I can tell this will be awesome.
So, while we were at mystery hunt*, the internet exploded, about race and literature and cultural appropriation. This discussion actually started early last week, and I'd been following it intermittently, but apparently in the last day or two it's taken rather a turn for the worse. I have some scattered thoughts.
Part of what's prompting me to actually post is stumbling over a post on the issue from someone I know IRL, here. I'd already half-decided my reaction to this, which was "Screw this, I'm coming out as white on LJ.", but I think a more nuanced response might be appropriate. This post highlights a bunch of issues about the place of multiracial people in the world and in conversations about race, some of which I share and some of which doesn't really matter to me. For one, my father's family is not Eastern European, Irish, Italian, or some other sort of Ethnic European; they have perfectly good traditions, but I can't pretend our family reunions are any older than, um, my lifetime. Sometimes I wish I had a cultural tradition (or two!) I felt a legitimate claim to, but I don't, having grown up between worlds, and between echoes of worlds. I don't speak my grandparents' native tongue, and they've only met me 3 times, and the only way I know how to deal with that is to not go to Indian restaurants in the States so I can not forget how fantastic my grandmother's luchees are. And in the meantime, I'm building my own traditions, because I have to, and I cannot in conscience do anything else. (Further writing about how conana and I navigated the winter holidays is probably forthcoming, to avoid derailing this point entirely.)
Returning to ultranos's post: Her experience differs from mine primarily because no one ever parses me as white, I suspect. So I never get pressured to choose a heritage (which would I pick? The set of relatives across the continent, or those across an ocean?) but I do check multiple boxes on forms when I can (rarely). I have no problem considering myself as a person of colour, an ethnic minority, an immigrant, a non-American, and having thinky thoughts (and occasionally wordy words) in discussions on race, in the same way that being a sometimes-masculine female doesn't silence me in feminist discussions. Consider the impact of my words, whether I'm talking too much or too forcefully, make sure I'm not minimizing others' pain just b/c I haven't seen it, sure, but that's just polite, and obvious.
I admit that below the surface, I pass awfully well. My adoption of visual markers typically associated with particularly white subcultures (queer, punk, MIT, take your pick) is shockingly successful, and my hobbies and intellectual pursuits are indistinguishable from my peer group. Like a lot of my gendered othering, I feel the impact of my skin primarily when amongst strangers, being the tall dark figure walking fast down sidestreets at night. But every once in a while, as these things happen, it becomes obvious that I am not, in fact, just like all my friends. it's true that at this point, my assumption is that pretty much everyone I meet has some total nutfuckery somewhere in their heads, and the real questions are: Is it about me? How obnoxious is it? Will they STFU about it? Can I call them on it without engendering an explosion?
[Tangent! Once upon a time, conana and I had a conversation about something, during which he perceived me to be calling him racist. He found this troubling, since he loves me and I love him, and went and curled up in a ball for a few hours to think about it. Eventually I realized he'd taken my point that way and came to find him, and we talked about what had happened, clarified some stuff, and I pulled together a list of anti-oppression and anti-racism blogs i follow so he could learn more. I don't have these conflict resolution skills with everyone, and in particular, I don't presume most people are coming from the same place as my darling love. But for those who think these discussions inevitably end in pain and awful, here, have an example.]
Anyway. While reading the recent shenanigans, one thought that kept occurring to me: "Gee, I'm sure glad I'm not a fan." This is, of course, a lie; I am not fannish in transformative-work-production sort of way, particularly not of visual media. But I do consume and recommend books and music. My wanderings through the 'net, where SF/F writers do blog, means I do increasingly run into the Orson Scott Card Problem: what do you do, when an artist expresses views you cannot financially support, in good conscience? My answer tends to be to stop consuming their art, and/or only buy their stuff used, but I'm aware that other people make other decisions.
And then there's the OH JOHN RINGO NO Problem, where questionable views (which may or may not be the author's, sometimes they are genre tropes or Learned References or who knows what) are not just hiding out in blogs or interviews, but coiled right there in the stories, waiting to strike. I am undeniably a more critical reader than I was a decade ago; recently I've been consciously revisiting authors and stories I enjoyed as a teenager (and pushing them on conana), to balance my non-fiction intake. Most of it is still enjoyable, even if I can now have useful discussions about pacing and trope subversion and how some of this stuff isn't all that awesome. But wow, did I ever not anticipate how totally over angsty teenage boy coming-of-age stories I am. Regardless of whether the author was consciously depicting the self-absroption of teenagers, who view 'going off to possible-war against probable-aliens from another planet' as equal trauma on par with 'leaving my first crush back at the castle with my rival for her affections', I didn't want to wade through the glurge. It was absurd, and I w/couldn't deal.
