that women experience and realize that their own comments are perceived in that context. That doesn’t mean that certain words (or conversations) are always off limits, but it does mean that we should listen when people try to explain how and why that word choice offends them.
I do find myself bending over backwards to be sensitive more often these days than I did before the Fifty Shades of Gray controversy. I feel like the success of that book and of self-publishing in general has unleashed a turf war among readers about what kind of books are published.
Some readers don’t want certain books from the new crop (books that may feel insensitive to them) and other readers are happy with those books. To give some examples of what I mean by the new crop– Kristen Ashley’s books have been controversial, and so was The Last Hour of Gann, and I could come up with more examples.
I’ve always been a reader who enjoys more than one kind of book. Sometimes I love books that others find offensive (Captive Prince anyone) and sometimes I don’t (I couldn’t finish Motorcycle Man— the self-pubbed version, at least). But what I feel has changed most for me is the tenor of the conversation around books.
Whereas at one time we used to debate about the books and talk about them in detail, now that kind of conversation is harder to find. Instead I feel afraid my tastes will offend others so when I review I try to make it clearer what’s potentially offensive in a book, and sometimes I get that wrong because I only have my own limited viewpoint to judge by.
I have a lot of sympathy for readers who can’t find the kind of books they love because I was in exactly that boat in the early 2000s and I remember the frustration I felt when I had to turn away from romance and read chick lit and fantasy instead. Also, sometimes I share these readers’ frustration (New Adult as a genre hasn’t yielded many books that have appealed to me). But I wish we could all –and I include myself here — be a little more tolerant of each others’ tastes despite that, because in-depth discussions of the books themselves are also in danger of disappearing.
I think it is a difficult road. I think everyone had different thresholds of what bothers them, like someone who hates the word “crazy” but freely uses “idiot”. I don’t always equate crazy = mental illness. For example I love Patsy Cline’s song “Crazy” and “I fall to pieces”. Also I wouldn’t want to limit or police someone with mental illness using words they were comfortable with. But I think there is a difference in trying to be compassionate and sensitive to someone being “politically correct” for forms sake.
Acck, no edit button. I mean there is a difference in someone saying I am just going to be politically correct but not caring, than someone who is trying to be careful and sensitive because they don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.
For me, I think the most important thing is recognising that we can enjoy things which are also in some ways problematic. Because, to be honest, if you look hard enough, almost everything in popular entertainment is problematic one way or another. Calling out the problems in a book is not the same as shaming readers who enjoy that books. It’s good to call out the problems and talk about them and discuss why sometimes we can let problematic elements go (because the story or the writing or the characters or some other reason) and sometimes those elements prevent us from enjoying a book.
I also think that it’s important to distinguish between discussions of individual books and discussions of the genre as a whole. To say ‘this book’s depiction of a minority is problematic because it plays into X stereotype’ is a different level of criticism from ‘whenever this minority is depicted into the genre it plays into X stereotype’. The first may well be lazy and deserve calling out, but there is a limit to how well one book can represent the experiences of a whole group of people. If that’s the only way the group is ever depicted, then that is a much more serious problem that needs to be exposed and addressed.
I don’t want people to feel that they can’t contribute to discussions about books because of constant policing. I do think there’s a lot to be learned from reading and listening to other people’s responses to books – especially people with different experiences and perspectives from mine.
It think the answer is “Yes, ‘we’ do want safe books. Sometimes.” By this I mean that many people (and I include myself, some of the time) read romance for escape and comfort. And although I’m wary of seeing romance as unique among genres, I DO think that the foregrounding/valuing (from both readers and authors–again, not all) of both emotional response and identification with the heroine makes discussing these issues more fraught. So safe can mean a) “I don’t want to have to think critically about romance, especially about a book I loved/identified with” and b) “it’s particularly painful to encounter hurtful representations in romance because I turn to it for escape and my emotions are so engaged.” That means someone can want more diverse representations in books but at the same time find reading a lot of them difficult or painful. (I use hurt/pain deliberately, because offense isn’t all we’re talking about). When those two things collide, it is really hard to have a reasoned discussion about the possibility of multiple interpretations of a book co-existing.
The other thing I try to remember is that a safe space for discussion looks different to different people. There’s the classroom style safe space, where we consider different views and the people who put them forward with respect and debate and defend, and we want people to feel safe expressing an opinion. I value that kind of discussion a lot (like you) and it’s what I seek out online. But. That’s easy for me to say because these debates ARE mostly “academic” to me. I may strongly dislike or like a portrayal, but it’s not personal to me so I like learning from and considering different points of view. I think–though I know this word can be used to stifle debate–that this is a privileged position, though. For instance, it’s easy for me to go, “Yeah, an alpha douche can be read this way, or that way, or this other way, all at once, such an interesting and cool discussion.” But the person who is a survivor of domestic violence and who can only see abuse dynamics in the portrayal of the hero–that person is not entering the discussion of the book from the same neutral, privileged position that I am, if that portrayal hurts them and they see it as dangerous. I’m not saying we have to grant that reader’s view ultimate authority–after all, not all rape survivors or people with a disability or people of color interpret and respond to fictional representations in the same way. But I think that view needs a kind of respect and consideration that mine doesn’t for that person to feel “safe” in the discussion. “Well, that’s just another interesting interpretation” doesn’t quite cut it, for me. I’m not sure what I am arguing for, exactly, but I feel it’s on me, as someone who is used to and enjoys engaging in debate, and for whom many of these questions are “academic,” to remember that not everyone feels empowered to speak in the same way I do, and for some people a debate is more personal and painful than it is for others. Sometimes the people we need to hear from the most are those for whom speaking up is the hardest.
I think Janine’s “going to far” helps with that, actually–when a reader acknowledges that something might be problematic to others, and that she wondered about that, it opens a space for discussion. If the first few commenters HAD found the book appropriative, well, maybe they would have had a point. And since they didn’t–if there’s someone out there who did find it so, is SHE now uncomfortable speaking up? There aren’t easy answers here. I also think that both Ros and Janine are right, that the more we talk about SPECIFIC books and look that their words, rather than talking in generalizations, the more possible it is to have critical discussion. Possibly the romance-reading community is more fragmented now (the market seems more and more segmented to me) and that makes it harder and harder to do.
Maisey Yates wrote a fabulous book for Harlequin Presents, “The Highest Price To Pay” that featured a black hero and his white girlfriend. Most of the problems were the heroine’s. She’d been badly scarred by an accident in her youth, so although the book was about skin, it wasn’t about the colour. the hero was a fashion designer, and reminded me strongly of one of my favourite pinups, designer Ozwald Boateng. Loved that book. When I talked to Maisey about it shortly after it came out, she said it was her worst selling book at that date, which I think is a real shame, because it’s one of her best.
I do think that at least some of us will follow the tone of the initial comments, and will back off from commenting if we disagree. So people who like a book may be as unlikely to comment as those who dislike a book.
I also think that some of the discussions make it harder to read some books. We try to be sensitive to everything, and suddenly, nearly every interesting book on our shelves becomes a potential minefield. BTW, words like ‘mad’ and ‘crazy’ are so ingrained in our language, without adequate substitutes, that it’ll take a major movement to change them. The way that a particular real-life situation is discussed can be questioned, but I can’t see throwing out all the books (and songs!) that have used them, or convincing authors to write around the words. (It makes sense to me to say that someone’s behavior is irrational, but I don’t think that crazy or mad automatically means mentally ill. Perhaps it’s unfortunate, but those words have more than one meaning.) In addition, I don’t think “crazy” is a formal diagnosis. (I.e., the guide the doctors use have much more specific language.) I’d be more careful using terms like bi-polar (or manic-depressive).
I saw a play a couple of weeks ago, about an American mother whose son is believed to be the reincarnation of a Buddhist Lama. (The father is a refugee from Tibet.) In an accompanying program, the author discusses how a Catholic from the Midwest could approach the subject, and she explains how she was introduced to it. My mom’s reaction was pretty much that anyone can write what they want, even if it seems surprising to us. I know I used to trust that the author would do her research, but it’s clear, in some cases, that may not be true. Or, at least, the author might not research the situations familiar to some of us. (In the case of the play, there were some articles and talks including Tibetan lamas, and there was even a fundraiser for the Tibetan Fund, so I’m thinking that no one was grossly offended by the play. Well, maybe some people were, but possibly for different reasons.)
In theater, there are also some screams about certain casting decisions. For example, when Lincoln Center announced that Kelli O’Hara would be in a revival of The King and I, people on theater discussion boards started speculating on the casting of the King. There were a lot of suggestions, but it was pretty clear that some people felt, very firmly, that the actor should be Asian. I’m not sure if too many people are objecting to the fact that the actor who will play the role is Japanese, when the show is set in Siam (now Thailand). And, years ago, the casting of Jonathan Pryce as the (mixed race) Engineer in Miss Saigon caused a minor uproar. (He played the role in the UK, and was brought to the US to originate the part here.) Oh, the King of Siam is being played by Ken Watanabe, if anyone is curious.
Anyway, there are so many areas where we need diversity, and we question what we are reading. I stopped reading historical romance some years back, and now only read the occasional book, because some of the books starting feeling wrong to me. I have heard from authors who make it clear they don’t really know the history or do any deep research, but it doesn’t stop them from being popular, because they can still write a decent story. Now that more time has passed, I might be able to go in with an open mind and enjoy the story, without worrying about what I know (or *think* I know, which is sometimes more of a problem).
This is tone policing padded out to essay length and neatly encapsulates the problems many of us have with this site.
Liz’s comment reminded me of something else I’ve experienced. I remember some discussions on mailing lists (way back when ) that seemed really good to me (interesting and respectful), but one of the participants might be upset over it. Then, I’d get involved in one of those situations (where I’d post something, then someone would disagree directly), and, suddenly, I realized there was an emotional component that I wasn’t aware of when the (perfectly courteous/rational) comments were directed at someone else.
I’ve noticed that now, that applies in other ways. If people discuss a book I like favorably, or appear to dislike a book I don’t care for, or discuss a book I haven’t read (and have no particular expectations about), I’m fine. But I’m not so keen when people start pointing out problems with a book I loved. (Though it’s okay to like a book I’ve disliked, or dislike a book I’m not that passionate about. )
So, maybe, some of us are more emotional when discussing books we’ve read, no matter our background/experiences (though I think Liz makes a good point there).
@Elizabeth B: I do wonder, is being so careful with your words, mainly something that is done by women?
A very important question. I hope this gets some discussion, because, yeah, I think it’s relevant.
@Janine: I was thinking last night about the discussion of Kinsale’s canon. How many of those books, do you suppose, would pass muster as newly published novels in the current online discussion environment?
@Liz Mc2: Sometimes the people we need to hear from the most are those for whom speaking up is the hardest.
And, of course, these people will not all have the same story relative to their own experience and their own reading preferences. For example, the women who enjoy books with rape fantasy but feel incredibly guilty about that. It’s one thing for someone who finds portrayals of rape in Romance completely intolerable, because I’m not conflicted in that way and I can let it roll off my back. But because reading tastes are so incredibly diverse and non-linear in terms of how we might expect to have our tastes run (e.g. reflecting or not RL experiences), it’s never a binary debate, even though I think it can be rendered as such, even when the intention is to protect or be respectful of those who might not feel comfortable speaking. I’m sure we’ve all had private discussions with other readers who don’t feel their perspective is being adequately represented, even though someone might be claiming to speak on their behalf, but who don’t feel comfortable speaking up.
If the first few commenters HAD found the book appropriative, well, maybe they would have had a point. And since they didn’t–if there’s someone out there who did find it so, is SHE now uncomfortable speaking up?
At this point, both arguments have been made, though, so it’s not as if the discussion has been one sided. What really struck me about Janine’s phrasing in the review around cultural appropriation was how assertive it was, rather than speculative. Then, when the comments got underway, she admitted (and again, I really admire her honesty here), that she didn’t really know enough about the culture to make the call. And I don’t, honestly, think that when we get to the point where we’re policing ourselves about stuff ‘just in case,’ we’re not really doing those difficult discussions any favors.
What I half-expected to happen in that discussion, because I’ve seen it so many times, is that readers who hadn’t even read the book would have come in and talked about how much they hate cultural appropriation and how horrible it is and how they won’t touch this book with a ten foot pole. And, yes, like you and Ros and Janine, I think those kinds of blanket statements are, like all blankets, potentially smothering to precisely the kinds of discussions that will allow readers to make informed choices about what might be harmful or offensive to them. But what I feel is happening is that these blanket statements are, more and more, substituting for that specific textual analysis.
