There are those who would have it that the war for LGBTQ representation within not only fiction but the arts in general is long won; who would promote a narrative that, not only is the fighting over -rendering those that still raise voice or flag in its name shrill or suspect- but that, somehow, the emphasis and balance of the fight has tipped onto some inverse scale; that those demographics once under or misrepresented are now preeminent, dominant in such a manner that we censor and exclude those who once held all the keys, guarded all the gates, presided from every pedestal.
This is, of course, evident and self-justifying nonsense; in every genre of fiction and arena of art -save those that directly refer to LGBTQ issues and subjects- queer creators, characters and works are woefully underrepresented and have a nasty tendency to be consigned to particular playgrounds and ghettos where we can proclaim and express ourselves safely, beyond the margins of mainstream or popular culture (where we can be ignored, talked over or spoken about by cisgender and heteronormative voices that, of course, assume every right to speak on our behalf).
Things have gotten better in recent years in certain arenas; video games -particularly independent and small studio titles- have begun to include LGBTQ characters as a matter of course, romance and gender options -even in many mainstream titles- having effloresced to include all manner of potential identities and demographics. Likewise, children’s media and animation seem to be leading the charge, with shows such as Steven Universe, Ducktales, Adventure Time, She Ra and The Princesses of Power et al including and directly exploring the situations of not only LGBTQ characters but also those who might be considered neuroatypical and otherwise outside of proscribed norms and metanarratives.
That said, the war is most certainly still on-going, with many powerful and culturally enshrined voices, institutions and forces arrayed against us, endlessly peddling divisive, exaggerated and, more often than not, patently false narratives as a means of stalling the progress we have thus far made, or even dragging cultural and political circumstances back to a state when we lacked any and all representation. This is arguably even more ferocious, entitled and conservative within the arenas of particular fan-cultures, most often those that accrue around certain popular franchises in genre fiction (pecular culprits include the Star Wars fandom, which is so hideously and vocally conservative -not to mentioned entitled- that it actively dictated the direction of the films themselves with the release of the terminally compromised Rise of Skywalker). Such conservative positions often become ironic when one considers the natures and overt significance of the works in question, which, more often than not, tend towards the transgressive, throwing into stark question assumptions of tradition and historically proscribed narratives. Furthermore, said franchises have always included individuals from varying demographics, identities and cultural arenas, all of whom have as legitimate a claim to said franchises as those who seem to automatically assume the positions of gatekeepers, overlords and supreme editors.
The thorny issue of assumed ownership rears its ugly head at this point; it is not at all uncommon to hear those who operate under such assumptions (RE: “delusions) to proclaim the franchises in question as somehow belonging to them; as though they are the supreme arbiters of who is “allowed” to proclaim interest in them, to influence their content and direction. Of course, to those of us who actively work in creative fields, who create our own stories, narratives etc, such assumptions arouse immediate ire and dismissal. No one owns any created thing save those who create it, and even that is questionable when it is out in the world and operating within the imaginations of others. No one person, group or demographic has any right to dictate to writers what they can write or in what manner. If those who wish to maintain some state of bizarre exclusivity wish to dictate how work should be done, then their only option is to pick up a pen and do it themselves; create the conservative work of science fiction or fantasy or horror that they wish to consume. Only then will they achieve their assumptions of becoming arbiters of any work at all. Even then, they cannot control who reads, consumes and incorporates those works into their own imaginative conditions, nor can they control the significance or import those individuals derive from said works. It is entirely the case that work created with a conservative or exclusivist agenda might be adopted or claimed by demographics the creator finds -for whatever reason- abhorrent or distasteful, that they don’t intend the work to appeal to (just look at the general adoration for Lovecraft’s work, even in many progressive horror and science fiction circles, or the love that many religiously and philosophically opposed individuals have for C.S. Lewis’s fantastical stories). Furthermore, it’s entirely likely that individual readers will derive significance from work that the authors neither intended nor approve of (the number of trans and non-binary men and women who still derive pleasure from the Harry Potter franchise, for example, or who still get a sincere laugh out of Father Ted).
One might coneivably argue that such conservatism is not only problematic as an intention within art and fiction, it is functionably impossible, almost antitethetical to the very concept, especially with regards to genres that are transgressive and critical of assumed norms by their very natures. The author’s control over what their audience derives or interprets from their work is fantastically limited; at best, we provide very ill-defined boundaries; shifting and ephemeral arenas in which ideas swarm, multiply and transform like microbial life in a drop of water. Almost universally, readers find significance in our work that we neither consciously conceived nor intended, but which -to those of us who operate with some degree of perspective- is a joyous revelation; a matter of celebration rather than impotent fretting and bemoaning. To attempt to impose parameters and structures upon our work in such a manner has the effect of smothering it, wringing the life out of it, not to mention stunting its natural growth.