So. Regardless of whether I'm a fan, the question of how my media portrays people like me, and people I'm supposed to identify with (presumably not the 3rd guardsman from the left, who is secretly bi and dark-skinned under his helmet, and has a fabulous slashy angsty backstory someone, somewhere has written) is of interest. No, literature is not responsible for providing me with appropriate moral guidance and role models. (Although I wonder who you think is going to, instead?) But stories that are not aware of the context in which they're read (an idea I find absurd, given that SF, at least, prides itself on conducting a 40+ year Conversation of Ideas) are not going to succeed at entertaining or teaching me anything. And I'm not willing to take that risk. Which is why I return, again and again, to stuff I've already read and seen: I'm gunshy, especially with new-to-me authors. I don't trust anyone else to rec me things; I once dumped a guy partly for sending me to India for a month with Anne Bishop's Jewels Trilogy, and at this late date, one of allonymist's most sterling qualities is his ability to point me at good stuff. (Thanks :D)
I accepted long ago that the only way to read or see a story that featured me was to write it; it's nice to know that most published writers agree with me, and indeed, declare their intent to write what they want, how they want, and the haters consequences be damned. None of this changes the fact that white writers are awfully skilled at producing the sorts of stories that white editors like to buy and white audiences like to read, and which tend to leave me somewhere between 'unenthused' and 'really annoyed'. Entertainment is part of what culture is constructed of, and I do not believe that only white children deserve it; it's arguable that, given the real-world success and positive messages in non-fiction media for them, they do not need entire universes fabricated for them as well.
In conclusion: I should keep posting about what I'm reading and listening to, and maybe learn to write. And, to borrow one of our favorite words recently, I'm vasty, so are you, but they're not the same, so why don't we talk about it, for fuck's sake?
*which was overly complicated, imo, and had so many puzzles as to be severely disheartening for most teams, but sounds like it was a marvelous adventure anyway. so i'm glad I engaged this year on my own terms, and cooked tasty food and even solved a few puzzles myself (thanks to explicit 'hey let's make the first few rounds not impossible', apparently) and then pulled way back on Sunday b/c my computer was broken and I needed to deal with the rest of my life instead.
Edit: wow. I think pnh just deleted his LJ. The part of me that adores drama on the internet is totally speechless right now.
Part of what's prompting me to actually post is stumbling over a post on the issue from someone I know IRL, here. I'd already half-decided my reaction to this, which was "Screw this, I'm coming out as white on LJ.", but I think a more nuanced response might be appropriate. This post highlights a bunch of issues about the place of multiracial people in the world and in conversations about race, some of which I share and some of which doesn't really matter to me. For one, my father's family is not Eastern European, Irish, Italian, or some other sort of Ethnic European; they have perfectly good traditions, but I can't pretend our family reunions are any older than, um, my lifetime. Sometimes I wish I had a cultural tradition (or two!) I felt a legitimate claim to, but I don't, having grown up between worlds, and between echoes of worlds. I don't speak my grandparents' native tongue, and they've only met me 3 times, and the only way I know how to deal with that is to not go to Indian restaurants in the States so I can not forget how fantastic my grandmother's luchees are. And in the meantime, I'm building my own traditions, because I have to, and I cannot in conscience do anything else. (Further writing about how conana and I navigated the winter holidays is probably forthcoming, to avoid derailing this point entirely.)
Returning to ultranos's post: Her experience differs from mine primarily because no one ever parses me as white, I suspect. So I never get pressured to choose a heritage (which would I pick? The set of relatives across the continent, or those across an ocean?) but I do check multiple boxes on forms when I can (rarely). I have no problem considering myself as a person of colour, an ethnic minority, an immigrant, a non-American, and having thinky thoughts (and occasionally wordy words) in discussions on race, in the same way that being a sometimes-masculine female doesn't silence me in feminist discussions. Consider the impact of my words, whether I'm talking too much or too forcefully, make sure I'm not minimizing others' pain just b/c I haven't seen it, sure, but that's just polite, and obvious.
I admit that below the surface, I pass awfully well. My adoption of visual markers typically associated with particularly white subcultures (queer, punk, MIT, take your pick) is shockingly successful, and my hobbies and intellectual pursuits are indistinguishable from my peer group. Like a lot of my gendered othering, I feel the impact of my skin primarily when amongst strangers, being the tall dark figure walking fast down sidestreets at night. But every once in a while, as these things happen, it becomes obvious that I am not, in fact, just like all my friends. it's true that at this point, my assumption is that pretty much everyone I meet has some total nutfuckery somewhere in their heads, and the real questions are: Is it about me? How obnoxious is it? Will they STFU about it? Can I call them on it without engendering an explosion?