@Ridley: Well, fortunately, DA isn’t the only game in town. Of course I’ve yet to find one site in the Romance community that doesn’t police its commenters, including Love in the Margins. Some do it through heckling or name-calling, some do it through the lecturing of righteous indignation, some do it through ignoring or ‘instructing’ or concern trolling or whatever — but it’s ubiquitous.
I think what is happening is that we are policing ourselves into silence. As we become fearful of everything we say, everything we admit to enjoying, as we judge others for their choices (and not in good humored fun), we are silencing people and making the community inhospitable, not just for newcomers but for long time readers and participants.
I believe being careful and doing a better job in commenting and regular speech is important and fantastic. I certainly am more conscious today than ever and I can’t help but think that is a good thing.
But when we start casting aspersions on books based on an offhand use of a comment that some perceive to be ableist or appropriative, then what are we truly left with? Only the most milquetoast of milquetoast. Nordic and Christian legends only now in PNRs? How boring.
One thing I loved about the Last Hour of Gann was how fearless the author was. I want more of that, not less of it.
Increasingly I’ve felt book talk (particularly on Twitter) has become negative. It’s all about the things we hate instead of the things we love. It’s about the one ableist word an author uses instead of the really remarkable ways they are bringing new myths to our attention or the great diversity of their casts.
Even I’ve found myself withdrawing from online discussions because it’s all so negative. It’s as if someone is just waiting to jump on a comment and point out exactly how you are so insensitive because you missed a, b, and c.
And I’ve found myself doing it. Or wanting to. I saw someone talk about a book the other day that I couldn’t stand because of the slut shaming in the story. Then I thought, why do I want to ruin someone’s enjoyment of the story? Plus, I already pointed out the slut shaming in my own review. The non stop harping on it was the least productive thing I could have done.
Yes, we should still be careful with our words and use of language. But there’s got to be a balance between being careful and trying to be the first one to point the privilege finger.
@Jane: Only the most milquetoast of milquetoast. Nordic and Christian legends only now in PNRs? How boring.
And, in so many cases, unremittingly white. Which ironically feeds right back into the problem of Romance norming the privileged WASP POV.
What about worrying what kind of community we become when we are the LAST ones to point the privilege finger or assign “isms?” We become something I don’t want to be.
@Meoskop: Oh are we becoming that kind of community? Because I don’t see your concern coming to fruition. Instead we’re pointing fingers, casting perjoratives at people who are actively trying to be sensitive and inclusive.
If our entire conversation about books is this author used two ableist words and that commenter used five in a comment, how is that productive in any way? How is that encouraging diversity of thought in either our books or our community?
I don’t mind a good spirited debate but even I am reluctant to review books outside my own personal experience. Sometimes I just don’t have the energy to engage in debate to defend my own tastes. So if I, who really doesn’t give a shit, feel that way sometimes then I imagine it’s a dozen times worse for others.
@Jane: At one time I enjoyed those same debates and I enjoyed commenting here. I stopped when privilege became a thing not to examine and working class readers pointing out how certain NA books supported racial and class bias or how Gann was deeply problematic, although an effective fetish read, became unwelcome views.
It was wrong of me to click through to this article and it was wrong of me to comment, for that I apologize. I am reminded though that diversity of thought looks different to different people and the reasons I decided this was no longer my community were correct for me. You’re building one that’s correct for you. I miss the former community in the same way I miss a certain era of Usenet so I backslid. That’s on me and I own that.
This post appears to make three assumptions that have, as far as I can tell, no basis in reality.
1) It assumes we live in a world where books featuring slut-shaming, cultural appropriation, fat-shaming, and ableism are being completely edged out in favor of books that are PC. I do not see that happening with any books at all.
Take Beautiful Disaster. Someone pointed out that it glorified domestic violence, at which point, it sank into obscurity and nobody every copied it again… oh wait, nope, not what happened. It continued to be a rabid success, one that still spawns “Beautiful” imitators and outright copies to this day.
2) It assumes that authors will change what they write in order to avoid criticism. No author with a career of any length attempts that because it is impossible. Lotsa people out there like problematic things, and they are upset–sometimes vehemently so–when a slutty girl gets the rich man because slutty girls are SUPPOSED to get slut-shamed. They’re baffled when a disabled character is courted by a guy who doesn’t make a big deal about How Much He is Sacrificing to be with her, because that story is SUPPOSED to be about What a Stand-up Guy He Is for sacrificing everything to be with a half-person. How dare the story not mention his sacrifice!
There is no avoiding criticism for authors. The only question is what authors get criticized for. Any author who writes to avoid criticism will not be writing for very long, because there will be nothing left for her to write about.
Success drives people to imitate. Criticism? I doubt it has much effect, if any.
And that should be two, not three, because I can’t count.
@Lynne Connolly: I’m sure it didn’t help that Harlequin didn’t publish the book in the U.S. for years, and hid it with another when it finally did. We had quite a goodreads crowd searching for it.
@Courtney Milan: As to your first assumption about my assumptions, I’m (obviously) going to have to disagree. Or rather, I’m going to phrase my response in different terms than you allege my assumption.
First, I’m well aware that books with all of these various issues exist. In fact, one of the main points I’m trying to make — and perhaps I’m not doing it very clearly — is that for all of the self-policing that’s going on, we’re not getting a lot more progressive representations. As I said in my post, “And ironically, what seems “safe” in Romance isn’t necessarily the kind of aware and enlightened representation that people reference when they talk about wanting more diversity.” In other words, I think the self-policing is *backfiring*.
As to the second point, all I can say is that my experience in speaking with authors is different than yours. It may have “no basis in [your] reality,” and I appreciate that. But it’s definitely been an issue of concern in my reality. And I’m not talking about about authors who are insensitive, merely chasing the dollars, or uneducated/unaware. I’m extremely grateful that some authors — including you — continue to take risks. But again, I’ve had enough conversations that concern me that I decided to talk about it.
As to your third point, I agree. I just know, from personal and shared experience, that it’s not that simple for everyone.
@Robin/Janet: I think you and I agree about what kind of discussions we like and want to promote. (I also think I’ve reached the point where I just want to go have those kinds of discussions about individual books and not talk at the meta level about the discussions any more, because everyone is dug in on the nature of the discussions and what’s causing problems; so I shouldn’t even be commenting but I’m self-contradictory).
But for me, this is about working towards a certain kind of reader conversation we value and has very little to do with whether we get riskier books or not. (And I worry that that focus makes it harder to have a good conversation–oh, I can’t say X because then no one will try to write this risky kind of book again!) I know when, say, portrayals of race come up there are authors who comment that they would like to write X but are afraid of getting it wrong or being criticized. And I believe them. But I think a much bigger issue is that romance is a commercial genre and many (most?) people writing it want to make money at it, and so they generally write what sells. (And I’m not criticizing that or saying those can’t be good books). The financial risks, most of the time, outweigh the other risks of writing a book outside the mainstream.
I vowed to stop using 50 Shades as an example, but since it’s come up–well, all the criticism of that book within Romland and the arguments we had about shaming etc. etc. sure didn’t stop many, many more similar books from being written and published and read and loved, and they didn’t stop shifts in the genre that in part resulted from 50’s popularity (trilogies, serials, more erotic content). Because the book was a huge success and publishers and authors realized there was a market for more like it.
I’m not sure why I felt the need to make this point. I guess it’s that I would like to have more open, thoughtful conversations about these issues and less feeling that we’re lobbing grenades at each other from opposing trenches (which is the tone of so much cultural conversation right now). But just because I want more enjoyable, meaningful, interesting conversation for readers (and also because I find online conflict upsetting) not because I think they will have much impact on the genre.
So readers being bothered by certain (because let’s be real, it’s only a few specific ones you’re talking about) problematic themes in books is a sign of being too sensitive, but readers being bothered because those readers are bothered have a legitimate concern and we really should consider their feelings? Is that right? Where exactly is the line between a negative review that authors need to stop complaining about and a negative review that’s just too sensitive and the reviewer really should relax because she’s making people who liked the book uncomfortable?
@Liz Mc2: Your point about the commercial nature of the genre is good. Frustrating but good. I think the reason these two things are connected in my mind is that some of the grenade lobbying, as you describe it, comes from a place of wanting more progressive and diverse books. And I feel like that’s backfiring in a huge way. But perhaps if we could just focus on discussion of specific books, and not make every book about A Bigger Issue, that might be the best way to start, whatever effect that does or doesn’t ultimately have on the genre as a whole.
This person with multiple psych diagnoses absolutely does not agree with Kris’s post and really does not want to see books made into “safe spaces.”
In terms of online space, there is no such thing as a “safe space” that works for everybody. When you try, you end up with a space where nothing of substance can be said, policed by abusers who have learned all the buzzwords and who hide their bullying behind a shield of righteousness.
Or, what Robin/Janet is saying at 12:54:59. I don’t have any experience at “Love in the Margins” but I have enough experience with such atmospheres that I doubt I’ll be visiting Ridley’s site — especially as I absolutely cannot stand being told that I must engage with my medical issues in certain ways, else I’m bring “problematic.” Life’s too short to walk on eggshells all the time.
Great comments from Jane, too.
@Courtney Milan: The authors that write Beautiful Disaster and its ilk aren’t listening to this conversation (is my guess) and don’t really care. And they never will no matter how many times it’s pointed out to them so what’s the reality there?
@Liz Mc2 & Ridley: I rarely bring up my own disabilities because I don’t think I should have to, but some discussions put me in a very uncomfortable position of either disclosing my medical history or shutting up. Usually I shut up (For example once Ridley said on Twitter that there were no disabled romance authors. I wanted to hit something or cry, but instead I shut up).
I’m still not going to trot out my entire medical history. I still don’t feel I should have to. But I will say that I suffer from anxiety and depression because these are relevant to the current discussion. And they are relevant because ever since the 50 Shades fragmentation of the community, suffering has been the operative word — my anxiety levels have spiked and my mood isn’t what it one was either.
l’m a people pleaser by nature. Of course I know there’s no pleasing everyone, but lately there’s so much displeasure and anger in the air that I feel I’m walking on landmines, never mind eggshells.
All the subtweets and veiled comments don’t help. My first instinct is to wonder if the criticism is aimed at me. I brought this up once and was told my anxiety is a feature, not a bug. Apparently triggering others is now part of the goal.
I approached my Burn for Me review with a great deal of trepidation. Trying to anticipate what could possibly trigger other readers wasn’t just hard, it was painful–to use Liz’s word.
Parts of the discussion were too because I wondered if my overcompensation (Robin’s comment describes what happened well IMO) had put my own disability on display.
Frankly I spend way too much of my online time feeling triggered and hurt lately–and no one is going to convince me that the superhighway road rage in our community has nothing to do with it.
If “tone policing” alleviates some of that pain then I’m all for it. I’m very aware that I don’t speak for all the disabled or all those who are triggered but nor do you, Ridley and Meoskop, speak for me.
@Las: If you think this is all about people “calming down” and not being critical of books to spare the feeling of people who don’t want to hear “legitimate” criticism, then I’m gonna go ahead and be “real” and say I think that completely twisted representation of issues I’m trying to address is part of the problem.
Janine: Their triggers are sacrosanct. If you disagree with them, your triggers are just “fee-fees.”
@Willaful: That is truly shocking. Because it was a great book and deserved a wider audience. Plus the guy on the cover is soooo freaking hot. Sorry to bring down the tone. But that Yates book is really worth hunting down.
I just try not to generalise. If I want to write a Japanese-American, I don’t assume they’re “all the same” for instance.
Besides, books that do that are plain boring. Except sheikh books which are my secret shame. I want all my sheikhs to be fabulously wealthy, stunningly handsome and over six feet tall. Although it would be nice if some of them were Muslim. Insha’Allah.
I’ve been disabled (a rare form of arthritis – sometimes it’s there, sometimes it’s in remission) and I used to call myself a cripple, just to get it out of the way. Sometimes words have more power than they deserve.
“Or maybe you feel that everyone just needs a swift kick in the ass and a big dose of get over yourself.”
Often. Yes. *Ducks*
But…my default setting is crass, rude and insensitive. And I’ve learned to read the culture of a blog before commenting. While DA is a regular haunt for me, given my irreverent tone, I rarely pipe in on “sensitive” subjects. For example, I started to post a comment in Kris’s post about ableist language, and then just before clicking “Post Comment,” decide that no matter how much wordsmithing I applied to my thoughts, they was gonna start some shit. So I kept my yap shut and moved on to check out the Daily Deals.
Also I want to say that calling a book like Gann a “fetish” read is to me symptomatic of the kind of reverse-stigmatization that I think is both incorrect and counterproductive. Yes, the book is problematic in many ways, but its provocative extremity gave rise to many, many thoughtful discussions and commentaries, from a wide variety of perspectives. Also, the author referred to the book as horror, even though many Romance readers found it intriguing.
@Jane: Not to mention the fact that all the attempts to copy it simply reinforce the problems of making room for more diversity and risk.
I’m not a sophisticated reader, I’ve learned a massive amount about ‘what’ I am reading from blogs like DA, SBTB, and a few specific author sites, but I’m not sure it has changed ‘how’ I read, because I read to be swept away into a world and so there isn’t much time for intelligent reflection till afterwards, which is when the reviews and comments here become useful. And because I will happily reread, I can go back to the story and see if that changes anything for me – only if I want to. I like articulate discussion where people put their views forward and I can find that here – I don’t like it when I read slanging matches because it ruins my day, getting my blood pressure to settle again.
BUT I did have an experience here a couple of months ago that reminded me that though the collection of people here, reviewers, commenters and readers, come here with (perhaps) similar expectations of community, (ie. if you stay with a blog, it IS a self-selecting group) we are not just divided by taste in books and heroines and heroes, but also by our cultures (whatever that might be).
To be specific, my experience was this: someone made the comment around the gun laws and ‘common sense’ and sorry – I can’t remember the exact phrase. And this was a huge disconnect for me because I’m not from the USA and I realised that I had developed this idea that here at DA everyone has common sense, but this was still my view of it. I pondered this for days and thought about commenting because regardless of your view, I thought my surprise at the not-sense-in-common was the interesting point.
And my example, which I understand the root of and therefore allowed for a bit of objective comparison, made me wonder, do reviews and comments that raise our understanding of issues we are not aware of, whether by ignorance or other, cause a sense of guilt and therefore self-censoring, because it’s difficult in writing to get the tone right for ‘oh I didn’t know about that, I ‘just’ enjoyed the story, but I’ve learnt a lot from you lot’ – and therefore ‘is that ok, is that enough.’ I don’t comment often at all, and I know some of that is because I am not a sophisticated reader, but I wonder if it’s also for this latter part.
Thinking about this sideways: I was putting up book displays at the library this month and, bored with November *always* being Native American History Month, decided to twist the theme a little.
I pulled out all the fiction that used either the word “Native” or “Indian” in the title. Although there were a few exceptions, I thought it was striking how almost all of them had nothing to do with either Native Americans or Indians (either the Amerindian or Asian meaning, and that’s a whole ‘nother conversation about appropriation etc. in itself.)
So I put up that display, and then I got cold feet. Sure, *I* thought I was making a meta-critical commentary on the use of certain words in fiction, but would the average patron in our library realize that when walking down the hall? Would they see a book called INDIAN GIVER and stop to consider the implications of the title, or would they simply grab an exciting looking thriller without reflection?
And our library service area has both a significant South Asian population *and* borders the Cherokee Nation. Would they find this display interesting, hurtful, or just another meaningless gathering of books?
Or was I over-thinking things and pre-censoring a display because of all of the possible misinterpretations and micro-aggressions?
In the end I left the display up, but let the staff know of the intent behind it, in case anyone asked.
Of course, so far no one has, and I don’t think that a single book off that table has checked out.
But is it this sort of exhaustive self-questioning healthy or morbid?
I’m not sure of the connection between being mindful of what we say in blog posts or comments and being mindful of what we say in novels we write.
When I blog or comment, I’m being ME. I try to use words I can stand behind, and therefore try to avoid using words that might hurt someone I don’t want to hurt.
When I write fiction, though… I’m generally being someone else. I actually had a post at Absolute Write a couple years ago asking whether readers would be offended by a character (who was meant to be sympathetic) using ‘crazy’ in a playful, joking way. The thread went downhill pretty fast, as I recall, but I came out of it thinking both that ‘crazy’ was a potentially offensive word AND that it was the exact right word for my character to use. Not because my character was an insensitive asshole but because he wasn’t overly careful about his words, didn’t have social justice connections, didn’t have any close connections to people with mental illness – in other words, he would use the word that way because people like him DO use the word that way. I don’t think it’s fiction’s job to sanitize the world it represents.
That said – as a reader, I absolutely wish that things that offend ME (alpha holes! abuse masquerading as love!) were being avoided more by writers. But I don’t see it happening, at all. And I can’t really expect it to, as long as market forces continue rewarding those tropes.
So, no, I don’t think our books are anywhere near becoming a safe space. And I think the market forces I feel are actually pushing me FURTHER away from writing ‘safe’ books, rather than toward them.
@Jane: Well, I think that’s exactly my point. That there aren’t a lot of authors listening to the conversation; the ones that listen are listening because they think the conversation is important, not because they care about the criticism. Those people are already listening.
In other words, pulling back on criticism isn’t going to make any difference–the authors who don’t hear (95%) won’t care, and the authors who do hear are listening because they’re already thinking about it, and so you’re not adding any flame to the fire.
@Robin/Janet: First, I shouldn’t be getting praise for taking risks. I write British-set historical romances. What limb have I gone out on?
In terms of criticism: I think the authors who I’ve heard say that they avoid writing certain things outside the box will say they’re afraid of getting things wrong. That’s not at all the same thing as saying they’re afraid of criticism.
For instance: There are places where I don’t trust myself–as an example, I’m really judgy about intellectual capacity–and so there are some books I would never try to write that other authors could manage beautifully (Simple Jess comes to mind). I have so many unexamined assumptions in that area that I know I’d fuck it up and would write something that was unnecessarily hurtful. I *am* ableist about mental capacity. I’m terrible about it. I’m trying to be better but it’s baby steps for me at this point.
Choosing not to write a book that will shine a bright light on the ways in which you’re an ass isn’t about avoiding criticism, but about avoiding areas where you know you have the capacity to hurt others. If you’re wearing lead combat boots, you don’t go around stomping in crowds. Whether the person yells “ouch,” you still hurt them if you land on their toes.
Finally, about Maisey Yates’s THE HIGHEST PRICE TO PAY: We can talk about what sales were like for that book, but my understanding is that book was never released in the United States. I can’t even find it as a Kindle edition. So, yes, the sales were drastically lower, but not being for sale in the world’s largest English-speaking market is probably a bigger factor in that than the interracial element.
If we want to talk about things that will keep people from trying stuff that’s outside of the box, that kind of discussion–mentioning that an interracial HP sold poorly without mentioning the massive confounding variable–is probably more likely to put authors off than criticism.
@Courtney Milan: This is where it’s published: http://www.amazon.com/Hunger-Forbidden-Sicilys-Corretti-Dynasty-ebook/dp/B00DPANU8G/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1415143642&sr=1-1&keywords=hunger+for+the+forbidden
This neatly got Harlequin out of having to put a black man on the cover. Whether it’s helped to get more people to read it who wouldn’t have otherwise, I couldn’t say.
“do you feel like you’re walking on eggshells these days, or are you happy with the current discussion culture?”
I think the current discussion culture is way too protective of some groups, and not at all careful of others.
Let me explain – and please, Jane and Robin, this is not a dig.
Jane instituted a commenting policy which I publicly disapproved of (she knows this) – I saw this as her way of creating a climate where people less blessed with weaponised acerbicness than I or Ridley, did not feel too intimidated to comment. I (and Ridley saw this as censoring robust discussion.) However, Jane felt that her regular commentariat needed additional protection.
At the same time, under this protective discussion umbrella, people discussed Kathleen Hale in a way which I, and Kris, and other people with mental illness felt was not just offensive but really distressing and damaging not only to the image of mentally ill people, but to our own well-being and health. (I wrote a post picking out the comments. I could have done the same with half a dozen blog posts from different blogs at the time.)
So here we have a blog and blog owners clearly worried and aware of a climate which inhibits a free exchange of views, and yet unaware of something going on fairly rampantly under their nose. And it took Kris speaking up with incredibly bravery to pull people up and go ‘oh’.
Sometimes you need the slap upside the head to realise what’s going on. The slapper is rarely thanked for the effort.
On the other hand, you can have blogs where apparently all the isms are taken into account, and still end up with the same issues of casual misogyny, bigotry and nastiness that lead to a chilling effect on any one who collides with the individuals running it.
In a book, I want to know if the bigotry or ‘isms’ on display reflect the author’s own view, or is something she’s given characters for the reader to react to. For example, one of my favourite m/m reads has one character – who is carrying out a torrid but highly covert affair with the ‘enemy’ – talks to and about his lover with huge dollops of homophobic language which is very offensive. BUT that character works in a deeply heteronormative workplace, imagines his coworkers to be homophobic (one is), and is in denial about his feelings. We can tell that, so it works.
It wouldn’t work if a sympathetic character casually referred to fagg*ts without that attitude being addressed somewhere, or explained.
Kris has said in comments on her post that she’s not trying to police how people talk about their own illness, and I know she’s not setting herself up as the language police. People in a disadvantaged group have a pretty highly tuned radar that can tell the difference between self-mockery and something that’s ignorant, not to mention ignorant and outright hate. As women, we have that radar which is why *we* get the difference between ‘Hello’ and catcalling, and men don’t, usually.
But women who aren’t members of another disadvantaged group have no better radar on these matters than men do about sexism. So we try to compensate, and sometimes we overcompensate. That’s why sensitive discussion within our group about how we see something we’re not personally acquainted with, is helpful – and doing before we demand the disadvantged group educate us, and doing it without dismissing or erasing thos group members we are unaware of, is also important.
“Or maybe you feel that everyone just needs a swift kick in the ass and a big dose of get over yourself.”
I don’t think this is helpful, any more than Ridley’s repeat drive by snideness will convince Jane to change her commenting policy.
What authors – people, actually – need to do is be constantly aware that language indeed has power, and we can do damage with it. Offended feelings aren’t damage (and I will laugh at anyone who claims it is.) Making someone ill, or driving them to attempt suicide (as RequiresHate/Winterfox apparently did gleefully with her ‘brave’ attack on the parts of the ‘white’ – sometimes not white – publishing world that weren’t going to help her in her particular career) is real harm. Very often the damage is water dripping on a stone rather than explosive, and comes from a place of unexamined privilege rather than any desire to wound. But it still is damage.
I disagree with the idea that authors are too sensitive and are santising their books to an anodyne dullness as a result. I think a lot of us have examined and re-examined our attitudes to groups to which we don’t belong, and tried to be more thoughtful.
Last comment – if you use ‘politically correct’ as a negative, I immediately disregard anything else you say. ‘Politically correct’ means ‘being aware of the power of language to harm’. If that’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.
@P. Kirby: I wish you had commented. One of the main reasons for the post was to provide an opportunity for discussion on a complex topic, not a safe space for placating me. Others there and here did not agree with me and that was a good thing because it demonstrated how complicated the matter was and the multiple reactions to it.
And I guess in a way this is my response to this topic and I think is similar to what others have raised; that is, for me, it’s not about wanting safe books. It’s about wanting a relatively safe space in which you can have robust and thoughtful discussion about a book and varied reactions to it without feeling like you’re going to be ripped to shreds.
Why does it no longer seem possible to engage in a spirited debate without it turning into a minefield? Why can’t individuals be mindful to varied POVs, but still disagree with them? Why does it have to be an ‘us versus them’ situation? Maybe this is not just about the book community, but is reflecting a larger societal issue in which personal attacks seem to be often used to put ‘the other’ on the defensive in a case of one upmanship, of privilege, in itself.
@Jane: “I don’t mind a good spirited debate but even I am reluctant to review books outside my own personal experience.”
This is something I would hate to see. Individuals self-censoring to the point where they are too weary or, more significantly in my opinion, too afraid to speak. Has it really come to this?