[Tangent! Once upon a time, conana and I had a conversation about something, during which he perceived me to be calling him racist. He found this troubling, since he loves me and I love him, and went and curled up in a ball for a few hours to think about it. Eventually I realized he'd taken my point that way and came to find him, and we talked about what had happened, clarified some stuff, and I pulled together a list of anti-oppression and anti-racism blogs i follow so he could learn more. I don't have these conflict resolution skills with everyone, and in particular, I don't presume most people are coming from the same place as my darling love. But for those who think these discussions inevitably end in pain and awful, here, have an example.]
Anyway. While reading the recent shenanigans, one thought that kept occurring to me: "Gee, I'm sure glad I'm not a fan." This is, of course, a lie; I am not fannish in transformative-work-production sort of way, particularly not of visual media. But I do consume and recommend books and music. My wanderings through the 'net, where SF/F writers do blog, means I do increasingly run into the Orson Scott Card Problem: what do you do, when an artist expresses views you cannot financially support, in good conscience? My answer tends to be to stop consuming their art, and/or only buy their stuff used, but I'm aware that other people make other decisions.
And then there's the OH JOHN RINGO NO Problem, where questionable views (which may or may not be the author's, sometimes they are genre tropes or Learned References or who knows what) are not just hiding out in blogs or interviews, but coiled right there in the stories, waiting to strike. I am undeniably a more critical reader than I was a decade ago; recently I've been consciously revisiting authors and stories I enjoyed as a teenager (and pushing them on conana), to balance my non-fiction intake. Most of it is still enjoyable, even if I can now have useful discussions about pacing and trope subversion and how some of this stuff isn't all that awesome. But wow, did I ever not anticipate how totally over angsty teenage boy coming-of-age stories I am. Regardless of whether the author was consciously depicting the self-absroption of teenagers, who view 'going off to possible-war against probable-aliens from another planet' as equal trauma on par with 'leaving my first crush back at the castle with my rival for her affections', I didn't want to wade through the glurge. It was absurd, and I w/couldn't deal.
So. Regardless of whether I'm a fan, the question of how my media portrays people like me, and people I'm supposed to identify with (presumably not the 3rd guardsman from the left, who is secretly bi and dark-skinned under his helmet, and has a fabulous slashy angsty backstory someone, somewhere has written) is of interest. No, literature is not responsible for providing me with appropriate moral guidance and role models. (Although I wonder who you think is going to, instead?) But stories that are not aware of the context in which they're read (an idea I find absurd, given that SF, at least, prides itself on conducting a 40+ year Conversation of Ideas) are not going to succeed at entertaining or teaching me anything. And I'm not willing to take that risk. Which is why I return, again and again, to stuff I've already read and seen: I'm gunshy, especially with new-to-me authors. I don't trust anyone else to rec me things; I once dumped a guy partly for sending me to India for a month with Anne Bishop's Jewels Trilogy, and at this late date, one of allonymist's most sterling qualities is his ability to point me at good stuff. (Thanks :D)
I accepted long ago that the only way to read or see a story that featured me was to write it; it's nice to know that most published writers agree with me, and indeed, declare their intent to write what they want, how they want, and the haters consequences be damned. None of this changes the fact that white writers are awfully skilled at producing the sorts of stories that white editors like to buy and white audiences like to read, and which tend to leave me somewhere between 'unenthused' and 'really annoyed'. Entertainment is part of what culture is constructed of, and I do not believe that only white children deserve it; it's arguable that, given the real-world success and positive messages in non-fiction media for them, they do not need entire universes fabricated for them as well.
In conclusion: I should keep posting about what I'm reading and listening to, and maybe learn to write. And, to borrow one of our favorite words recently, I'm vasty, so are you, but they're not the same, so why don't we talk about it, for fuck's sake?
*which was overly complicated, imo, and had so many puzzles as to be severely disheartening for most teams, but sounds like it was a marvelous adventure anyway. so i'm glad I engaged this year on my own terms, and cooked tasty food and even solved a few puzzles myself (thanks to explicit 'hey let's make the first few rounds not impossible', apparently) and then pulled way back on Sunday b/c my computer was broken and I needed to deal with the rest of my life instead.
Edit: wow. I think pnh just deleted his LJ. The part of me that adores drama on the internet is totally speechless right now.