Maisey Yates is an American, and the book didn’t appear in the Harlequin Presents line? That’s some seriously weird shit there. Very disappointed to hear that “The Highest Price to Pay” never came out as a single title in Presents. I know what Harlequin will say, they’ll say that it was at the time when they were coordinating the releases of Presents and Modern. And then they’ll say “See, the main lines don’t work well with interracial heroes, write something else.” Because that’s how the publishing world works.
However, her latest is about two characters called Princess Samarah Al-Azem and Sheikh Ferran. I don’t know what this one is like, or how Yates handles the characters, but I’ll be picking that one up for sure.
You do have to vote with your money. That’s how to get people to listen.
@Ann Somerville: I am well aware of your views on Dear Author and have no interest in challenging your perspective. ;D And I’m not going to pretend that I don’t need to be educated and enlightened about any number of things. I will, however, just clarify that a number of us at Dear Author did call out the discussion of Hale re. mental illness. Some of us even did so before Kris commented. Although Kris’s comments and post may have been more valuable and impactful in the end, in part because they did not have a policing tone.
@Courtney Milan: You know, I’ve been told so many times that I’m overly critical of books and authors that it would never occur to me that anyone would think I’m worried about authors facing criticism.
What I actually said was this: And most of all I wonder whether there’s a way we can be both critical of those representational missteps and still authentically and convincingly encouraging of more risk and more diversity. Because right now I feel like we’re crowding ourselves into a corner where we’re actually cutting ourselves off from what we claim to want more of. And ironically, what seems “safe” in Romance isn’t necessarily the kind of aware and enlightened representation that people reference when they talk about wanting more diversity.
Part of this, I think, goes back to what people believe that the Romance genre should do. Should it present moral exemplars and represent characters and characteristics in an “ideal” way? Is there a perceived standard of how certain characters and cultures and characteristics should be represented, and if so, are we essentializing that standard to the point where we are only willing to accommodate a narrow range of characters and circumstances? . . .
I’d rather have a book culture where authors don’t feel like writing outside some very narrow lines is considered risky, and where a single book doesn’t have to stand for – and be judged as — an entire identity system. And as much as I value critical analysis of representation in the genre, I think that the inclination to label characters and texts with all those “ist” terms is actually getting in the way of doing the work of analysis to break down how and why those representations are problematic.
I can’t disagree with your point about authors deciding to avoid writing something they don’t trust themselves to do well. I just think that those insecurities can be artificially exacerbated (in the way that arguing that certain books don’t sell because of the race of their characters might, for example).
The “getting things wrong” issue is part of this, though, because so often there is no single “right” portrayal. I’ve seen books with what appears to be a ton research still have portrayals that to me seem woefully stereotypical, and books that almost seem casual about their representations hit something in a way that seems really insightful and authentic to me. And for every opinion I have, someone else is going to have the exact opposite opinion about the very same thing. So I’m not even sure there is a ‘getting it right’ option, although the chasm between that and “getting things wrong” can be very difficult to [want to] traverse. Should authors necessarily traverse it? Of course not. But how our discussion culture shapes some of those decisions does concern me, in part because I do feel like sometimes we’re cutting off our nose to spite our face.
As I noted in my post, I’m going to try harder to stop using labels that may seem like obvious shorthand to me — but clearly are not to others — and instead try to spell out why something is or isn’t working for me. Because I think that certain labels can overdetermine the perceived character of a genre or sub genre. And I definitely think that kind of simultaneous universalizing and essentializing is frustrating rather than facilitating thoughtful and difficult discussion that challenges certain versions of the status quo.
Re. the Maisey Yates book, didn’t something similar happen to Jade Lee, who wrote a historical Blaze (The Concubine) that apparently didn’t sell and according to Lee it was because of the Chinese setting?
“This is something I would hate to see. Individuals self-censoring to the point where they are too weary or, more significantly in my opinion, too afraid to speak. Has it really come to this? ”
Yes, for me, because I get jumped on for not seeing this ism or that, and scorned for not noticing how obviously problematic some text is, when I want to discuss what I understand from the book I read.
You know, maybe I’m older than most of you, but I don’t even know what half the terms you all are using mean. They didn’t exist when I was in school, even college, and aren’t a part of the training I had reading critically. So when I look for a review and the discussion doesn’t focus on anything except an ism, and I appreciate the book for other reasons, I don’t even know how to approach a discussion. All I know is that I’ll be shouted down and shamed for not seeing it in the same terms (and even labeled with -ists because I don’t understand the problems that people are seeing, and I’m not given a chance to understand– *that* is one critical point in where these discussion break down. There is scorn and no explanations.). So I sure don’t write reviews anymore, and this is the first comment I’ve left on this site and others in years, because I’m tired of trying to just talk about what I see in a book and being shamed for not seeing the latest thing I’m supposed to be aware of and sensitive about that I’ve never even heard of.
And I figure someone will shout at me for just posting this, and I’m wondering why I should bother. This is book discussion for me on today’s blogs.
@Cate Cameron: I appreciate your distinction between writing a blog post / comment and writing fiction. What about something that falls in the middle though, like a plot summary within a book review? Take for example this paragraph from my review of Burn for Me:
“Things go from bad to worse when Nevada goes home and learns from her cousin Bern, a technology mage (this power made no sense to me) that Mad Rogan is connected to the case. She has a miniscule chance of convincing Adam to turn himself in, but if Mad Rogan decides to interfere, she’ll be up against two, not one, very dangerous men.”
I wrote it this way, rather than putting “Mad” in quotes or just using “Rogan,” because I was trying to convey Nevada’s POV on this situation to the reader, and Nevada viewed Rogan as dangerous and mad, whether or not he actually was (the latter is something else that was discussed / debated in the comments on the review).
I put a trigger warning for ableist language in front of the review and with less certainty, mentioned that kidnapping and interrogation also come up. I almost put the Hindu artifact into the trigger warnings too, but since I was on less sure ground about whether that was cultural appropriation or not, I pulled it out of there at the last minute and included it in the body of the review instead.
I was challenged on the latter– quite possibly rightly, since Hindu commenters in the thread took no offense from it– but I don’t know for sure because there could still be someone out there who would take offense. And my first impulse when I was challenged was to get defensive because I spend a lot of my time in the online romance community feeling anxious and defensive these days, since there’s so much criticism and calling out going on in lately.
But then I posted my honest feelings– that I was ignorant on the topic and overcompensating for my own ignorance/privilege. When Robin told me she was going to quote that in today’s op-ed, my anxiety reared its head again but at the same time I felt grateful to have this discussion in the open, because my anxiety around whether I’m reviewing “correctly” has been going on for a quite a while.
As a reviewer I can only review from my personal perspective but lately I feel like I have to consider perspectives I only glimpse in other people but don’t necessarily share myself. It makes it very difficult, and yes, even painful to review, because I’m constantly second-guessing myself about whether my perspective is enough and whether my warnings are adequate. And unless it’s a joint review, I can’t bring perspectives other than my own into it, I can only guess at them.
@Ann Somerville: I didn’t see Robin’s post as criticizing Kris’s blog post at all. On the contrary I think she was very appreciative of what Kris had to say, and I want to add that I was too. Moreover I thought Kris did a wonderful job of sharing her own perspective without policing or trying to censor others. She shared how ableist words made her feel and we were able to have a thoughtful discussion of the subject because her tone wasn’t one of condemnation.
What’s sad for me about comments like Mesokop’s and your own comment, is that the dynamic that’s emerging is one I’m familiar with from parts of the vegan/animal rights community. At a vegan community I participate in, there was recently a post about boycotting a vegan cheese maker because that company included omnivorous recipes on their product’s website, not just vegan ones.
To me this was totally counterproductive. I want people to eat more vegan products, not less, and that includes the non-vegans out there. If people who are passionate about protecting and saving animals condemn the vegan cheese maker for trying to market to non-vegans and boycott the cheese maker, they may end up limiting the market for the vegan cheese and more dairy cows may die as a result. But sometimes communities who care about social justice issues are like that– sometimes the infighting and microaggressions get so hurtful that we hurt our causes.
I see Robin’s argument as being that that’s what’s happening in the online romance community right now. Most of us are on the same side when it comes to social justice (Don’t forget Jane is Asian, I’m Jewish and disabled, and you and I may not know everything there is to know about Robin, either– assuming that none of us who disagrees with you ever experience being marginalized is short sighted). But even though we’re on the same side, we’re fighting.
Meanwhile, while we tear our community apart, we’re not having the substantive conversations about books that could make more of a difference to what gets published. I don’t know about you, but as a fiction writer I get inspired by thoughtful conversations about individual books, conversations that tease out the subtleties, and these conversations are happening less and less.
@Kris:
Yes, I’m afraid it has. I had no idea this was happening to Jane until she posted about it here in this thread, but I knew it was happening to me. There have been a couple of times recently when people I follow on Twitter recommended books highly that sounded like they could appeal to me, but both books are set in cultures other than my own.
I contacted the people who recommended these books to ask if they thought there was stereotyping in the books, and in one case the answer was no, the person didn’t think so, in the other case the person didn’t think so at first either, then remembered something but said she’d read more offensive books she still enjoyed.
In both cases, I decided against reviewing the books. I’ve always tried to take a chance in what I review at least once in a while, but the contentious, angry atmosphere is making it painful. I enjoyed the Ilona Andrews book a lot, for example, but I felt a lot of anxiety about how to honestly convey how much I enjoyed it in such a way that I wouldn’t have to fear that my opinion might reflect badly on me or create a situation where I felt shamed for that enjoyment.
@Janine: It’s all tied in with the “ways to appreciate something problematic” idea, I think.
I don’t review, so I’m not sure it would work, but what if PART of your review was just sort of an open disclaimer… “There may be parts of this story that some people will find problematic in the areas of ableist language and cultural appropriation. If you’ve read the book, please let us know what you think in the comments.” And then you could go on and review the story as you yourself experienced it.
Is that too hokey? I mean, you’d be inviting anyone offended by the content to participate, you’d be giving enough of a warning that people likely to be actually triggered as opposed to just annoyed could chose to avoid the book…
Maybe it’s a bit wimpy, like we should be charging into every battle on behalf of the marginalized, but to some extent, insisting on fighting someone else’s battles for them might be even MORE marginalizing, mightn’t it? Not that it’s not everyone’s battle to combat discriminatory language…
I don’t know. Sigh.
@Cate Cameron: ETA: And none of this should prevent a reviewer who’s actually PERSONALLY offended by something from putting that in their review, of course. If there’s something that actually offended the reader, and got in the way of her enjoyment of the book, I think she should absolutely feel qualified to speak up about it.
Or if there’s something that’s so incontrovertibly offensive that anyone raised in our culture should/would be offended by it (the n-word, etc.) then I think anyone is ‘qualified’ to say it’s offensive.
But if it’s a judgment call? Things are trickier.
@Janine:
“I didn’t see Robin’s post as criticizing Kris’s blog post at all.”
Neither did I. I have no idea where you got that from. I think Kris did a fabulous job, and I know personally that Robin worked damn hard to enable Kris to make it and to support her.
And I wasn’t, in point of fact, having a go at DA either, differences about tone notwithstanding (My actual disagreement about that policy was *timing* which I won’t go into.) I was pointing out that even well intentioned discussion can miss stuff because we aren’t in one group or another being discussed. Which is why we *do* need a broad based commentariat, and the occasional slaps to the head.
“But even though we’re on the same side, we’re fighting.”
I’m not fighting with you, Janine. Apart from your reading of intentions into my comment which were not there, I agree with what you’re saying.
And actually I don’t agree with Meoskop, her comment, or the way *she* runs her blog. I think she and Ridley have created a space there which is as hostile to free conversation in reality as they have accused DA of creating. They have their fans, DA has its fans. Unfortunately, some people have decided they know the one truth path to enlightenment. This is how wars usually start :(
@Cate Cameron:
It was a judgment call in this case, so yeah, tricky. I have no problem speaking up when I’m personally offended but novels don’t offend me that often.
@Ann Somerville: Sorry. I think I reacted defensively to this line: “So here we have a blog and blog owners clearly worried and aware of a climate which inhibits a free exchange of views, and yet unaware of something going on fairly rampantly under their nose.” I won’t speak for my fellow bloggers here but I was aware of what was going on here on the blog.
I’m being sensitive and defensive right now and I apologize for that. It’s hard to discuss these topics without fearing to be accused of insensitivity to others, especially in the wake of Meoskop’s comment. I’m only human and have my own privileges and biases, for sure, but I would rather be called on these with kindness than with a slap to the head, when possible. I understand that’s not always possible, though.
@Janine:
” I won’t speak for my fellow bloggers here but I was aware of what was going on here on the blog.”
I didn’t mean to offend you, and I’m sorry for doing so.
Let me rephrase. People discussing Hale were using ableist language pretty much routinely, but the harm it was doing was mostly out of sight. Robin did comment on one person’s remark. But the *overall* tone of the conversations – on multiple posts – matched what was happening on other blogs (I am not singling DA out here.) And while Jane and you and Robin and others are certainly not insensitive to the harm personal attacks can cause, harm was caused to members *of* this community because we all have become rather careless in the way we talk about mental illness, and the frequency of that careless use has desensitised some of us unaffected by the language, to the effect on other people.
Or in other words, what Kris talked about in her post, and what I talked about in mine.
It’s premature to concern ourselves about being too strict in policing discussions, if we aren’t getting the basics right. The way we talk about mental illness is one of the things we – and I’m talking about the wider community – routinely screw up on. And we can screw up on this or other ‘isms’ when we’re generally damn good about, say, race, or homophobia, or sexism.
“It’s hard to discuss these topics without fearing to be accused of insensitivity to others, especially in the wake of Meoskop’s comment. ”
I wouldn ‘t worry about her opinion. She’s just as capable of being tin-eared as anyone she accuses of it.
Please presume good will on my part, Janine. Robin is a friend.
Okay, I’ll try– I need to mull over what you said, though even if I don’t react defensively, I may not always agree.
I would like to add a few more things in here on two different levels.
First, a book did manage to offend me recently. “Zombie Fallout.” Book one wrote women in such a way that it actually offended me. Not exactly what you’d call an eggshell subject which is way out there; but the author managed to treat women in such a way that I felt, “I can’t read this tripe, even though it IS fiction.” and that was the end of it.
Now, flip this on the other side. I live a BDSM life (I’m also transsexual, just to add another dimension to a life that has always been a bit on the edge of society!) and I’ve been, “campaigning,” for want of a better word, since the nineties. My job … bringing people with me.
The latest book rides on that; based on my life experiences the book is deliberately aimed at people who are, “vanilla,” as we put it. To bring them up to the window of BDSM and giving them a peek in to the romance in such a relationship, and the real, human mechanics behind it.
When one of my colleagues, who didn’t know that I was, “scene,” read the book and responded, “I can understand her need for finding herself and being accepted and to find happiness – wow that is a bit deep for me ! It’s very well written Michelle and easy to read, it makes me want to keep turning to the next page to see what happens.” … I knew that it was job done.
If I had failed to bring people over those egg shells, then I had failed as an author. OK, there’s always going to be people who crack a few shells; you can’t please all the people, all the time. But sometimes, to touch the hard stuff, I’ve had to open my chest, bare my heart and take the chance that the world will not tear it from my chest. A few people will make a grab for it, and my only defence against that, is actually going to be the rest of society … I’m in such a scary place right now.
And I’ve been reading some really heart wrenching stuff; blogs mostly; from people in the same position as I am, but for their own reasons and life events very different to mine.
So … there is another element to this … do people trust an author to take them over those egg shells and give them a positive experience at the other end? Or the converse, as I have known people who deliberately want to smash the shells and if the book doesn’t end up with everybody dead, they haven’t enjoyed it. (that latter is not my style.) Are safe books really what we want, or do we want authors who can take us in to the uncharted territories and bring us back home, safe and sound at the end of a journey?
And there … for me … is the clincher. The closer.
I’ve been reading blogs that have covered so many subjects; there are so many people out there who are articulating their every day struggles in truly inspiring ways that I have been sat here, crying.
But there are so many things out there that a guide is needed. Where should I go? What should I read? What is there which is going to take me in to the danger zone, open my eyes to realities that can’t be described on a news broadcast, deepen me as a person, and bring me home renewed and reinvigorated? … that is why we need good reviewers.
In a world of massive experience, doors are not only open to the good but are also open for the evil. On social media right now, people are on guard against the shill. They want people they can trust; and that extends to authors and reviewers.
Trust, in my humble opinion, is the internet version of rhodium.
Interesting post and really interesting comments.
Like others in this thread, I have found myself avoiding topics and tripping over myself trying not to be offensive. I tick almost all the privilege boxes and I know I can be oblivious. It’s often only when someone points something out to me that I realise it could be problematic. On the other hand, sometimes I wonder if things that bother me are things which are not mine to speak about – if I, as a non-queer person, for example, say something queer representation in a book I review – how far is it okay for me to go before *I* am the one being appropriative?
Recently, in a review of a book I liked very much I said:
That was honest and I hope it allowed for (even invited) people of differing views to comment if they wanted to but every time I do this sort of thing I also have this inner angst about whether I’m being too earnest or too apologetic (both of which make me gag) and I haven’t worked out how to manage the tension of those things yet.
I know I appreciate spaces like this where there’s a better chance I won’t be condemned if I try and honestly engage and make a mistake.
@Janine: I appreciated the honesty in your review of Burn for Me. And the discussion in the comments was one of the best ones I’ve been involved in for a while – delicious book speculation about motivations and future directions with differing points of view being expressed without malice. I’d like more of that.
Janine, so sorry for the stress you have been experiencing. No one can always tell what people are going through or what battles they are fighting. Sometimes empathy to others seems to be in short supply.
Yep, I do censor myself. Unless something falls in pretty bland neutral territory that no one can take offence with it, I tend to keep my mouth shut, depending on the audience. When it’s general public, I’m always sure that as a straight CIS female (with a stack of other privileges behind me), I’ll fuck it up somehow by being oblivious, so I keep my mouth shut.
Although to throw in some controversy (because I’m contradictory if nothing else), I have been diagnosed as clinically depressed, i take medication daily, I do not find the terms crazy and insane used to describe all and sundry from the feral cats that live in my garage, to the woman screaming at the cell phone salesman, distressing or an attack on my own mental state. So there is no case of all people hate X, stop it”. But as long as some people hate it, it makes you question everything you say and do. So it’s just easier to say nothing sometimes, especially if like me, upsetting people bothers you a great deal.
As an author, I would likely never make my antagonist in a story an ethnic character unless the entire book was populated with the same ethnicity because I fear being called on stereotyping. “Not all X do Y”. So I make sure no X do Y and they are only the “good guy”, then I’ve covered my ass. *shrug*
*sits for 10 min to decide if this last 2 paragraphs are offensive to someone because I don’t “get it”*
I just read this recent post by Maisey Yates about her IR romance:
http://pinkheartsociety.blogspot.com/2014/10/writers-wednesday-importance-of.html
She said that she received great support from Harlequin and the book sold quite well.
I do feel less inclined to comment and discuss these days, but I think it’s self-policing. I remember my first kerfuffle, Cassie Edwards. I was so uncomfortable with the pileup of criticism. I felt sorry for her, gave her the benefit of the doubt and defended her. I no longer feel the same way, but that was my first reaction. The response to authors behaving badly often inspires sympathetic feelings in me. It makes me think of all the times I’ve said the wrong thing. I’m just not an “agree with the crowd and rally together” type of person.
Right now Lena Dunham is getting torn apart in the media. Some feminists are so hard on other feminists–it’s no wonder public figures refrain from commenting or declaring themselves such. The worst thing you can be is a bad feminist, and there is no such thing as a feminist everyone likes. They take criticism from all sides.
I have noticed both a startling lack of criticism in reviews and an overwhelming amount of it on twitter. There was a review at Smart Bitches, months ago, for an erotic romance about three sheiks who fall for an American woman. No comment was made on race. I felt oversensitive for my reaction to what was supposed to be a silly foursome fantasy. But really? THREE sheiks find one white woman irresistible? It made me sad for the women of their home country. Their fictional home country, no doubt. ;)
About twitter. Just a couple of recent examples. I retweeted a link to an article written by a man about romance, and got mostly negative comments. I rt’d an article about race in romance, and got negative comments. It does seem that the “safer” response, there, is to hate everything. Of course, I follow and am followed by some interesting characters. But I’m tired of the constant negativity.
Not sure what conclusion I’ve come to here. There are circles of no criticism and circles of too much criticism. I try to stay in the middle, and not rant too much or censor myself completely.
Good discussion!
@Kaetrin: Thanks. I enjoyed all that speculation in our discussion of the book, too. It was a good discussion and I’m very glad of everyone’s participation.
@Michelle: Thank you. I’m sure that’s true for many of us, myself included, and I want critical discussion to thrive here. I want everyone to feel welcome to bring up whatever issues come up for them. We all need to have compassion and respect for each other as human beings and to be able to debate issues without fear of being attacked.
I have written a comment four times now and deleted it each time. I think that’s probably sufficient proof that I self-censor. The world of romance (and, for the record, the world of mystery too) feels like a minefield at the moment.
Thank you to everyone who came out of lurk mode to comment or who pushed past the fear of censure to make an honest comment.
Obviously we should all be aware of how we use language, how language is used to represent, and the extent to which we show others the kind of respect we expect shown to us. I just see these as basic rules for responsible online communication.
But I have talked to enough people who are smart, thoughtful, considerate, and conscientious, and who feel like they would rather withdraw than engage for fear of being labeled — NOT disagreed with, but hit with a label right out of the gate — that I *know* this is an issue, and I know people are self-censoring and self-policing on issues we need more, not less, discussion about. And I have absolutely no regrets about pointing to the elephant in the room, as Moriah Jovan put it. At the very least I would like to see people not having to disclaim, explain, and apologize for the books they like, whether or not they can pass a quiz identifying all problematic elements. And I’d love to see those discussions about problematic elements take place among women with the understanding that we all have different life experiences and we all read differently, and that calling someone a bad feminist or a rape apologist does not one fucking thing to make people more sensitive to difficult issues — at least not if you’re using sensitivity to mean awareness and not defensiveness.
Not one of us is perfect; not one of us has not said something objectionable or insensitive or offensive; not one of us has been completely aware and responsively conscientious all the time. Not. One. Of. Us. Every online community has rules – both spoken and unspoken – and hopefully people can find at least one at which they feel comfortable, or, if not, perhaps create a new one.
Liz Mc2 tweeted me this post by Roxane Gay on Lena Dunham, and I think it’s a pretty good example of how difficult some of these issues are to talk about and how difficult issues can be talked about in honest, personally significant ways that don’t demean the experiences or perspectives of others: http://roxanegay.tumblr.com/post/101801523290/on-lena-dunham-and-all-that
@hapax: But is it this sort of exhaustive self-questioning healthy or morbid?
I think self-questioning is healthy, as long as it doesn’t get the point where it paralyzes. If you can think about what you perceive to be all the possible angles and objections (and there will always be some you just couldn’t see until they come up), and then make a decision to move forward with all the knowledge and preparation you have at the moment, knowing it may not work out as you hope, that you may have to rethink and do things differently next time, I think that’s a healthy approach.
@Michelle Knight:
This.
I want authors I can trust: trust to take me to a place that i feel uncomfortable at AND bring me back safely. Trust that if I write a negative review I won’t get harassed while being proclaimed the harasser. Trust that the author will handle sensitive matters in a sensitive way OR in a way that is not emotionally hurtful.
Also – I comment here a lot (for me) now – but I lurked for a LONG time before getting up the courage. And I often (read: weekly) censor myself here because I don’t want to be dogpiled.
After reading this post again, and the review which sparked it, and the reactions on twitter (some by the usual hostile voices, some by others more usually supportive,) I have thoughts.
Robin’s post conflates several things which ought not be confused:
1. What authors write about
2. What readers want to read
3. How readers want to talk about books
4. How we use language to and from positions of privilege/disprivilege
Question 1 is not a matter for DA which is by readers for readers. But since Tam said “I would likely never make my antagonist in a story an ethnic character unless the entire book was populated with the same ethnicity because I fear being called on stereotyping” I’ll put my two cents in and say, while this is within every author’s rights, and we all write within out comfort zone, excluding minority characters is a bit of an overreaction. And to that point I suggest you start with this post which came out of Racefail ’09, and then keep reading. On the other hand, it’s not a bad thing that privileged authors don’t write bad portrayals of unprivileged groups, so long as they make room for portrayals by that group of themselves.
Also, not writing minority characters does not make you criticism-proof. So if you’re not a brave individual and prepared to take risks with your writing, then you either stick to the kind of genre books in which no one expects more from you, and you don’t deliver more, or you keep out of the writing game altogether. The real world is not a wiffle ball.
2. Readers are not an amorphous blob. Some will enjoy the most outrageous, offensive crap either because they’re adept at liking problematic things despite the problematic content, others won’t notice the problematic content, and others will active seek out problematic content. So authors can write what they like and *somebody* will read it.
The question for DA and other blogs is whether or not they want to promote/review/discuss very problematical yet popular material like Beautiful Disaster and Fifty Shades of god I’m sick of crappy BDSM. And that’s a question for the blog owners because every blog is different.
3. Now we come to the nitty gritty. How do we talk about books with contentious stuff?
This raises sub-issues:
(a) individual tolerance and appetite for problematic content
(b) individual capacity to raise a voice in praise or protest
(c) individual capacity to defend one’s opinion in the face of robust discussion
(d) individual tolerance for robust discussion occurring
(e) individual profile/history which makes that problematic content personal, marginalising or harmful
(f) the extent to which robust discussion silences important contributions to the discussion from people directly affected
On (a) I’ve already mentioned that I love a series of stories which use a lot of disgustingly homophobic language. People can love 50SoG as pure ID reading. I don’t think policing what people like is ever desirable, or even possible. I don’t think telling people that they like crap ever changes their mind. So if you accept writers can write what they like, and readers can like what they like, and you want to host the discussions about these books, then the only ethical problem arises when dissent or enthusiasm is suppressed.
On (b), last night I reread this post last year wherein Jane announced her intention to enforce an existing commenting policy. Lots of people talking there about how they felt too intimidated to comment. But interestingly, on this post of Robin’s, the same kinds of comments are being made. There will always be a group of people – more likely to be men because they’re not so socialised to be agreeable, but plenty of women are happy to speak up too – who are comfortable stating their views regardless of the prevailing climate. There will always be a group of people – more likely to be women because of socialisation but certainly there are men like this – who find speaking up difficult.
And, by the way, I am one of them depending on the forum. There are plenty of places where I just lurk or simply avoid altogether because the prevailing commenting culture is hostile. One of them is We Hunted the Mammoth, because the way the commenters there jump on the smallest hint of ableist language regarding mental illness has got to the point where I can’t be sure I won’t slip up. Another place is Shakesville. Despite being sympathetic to the aims of the commentariat in both places, I don’t personally have the confidence to speak there.
(c) Too many people – men and women – see disagreement as attack (just as too many authors see negative reviews as personal insult). (Socialisation plays its role there too.) So when their opinions are challenged, they fold, either going silent or flouncing off. The question for a blog/forum is – do we value the ability to respond to criticism enough that we blunt the critics and encourage the less confident to respond? I see people here who I wouldn’t have thought were particularly shy about speaking up, saying they stay silent because of past responses to criticism. As I said above, I’m sympathetic to that idea – to a point. But if you’re in a public discussion you have to be prepared for some push and shove, and if not, as I said, the world is not a wiffle ball.
And that deals with (d) too. The second you start talking about things that touch someone personally – either because of their personal love, or their personal stake in the subject – you will get strong views. If you can’t handle at least some of that, you’re not going to find the internet a happy place.
(e) is the hard one. People who have trouble putting their views into a big forum because they are marginalised in some way – and this applies to women talking in a heavily male-centric place, as much as it does to WOC talking to white people, or people with disabilities talking to the abled bodied – are the very voices we need to encourage and protect. The blog owner and commentariat have to walk a line between not cosseting those who want the world to be nice and safe and pleasant at all times, and making sure they are sensitive to those who need to speak out but feel intimidated.
How difficult that can be is demonstrated by the reactions of Kris’s mental illness piece. Despite the fact she made it so very clear it was her personal perspective, people are saying they felt unable to disagree – possibly because Robin and others went out of their way to be respectful. Respect was seen as a sign that there was only one acceptable view point.
And then (f). How do you talk about race, religion, mental illness, disability etc in a way that allows contrary opinions from within the affected communities? How do you allow privileged people to discuss these issues without either one or two outliers from the affected group potentially distorting the narrative (either because their views are not a majority one within their group or because they are unusually able to speak and argue robustly), or a silent majority of that group being pushed away by the overwhelming persistence of the privileged voices.
As an example – within the atheist community, the leading voices are all wealthy white men. The female voices they choose to laud are (ironically but not accidentally) women like Christina Hoff Sommers who do not promote the kind of feminism that important female atheists agree with (if you can call Sommers a feminist at all, which I don’t). Within the m/m community, the gay male voices most approved of are, unsurprisingly, the ones most supportive of straight people writing gay romance. The kind of black people Republicans admire most tend to be the black people who say they aren’t affected by racism. Etc. And within those privileged groups, those outliers are dominant over the majority of the disprivileged groups they purport to represent.
And in discussions on race, when white people dominate the conversation, people of colour often just shrug and go quiet. They’re been at this rodeo before. Often we don’t even notice they’re gone quiet, just as men don’t seem to notice when women stop arguing with them because it’s not worth it.
On the other hand, you can have voices from a disprivileged community who are happy to speak up – like the anonymous person I saw in a discussion about Kris’s post who (I’m paraphrasing) said “I’m crazy, I don’t give a shit people using crazy because K Hale is a crazy bitch and this shit be crazy.” A perfectly defensible view point, but if a post of that stance had been made on DA, many who take Kris’s viewpoint, would almost certainly not have wanted to speak out against it, because they are already disempowered and marginalised and being heard is a struggle they may not have energy or support to make.
So Robin’s post contains a ball of complicated questions, and no simple answers.
I notice the people who say they no longer speak up, haven’t really said what would encourage them to speak up more. I’ve seen Robin’s post described several times as ‘tone deaf tone policing’ as if she has called for the death of political correctness and open slather on the hate speech, which isn’t the case. But maybe the answer is not in yet more metadiscussion, but in taking actual risks. Learn from, as an example, what happened over Kris’s post, and other posts. Host discussions of real, problematic material that push the envelope, allow for those who like the stuff to speak as well as those who criticise it and see how you can encourage robust discussion that doesn’t lead to silencing.
A friend of mine – a really smart lady – said to me in DM last night that “A more diverse community = archipelago of experience & ideas not a singular landmass.” DA doesn’t have to be the solution for everyone’s discussion needs, and those who think Love In the Margins is too rigid, and DA too mean, still have other places to go to discuss books, like Smart bitches, bibliodaze and booksmugglers and so on. I didn’t read Robin’s piece as an attempt to set the one truth path for discusion, but if it did, it’s bound to fail. The commenters here set the tone, they must be the change they want to see. And if they don’t like it here, they can shop around, or set up their own place.
And now I have thoroughly had my fill of metadiscussion :)
(Part 1 of 2 – sorry, this got looong)
After reading this post again, and the review which sparked it, and the reactions on twitter (some by the usual hostile voices, some by others more usually supportive,) I have thoughts.
Robin’s post conflates several things which ought not be confused:
1. What authors write about
2. What readers want to read
3. How readers want to talk about books
4. How we use language to and from positions of privilege/disprivilege
Question 1 is not a matter for DA which is by readers for readers. But since Tam said “I would likely never make my antagonist in a story an ethnic character unless the entire book was populated with the same ethnicity because I fear being called on stereotyping” I’ll put my two cents in and say, while this is within every author’s rights, and we all write within out comfort zone, excluding minority characters is a bit of an overreaction. And to that point I suggest you start with this post which came out of Racefail ’09, and then keep reading. On the other hand, it’s not a bad thing that privileged authors don’t write bad portrayals of unprivileged groups, so long as they make room for portrayals by that group of themselves.
Also, not writing minority characters does not make you criticism-proof. So if you’re not a brave individual and prepared to take risks with your writing, then you either stick to the kind of genre books in which no one expects more from you, and you don’t deliver more, or you keep out of the writing game altogether. The real world is not a wiffle ball.
2. Readers are not an amorphous blob. Some will enjoy the most outrageous, offensive crap either because they’re adept at liking problematic things despite the problematic content, others won’t notice the problematic content, and others will active seek out problematic content. So authors can write what they like and *somebody* will read it.
The question for DA and other blogs is whether or not they want to promote/review/discuss very problematical yet popular material like Beautiful Disaster and Fifty Shades of god I’m sick of crappy BDSM. And that’s a question for the blog owners because every blog is different.
3. Now we come to the nitty gritty. How do we talk about books with contentious stuff?
This raises sub-issues:
(a) individual tolerance and appetite for problematic content
(b) individual capacity to raise a voice in praise or protest
(c) individual capacity to defend one’s opinion in the face of robust discussion
(d) individual tolerance for robust discussion occurring
(e) individual profile/history which makes that problematic content personal, marginalising or harmful
(f) the extent to which robust discussion silences important contributions to the discussion from people directly affected
On (a) I’ve already mentioned that I love a series of stories which use a lot of disgustingly homophobic language. People can love 50SoG as pure ID reading. I don’t think policing what people like is ever desirable, or even possible. I don’t think telling people that they like crap ever changes their mind. So if you accept writers can write what they like, and readers can like what they like, and you want to host the discussions about these books, then the only ethical problem arises when dissent or enthusiasm is suppressed.
On (b), last night I reread this post last year wherein Jane announced her intention to enforce an existing commenting policy. Lots of people talking there about how they felt too intimidated to comment. But interestingly, on this post of Robin’s, the same kinds of comments are being made. There will always be a group of people – more likely to be men because they’re not so socialised to be agreeable, but plenty of women are happy to speak up too – who are comfortable stating their views regardless of the prevailing climate. There will always be a group of people – more likely to be women because of socialisation but certainly there are men like this – who find speaking up difficult.
And, by the way, I am one of them depending on the forum. There are plenty of places where I just lurk or simply avoid altogether because the prevailing commenting culture is hostile. One of them is We Hunted the Mammoth, because the way the commenters there jump on the smallest hint of ableist language regarding mental illness has got to the point where I can’t be sure I won’t slip up. Another place is Shakesville. Despite being sympathetic to the aims of the commentariat in both places, I don’t personally have the confidence to speak there.
(c) Too many people – men and women – see disagreement as attack (just as too many authors see negative reviews as personal insult). (Socialisation plays its role there too.) So when their opinions are challenged, they fold, either going silent or flouncing off. The question for a blog/forum is – do we value the ability to respond to criticism enough that we blunt the critics and encourage the less confident to respond? I see people here who I wouldn’t have thought were particularly shy about speaking up, saying they stay silent because of past responses to criticism. As I said above, I’m sympathetic to that idea – to a point. But if you’re in a public discussion you have to be prepared for some push and shove, and if not, as I said, the world is not a wiffle ball.
And that deals with (d) too. The second you start talking about things that touch someone personally – either because of their personal love, or their personal stake in the subject – you will get strong views. If you can’t handle at least some of that, you’re not going to find the internet a happy place. (cont in part 2)
It’s growing pains and the cult of fandom taking over all aspects of our entertainment.
Growing pains in that we’re still in the process of relearning things we took for granted. Two examples that come to mind: the change from the word Negro to African American (I chortled when I saw my mom’s birth certificate, but I still marveled over the difference in terminology in the 20+ years between hers and mine) and the public push against using the words “gay” or “retarded” as casual pejoratives ten years ago. This doesn’t mean everyone is 100% on the same page, but we’ve affected a change in language for the general culture. Regarding this particular post, mindfulness is great, but I’m often uncomfortable when it comes across as preemptive so the person in authority can cover their ass, as opposed to fostering inclusion.
Fandom. There doesn’t seem to be a measured way to engage with anything entertainment, whether it be a TV show or an actor. I watch my tweetstream roll by during prime time hours and often feel a little alienated because I worry that saying “I don’t care about shipping X & Y” or “I thought Z storyline was terrible writing” will insult the tweeter squeeing. I fully admit that I can contribute to it where my position has blurred lines between active watching and building the fan community, so I’m including myself in the criticism (which, incidentally, has caused me some angst). But the cultivation of fandom keeps building hierarchies that have had a negative impact on Romland.
I remember the days when authors like Suzanne Brockmann and J.R. Ward could have a diehard fan circle on their sites, but once outside of it the dynamic between readers was more balanced. Today that balance has disappeared, largely because social media has fostered a cult of personality. So what we’re seeing is that authors have become super-entwined with what they produce–or are assumed to be so–and critical discussion takes on the tenor of a personal attack on the author and the reader who identified with the book.
And don’t bring the money making aspects into account! The cult of fandom has made success for the object of fandom a heady high for the fan. This is a large part of why this conversation won’t reach beyond a receptive circle, and why it might alienate those enmeshed in author stanning.
But regarding risks and diversity in romance, I raise my eyebrows. I love DA for its overall community, but the reviews mostly, if not only, reflect each individual reviewers’ tastes. And this has resulted in the audience remaining within that bubble. Example–I was disappointed in the response to Piper Huguley’s debut (disclosure: we’re friends). I’ve peeked into a number of inspy romance reviews over the years where readers expressed their interest in the books despite not being religious, and comments focused on the history (with many excited by non-Regency England) or the plot/characters. With Huguley, I felt the response in review and comments were cautious, almost wary, with little of the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed interest other inspy romances have garnered. And in general, the diverse romance that gets pushed is within a certain container: traditionally published, or known author, or recognizable sub-genre, etc. <— perhaps this is a little self-censoring since you (general you) find it difficult to find the vocabulary to articulate your thoughts on something outside of your experience?
@Evangeline: I was disappointed in the response to Piper Huguley’s debut (disclosure: we’re friends). I’ve peeked into a number of inspy romance reviews over the years where readers expressed their interest in the books despite not being religious, and comments focused on the history (with many excited by non-Regency England) or the plot/characters. With Huguley, I felt the response in review and comments were cautious, almost wary, with little of the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed interest other inspy romances have garnered.
Can you say a little more about what you mean by this? I know that some people were actually disappointed that Huguley’s books had an inspirational component, despite the historical accuracy of that element, but I’m not completely sure what you found disappointing about the reviews and comments. And are you referring to DA reviews of both of her books, or just the first?
@MrsJoseph
QUOTE
I want authors I can trust: trust to take me to a place that i feel uncomfortable at AND bring me back safely. Trust that if I write a negative review I won’t get harassed while being proclaimed the harasser. Trust that the author will handle sensitive matters in a sensitive way OR in a way that is not emotionally hurtful.
Also – I comment here a lot (for me) now – but I lurked for a LONG time before getting up the courage. And I often (read: weekly) censor myself here because I don’t want to be dogpiled.
/ENDQUOTE
(apologies, I can’t find the formatting instructions and I daren’t try direct HTML)
For authors you can trust, it is reviewers that light the candle and go in to the darkness of an authors creation, come out the other side and report what they have found. Sorry and all that, but I don’t know of any other honest way.
The fear of being lambasted; sorry again, no solution here. You could give an author a glowing review and be lambasted by someone else for being a bad reviewer. Conflict is the way of order. As humans we strive for the stable, we put all our energy in to creating our little bubble where we are safe from the ever changing world and the conflict it brings. Apologies, but as they say, “change is the only constant,” so if we emerge from that bubble, we had better be holding the sword of justice and the shield of truth.
The good news, you de-lurked. The courage is within you. :-) Just practice with that sword arm a little, every day, a bit of thrust, a bit of parry, you know … yes, that’s it, be nimble on your feet. Just remember Kung-Fu Panda’s training session and you’ll be fine. Not the first session where he made a complete fool of himself, but the later sessions where he became good enough to take on an arch villain.
I’ve currently got a Police report against someone who has made death threats, believe it or not. This bloke is in the same country as me, and if his lid flips he could be at my door in a couple of hours. So yeh, I know how bad it can get. But I have a decision to make as to how I want to life my life. After all, I’ve only read of two cases where people have been killed in real life, over on-line altercations and none of them in the West.
But the decision is yours.
@Evangeline: I’m a little confused how reviews here (or anywhere) could reflect anything *but* the reviewer’s taste. I’m not trying to be confrontational in that statement – I just don’t really understand it. Are you able to elaborate?
A smart lady said to me today:
I think anyone can discuss anything, provided they do it mindfully. And are prepared to listen and change their mind (or not)
I agree. If we don’t have the conversations at all, we never learn anything.
And another little shard of something from my personal experience, for what little it is worth…
Truth, honesty and reality … never get five star reviews.
Whether book or review.
Sorry … re-read that and had a thought that it might not be read as I meant it.
What I meant was, no-one should expect to hit five out of five if they are dealing with subjects of truth that take the audience in to the realms of discomfort; because taking someone, somewhere that they feel uncomfortable is always going to leave a note of sourness somewhere which will deny that top rating.
The colleagues who have reviewed my book, know me; they know that, behind the fictional tale, that they are reading the truth. I’ve smashed some preconceptions and built new foundations … for an author, that’s stunning to hear … but that’s a kind of journey that will never earn five stars.
@Kaetrin: What I mean is that calls for action are pure rhetoric. I’ve been reading DA a long time and have been here for the many op-eds about diversity in the genre (it was a hot topic circa 2007-09). The quest for more diversity is not active or pro-active, it’s mere happenstance based on reviewers preexisting tastes and/or familiarity.
And it’s also frustrating to see reviews of books that are subsequently reamed for “doing it wrong,” but books that “do it right” aren’t sought (e.g. the criticism of Serena Bell’s Yours to Keep).
It only leads me to further assume that diversity must be easily accessed–or produced beneath a familiar umbrella–to garner the least amount of interest, or that being able to add one’s two cents to the community’s topic du jour is more important than seeking an excellent diverse romance to put in that space.
@Robin/Janet: As I was typing that section I opened another window to look at the comments on the inspy romance reviews on DA. I remember the initial resistance when Jayne began reviewing them here, but the reaction has morphed over the years into an active interest, especially when they’re reassured the book doesn’t proselytize. The muted reaction to Huguley’s books felt like a throwback to the 6-12 months when Inspirational Romance reviews first popped up on DA.
@Evangeline: I got the impression that you also had problems with the reviews themselves (the one by Sunita and Janine, and the other by Jayne). Just curious about what you didn’t like.
@Evangeline: Also, would you consider those two reviews of Huguley’s books an example of reviewing books that do it wrong? The Bell book definitely had issues, but I’m trying to better understand your point about using space to highlight outstanding diverse Romances. I just pulled up the Sonali Dev review from last week and clicked on the “India” tag, and there seems to be a pretty good showing of solid books featuring Indian characters (https://dearauthor.com/tag/india/). I know there have been some positive reviews that got blowback (the infamous Raybourne incident, for example), too. But I’d definitely love to know if you have a recommendation for a book that’s similar to the Bell book that you would recommend as ‘doing it right.’
@Evangeline:
“With Huguley, I felt the response in review and comments were cautious, almost wary, with little of the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed interest other inspy romances have garnered.”
The reviews didn’t garner much comment, but that could have been down to the fact both were posted in the summer too. Quite a few reviews on DA don’t seem to get more than four or five comments unless the book has excited a lot of interest beforehand. And the DA reviews got more than zero comments, which is more than the first two non-DA reviews I found by googling this author.
The books are inspirationals, set in a historical period not *often* associated with most historical romance, and the two lovers were black. Any of those things could have led to a lack of commenting, which doesn’t correlate directly to a lack of interest in the book. (And the converse is true – a positive review and reasonable discussion of one of my books here led to the extra sale of…one book).
Robin’s later post about religion in books generally, which mentioned Piper’s books and the reviews, was pretty well commented on. It was also at the end of the summer when people were back at work and school in North America.
As far as I can see, Jayne and Sunita both did an excellent job of indicating the pros and cons of the two books, and if people just weren’t around or interested right then I don’t think you can read too much into that. Horses, water, etc.
“And in general, the diverse romance that gets pushed is within a certain container: traditionally published, or known author, or recognizable sub-genre”
Yes? Most books reviewed by the mainstream blogs are of this kind because the reviewers are familiar with the authors/publishers and more willing to try the books. Same goes for all major media review sites. It’s the Matthew Effect in action again. Piper got two books of hers reviewed here, which is damn good going. If she’d been self-published, that would be unlikely, not just at DA but on many review blogs (because many have decided to boycott SP authors – too many of us have abused the privilege of being reviewed.)
What diverse romance outside those containers are you thinking of? DA doesn’t do much SF/F, even when it’s romance. I take that to be a result of the reviewing pool, since none of the ladies here are known to me as huge SF fans. But as I said above, DA doesn’t have to be the single, all-encompassing solution.
Perhaps you should suggest to Jane that you do a guest post highlighting those non-container romances? Guest posts have a good track record in getting people engaged in topics they might otherwise not talk about.
@Evangeline:
I agree with a lot of Ann’s summation on why there were so few comments to both of these reviews. I’m not so sure that the summer months had much to do with it but I think the other reasons sure did. And if there are no or few comments to reviews, then obviously it makes it difficult or impossible to get a discussion going.
@Ann Somerville: I think you’re being insensitive to others’ sensitivity.
For authors, for example, there’s a difference between having a thin skin about bad reviews in general, and having a thin skin about the idea that something you’ve written has HURT someone.
If someone doesn’t like my writing, they don’t like my writing. Whatever. My skin is thick. I read the review, evaluate its validity, and decide if I want to change future writing. But if someone says that my writing is perpetuating harmful stereotypes, I take that more seriously. Because I believe writing, especially en mass, CAN be harmful to vulnerable people, and don’t want to be involved in that. It’s one thing to take a risk with myself, but something much different to take risks for someone else, who never consented.
So I don’t think it’s right to say that people who are hesitant to take on minority characters aren’t brave and aren’t willing to take risks. They may just not be willing to take THAT risk. Now, I do agree that the answer is likely not to avoid writing minority characters altogether. I just object to your characterization of the reasons an author might make that choice.
I also think you’re too harsh on people who don’t feel comfortable standing up to internet disagreement. You’re not comfortable commenting on some sites but are comfortable elsewhere – that’s great for you, but others have different reactions. Classifying their responses as ‘folding’ or ‘flouncing’ seems dismissive. You seem to have respect for your own approach (staying out of conversations entirely unless you’re comfortable) but I have more respect for people who at least TRY to make a comment, even if they aren’t able to stick around for the entire debate.
@Evangeline:
I reviewed the Bell. I chose it because I was interested in the setup and because it was getting positive chatter on Twitter. I didn’t choose it to add my “two cents to the community’s topic du jour” but because I would love to see more books on immigration issues and immigrants. I suppose I could have refrained from writing a review, but that seems kind of dishonest. And I don’t think it’s my job to then go out and find an “excellent diverse romance” to balance the scales.
As for the Huguley, I bought it because, again, I was interested in it and wanted to read it and I thought DA’s readers might be interested since they are frequently looking for romances outside the usual settings. Jayne had independently bought the novella, so we coordinated the timing of our reviews. We were both disappointed there wasn’t more discussion. Perhaps that was a consequence of something in the reviews themselves, or perhaps it was something else. I don’t know. What I try to do is choose books I intend to give a fair shot and then bring them to the attention of the DA audience.
Slightly off topic but still related, for me, the main reason I don’t comment on book reviews is because I haven’t yet read the book. It usually takes me about a week to get to/thru a new release and I’ve found that most review sites are reviewing on or before the release date or maybe a day or two after. So these reviews are good for finding new books I haven’t read, but they’re not really a place I can participate in a discussion on the book itself.
It makes me wonder how many of those who do comment on a new release book review and have read the book have done so because they received an arc.
@Evangeline
I can only speak as a reader, not a reviewer, but I notice some of this in myself. One of my New Years resolutions this year was to read more diversely – specifically to read more authors of color and to read a wider range of queer fiction, beyond mm. I’ve been keeping track of what I read this year, and um, it’s kind of humbling how hard it is to move out of my comfort zone. Or to expand my comfort zone. Because of my resolution, I’ve read quite a few books I wouldn’t have read before, but I’ve read a lot more that were known quantities. And I do think it’s a little easier for me to take a risk on something new when there’s just one or two things different from what I’m used to.
I know it took me years and years of trial and error to build up my current list of favorite authors, so it’s probably unreasonable to expect to be able to add a lot of new fave authors in one year. But I’m still a bit disappointed in myself.
I will plug my most recent foray beyond my comfort zone – Charm City by Mason Dixon, ff with two Black heroines in inner city Baltimore – an undercover cop and an underground fighter / enforcer for a drug lord. (Ty to Jill Sorenson for mentioning it).
@CG: Same for me. Reading a new release within the first week or two of publication is an exception rather than the rule for me. Usually the books I pick up have been out for months or years so discussion has long since died out. I’m also not on Twitter, so a lot of things being discussed here are being continued from over there. I just don’t have the time or desire to keep up with discussions which crossover from so many different social networks.
Out of all the posters I read, Courtney Milan has made the most sense. She’s right certain writers get it and some don’t and that’s their choice.
My points are two-fold. One if you take each book on its own, then the walking-eggshell thing seems ridiculous. But what happen’s when you read an author’s entire canon or at least four or five books and you see the patterns over and over again and suddenly it’s a much bigger deal. For example in a mystery series, that one killer was black is not a big deal. If in the same series, in each book for five books straight (especially if the author only has five books out) the killer is black, what we have is a pattern. Or in romance series one woman chooses to give up a job she likes to be a mommy and it’s not a big deal, but in every subsequent book (and there are nine now) every single woman stops working even when her career was important to her and becomes a mother, what we have is pattern.
The romance genre seems in particular to books as individual entries to be judged by themselves versus seeing the author’s work as a body of work.
Occasionally this problem catches up to a writer like Kristan Higgins(although the examples atop are more obvious and not meant to be indicative of Higgins’s writing), but even she has many loyal fans who accept the things that seem to be offending more and more people. The people who are turned off are turned by, as far as I can tell, the repetition of certain themes and not just one of off of each.
Now as for political correctness, we have another problem of writers wanting to portray politically correctness without really understanding the culture or diversity in which they write. If you want to write a politically correct it would helpful to what is it is you are writing about.
Just to clarify a small point: Maisey Yates’s book The Highest Price to Pay did not receive a NA release in the normal Harlequin Presents line up because at the time Presents was transitioning to simultaneous NA/UK publication. Just about every Presents author ‘lost’ two books in a certain time frame to the transition, and Maisey’s book was one of them. It had absolutely nothing to do with the content of the book. Presents editors have been absolutely fantastic about encouraging their authors to try new and different things in their books.
@Kate Hewitt: See above. Told you they’d say that. If they’d really believed in that book as an innovative move, they’d have scheduled it differently instead of hiding it away. As far as I’ve seen, especially in this year’s frankly disappointing attempt into hitting edgier, mainstream romances with the Fifth Avenue series and the would-be book, Kelly Hunter’s “The One That Got Away” for Kiss, most innovations are edited into blandness or eliminated. (I still want that breath play book from Hunter!) They picked three of their best authors, told them to go at it, promoted them, but the books that had promised so much, just didn’t deliver, and I think it’s the editing that’s at fault. I wasn’t there, I could be wrong, but the books seem to show that bits were cut or amended. For instance, in “Scandalize Me” the book starts with the hero drunk and surrounded by strippers, but later on, we discover (won’t say the actual reason, it’s a spoiler) that he was a good boy all along, and there was a reason for that situation. It read like an inserted paragraph, with no foreshadowing and no real reason for the explanation. A real shame. I’d have preferred a genuine bad boy hero.
I’ve always had confidence in Harlequin editors to know and guide their writers into what readers want, but in the last couple of years, at least for me, they’ve mostly missed the mark. I haven’t had that “happy sigh” for a long time. I know some editors have moved on, so maybe that’s it.
@Anonymous2: The romance genre seems in particular to books as individual entries to be judged by themselves versus seeing the author’s work as a body of work.
And yet, one of the authors you mentioned, Kristan Higgins, is one that many of us have explicitly stated that we’ve stopped reading, precisely *because* of the patterns. And I’ve seen many many reader comments to exactly that effect – authors whose books they’ve given up on because of cumulative issues (Eloisa James, JR Ward, SEP, etc. etc. etc.). And we’ve posted countless pieces here at DA over the years about trends, tropes, and themes in the genre as a whole.
Do readers give individual books a chance? Sure, and isn’t that a good thing? Because for every book someone reads and finds to be the last straw of a an author’s body of work, there’s another book someone takes a chance on — maybe something that’s out of that reader’s comfort zone — and ends up enjoying, thus opening a new direction up for that reader’s tastes and interests — and potentially more books by new-to-them authors.
@Cate Cameron:
“So I don’t think it’s right to say that people who are hesitant to take on minority characters aren’t brave and aren’t willing to take risks. They may just not be willing to take THAT risk.”
I spent all night trying to think of a way to respond to this that wouldn’t get up Jane’s nose and violate the commenting policy. I don’t think I can.
Look, if you want to write the whitest book imaginable with rich beautiful people with perfect teeth and endless good health, no one will stop you and many will buy your stuff. If you want to write a book about a lebsian Muslim Indian who used to be a firefighter but is now in a wheelchair and runs a BDSM dungeon to make rent, no one will stop you and many will buy your stuff. As a woman I’m sure you spend part of every day making allowances and shrugging your shoulders at the stupidity and carelessness of men towards us, but you can’t imagine that other oppressed groups do the same? They expect outsiders to fuck up. The most that will happen, absent a ‘Save the Pearls’ level of pure fail and horribleness is a shrug. You won’t hurt people by getting it a bit wrong, or a lot wrong, because you doing that is what’s expected. If you’re not being egregiously offensive – which good research should prevent – then what, exactly do you have to lose?
Fifty Shades of Suck and Beautiful Egos are best sellers. Doesn’t that prove to you that you can really, really screw up and still not have the pitchfork wielders after you if you’re white? I’m really tired of white authors blaming minorities groups for the fact they can’t possibly include those minorities in their stories, because someone who is already disempowered and underrepressented might, somewhere, sometimes, shrug their shoulders and sigh? Or even write a snarky blog post? You’re more likely to be bashed over the head with a wine bottle by a stalking reader than you are to suffer the smallest career damage for making a mistake or three about a group you don’t belong to.
So, do what you like. Just don’t blame anyone but yourself for your own decision. If authors spent one percent of the time they spend in justifying not writing minority characters, in resea
@Cate Cameron:
“So I don’t think it’s right to say that people who are hesitant to take on minority characters aren’t brave and aren’t willing to take risks. They may just not be willing to take THAT risk.”
I spent all night trying to think of a way to respond to this that wouldn’t get up Jane’s nose and violate the commenting policy.
Look, if you want to write the whitest book imaginable with rich beautiful people with perfect teeth and endless good health, no one will stop you and many will buy your stuff. If you want to write a book about a lebsian Muslim Indian who used to be a firefighter but is now in a wheelchair and runs a BDSM dungeon to make rent, no one will stop you and many will buy your stuff. As a woman I’m sure you spend part of every day making allowances and shrugging your shoulders at the stupidity and carelessness of men towards us, but you can’t imagine that other oppressed groups do the same? They expect outsiders to fuck up. The most that will happen, absent a ‘Save the Pearls’ level of pure fail and horribleness is a shrug. You won’t hurt people by getting it a bit wrong, or a lot wrong, because you doing that is what’s expected. If you’re not being egregiously offensive – which good research should prevent – then what, exactly do you have to lose?
Fifty Shades of Suck and Beautiful Egos are best sellers. Doesn’t that prove to you that you can really, really screw up and still not have the pitchfork wielders after you if you’re white? I’m really tired of privileged authors blaming minorities groups for the fact they can’t possibly include those minorities in their stories, because someone who is already disempowered and underrepressented might, somewhere, sometimes, shrug their shoulders and sigh? Or, horrors of horrors even write a snarky blog post? You’re more likely to be bashed over the head with a wine bottle by a stalking reader than you are to suffer the smallest career damage for making a mistake or three about a group you don’t belong to.
So, do what you like. Just don’t blame anyone but yourself for your own decision. If authors spent one percent of the time they spend in justifying not writing minority characters, in researching minority characters, they would never have to worry about getting it wrong.
“I have more respect for people who at least TRY to make a comment, even if they aren’t able to stick around for the entire debate. ”
I don’t necessarily think everyone has to comment to contribute, to read and listen and learn. Folding and flouncing are, however disrespectful, perfectly good descriptions of what people unprepared to argue their point, too often do. Criticism of one’s views comes with the territory, as your comment demonstrates.
Ugh, sorry, my comment posted half done. Would someone kindly delete that unfinished one? Thank you :)
@Cate Cameron and @Ann Somerville: I just want to add that it’s often not even the folks who do represent the group being portrayed to do the objecting. We see that with m/m all the time, for example, and it adds another layer of complexity to the question of appropriation and advocacy.
@Janet: Yes, this. Saying nothing appears to be agreement by default but there is a level where it’s not my place to fight – I think many of us are trying to find the space in between.
@Ann Somerville: Would you like to respond to the post I actually made, or just to the strawman?
I didn’t mention being jumped on, (although I appreciate Janet’s addition that often the people doing the jumping aren’t even members of the group) I wrote about doing harm. You’re right, I can write what I want (although I’m not sure you’re right that ‘many’ will by my work about a lesbian Muslim in a wheelchair). And I can handle criticism of it.
But I genuinely worry that ‘getting it wrong’ will further marginalize already marginalized people. (As I said, I’m aware that this isn’t a GOOD reason for not including characters from marginalized groups – it does nothing to solve the problem. But it’s not the reason you ascribed to writers who don’t include such characters).
I’m always a bit wary of comparing my experiences as a woman to other people’s experiences as members of other marginalized groups, but, okay, you’ve brought it up, and it IS the best comparison I’ve got. So I’ll say that as a woman, I do roll my eyes at many ridiculous depictions of women in the media. I do move on from many of them. But that doesn’t mean they don’t hurt me indirectly, via enforcing societal attitudes, etc.. And it doesn’t mean they don’t sometimes hurt me directly, catch a chink in my armour and slide deeper than others. I worry about creating depictions of others that will hurt them the way these depictions hurt me.
So, again, I know the solution is not to erase all ‘others’ from my writing, and I’m sure other authors know that too. I’m just saying that there are reasons for being worried about what we write that go beyond the ‘fear of bad reviews’ that you seem to be focusing on.
No one could institute requirements of “inclusivity for X” for individual works of fiction, or censorship of words or terms that are offensive to individuals or groups, nor should they, really. Literature has ALWAYS been provocative, and it should continue to be so until the heat death of the universe. Of course, not all literature will deliberately provoke (as “50 Shades” clearly was NOT written to provoke DV discourse, yet it became one of the flashpoints for a larger conversation that other books about similar themes just didn’t polarize enough to do so).
But the only people who should be identifying requirements for diversity or censorship are the readers themselves, in their personal reading lists. Reader, know thyself, and know what thou wilt not put up with in thy fiction. All Fiction Is Not Your Personal Soapbox. But Your Reading List Is.
As a writer, it’s not my job to protect anyone from offense in my stories (for the record, my stories aren’t that offensive, I don’t think. But I could be wrong; I’ve got enough privilege to qualify me as a Stock Photo if my cheeks weren’t quite so cheeky). As a writer, my job is to write as truly and authentically to the story as I’m able to be. It’s also my job to send the clearest message possible to potential readers via cover art and book description that will attract people interested in reading my kind of stories, while tipping off the ones who Do Not Want.
It’s important to remember–with both other people and ourselves–that diversity and sensitivity are not permanent, binary states for people. They are a process, as is language itself. A few short months ago, “social justice warrior” didn’t have offensive connotations for me, but since the gamergate people started using it as a pejorative, if someone uses it in a comment, I’m more prone to dismiss their viewpoint on diversity/equality topics because the term’s become loaded.
Conversations like this one, even while I may not always participate or fall to the most popular side of things, do make me grow as a writer and a human, and I’m not so arrogant as to think I’m the only one. But no, I do not think we want “safer” books. I think we really, truly want the ability to measure, as Michelle Knight so eloquently put “…authors [I] can trust: trust to take me to a place that i feel uncomfortable at AND bring me back safely. Trust that if I write a negative review I won’t get harassed while being proclaimed the harasser. Trust that the author will handle sensitive matters in a sensitive way OR in a way that is not emotionally hurtful.”
But the stark truth of the matter is that there is no governing body or omniscient entity that can guarantee us that an author will take us safely through a story and deliver to us at the end exactly what we want with nothing that we don’t want. The best we can do is talk to each other about books, then take the plunge and crack open that cover to see for ourselves.