So, weary as it may be, there is still very much a war to be fought, on many and myriad fronts, in almost every genre and medium and format one can name.
That said, there is an argument to be made for transcending the parameters and assumptions under which those battles are traditionally fought: owing to the assumptions proscribed by tradition, it is almost universally the case that said parameters are proscribed by those who would be our enemies as LGBTQ people; we are left attempting to defend our presence in certain arenas as though we are trespassers by dint of our existence, trampling the gardens of those we have the temerity to operate alongside and assume equal humanity with. Of course, the truth is that we are not trespassers and the gardens in question belong to no one; least of all the petulant, charmless, entitled spoiled brats who bleat and scream whenever they are forced to acknowledge the mere existence of another in their proximity. In fact -to torture the metaphor further-, what they tend to preconceive as gardens -plotted, pruned and planned, with walls and boundaries- are nothing of the sort; they are the wild woods of imagination, the nightmare forests of our unseen lives. Forget Eden; Eden was never anything but a child’s dream. Where we walk, at our most ideal and adventurous, is in the dark and pathless tracts, the places where we are forbidden by traditional authority, and risk all we are to win a prize of the very same.
We are not trespassers in those woods, any more than anyone else; they belong to no one and everyone. No other human being has the right to dictate or demand how we dream, how we express or via what means we choose to do so. In some respects, we are more sincerely at home in those deep, dark woods than anyone; all too often cast as monsters and outside things ourselves by history and tradition, it’s little wonder that so many LGBTQ creators and audiences identify strongly with the monstrous, the villainous, the other and the outside. The woods and shadows are our places; where we are all too often forced to seek solace from the sunlit world, with its exposures and judgements, its children that are always so ready with the torches and pitchforks come dusk. It’s in those unspoken and deviant tracts that the exile and outcast find solace and company; where we are driven by cultures all too willing to inflict harm and disgrace upon us. That said cultures then also feel warranted in invading those spaces, proclaiming ownership and authority over them, is perhaps the most grotesque violation imaginable. Those that presume to direct what and where we can imagine assume territory inside our heads, our very souls, and think nothing of it; they are so used to being granted authority to proclaim on everything -whether they have direct experience or specialist knowledge thereof or not-, that they do so without a second thought, often becoming angry or offended when they are called or criticised on the matter.
We saw fairly overt example of this recently regarding Pride, in which heteronormative culture launched a moral assault against the event for its happy inclusion of imagery relating to kink, certain forms of sexual expression etc. This occurring, of course, in total ignorance of the history and original import of Pride itself but also from the automatic assumption that a space and celebration created exclusively for the free expression of LGBTQ individuals should be neutered to be more in-keeping with the tastes and standards of heteronormative proscription. This is a microcosm of a phenomena that spreads across the length and breadth of any form of LGBTQ expression, be it artistic, political, cultural or otherwise: there is an automatic and unthinking assumption from the systems and enshrined quarters of heteronormative culture that said expressions must automatically conform to particular proscriptions and standards over which they have editorial control and ultimate authority. This occurs from both a censurious, hostile position and -more subtly, but not always less corrosively- one of ostensible support and alliance; it is not always those who fancy themselves our enemies who operate within that set of assumptions, sadly. One might argue that part and parcel of being an “ally” lies in identifying those assumptions and learning to set them aside; to let LGBTQ people express and be who we are in our own spaces, in our own imaginations and within our own work, even when said allies believe that what they’re saying or doing is supportive or in defence of us.
It is no surprise or secret to any LGBTQ creator reading this that the vast, vast majority of us are regularly and routinely questioned on certain elements of our content. Most often, this takes the form of uncomfortable questions regarding the morality of our work (it is often the case that, operating in cultural conditions where we are -at least traditionally- cast as monsters, there is more of a will and inclination to write monsters, villains, antagonists etc as characters rather than simply as archetypes or templates) or content which is ribald, sexual and/or arousing in some visceral manner. The language used is always that of taste and/or morality, and always, always from heteronormative assumptions of these experiences and of their place in a traditionally formulated culture. I would assert that there is not an LGBTQ creator operating right now -regardless of medium or arena- that hasn’t been questioned or criticised on this, from the entirely inoffensive expressions of physical affection one finds in the likes of She-Ra to the more overt expressions of sexuality one might find in video games, written fiction, comics etc. The assumption is that such matters must always be justified with reference to some wider, heteronormative proscription, that they must be explained according to the tastes and standards of anyone but the creator and the target audience. This is especially true when we take into account those who operate from particular conservative positions and assume ownership or authority over the material in question; such quarters always tut and wrinkle their noses at what does not cater exclusively to them, what does not exist for their pleasure, titillation and which does not chime with their particular experiences and assumptions. Very often, such critiques are not sincere or coherent at all but rather the equivalent of temper tantrums, however they happen to be framed. The moral language that is almost universally deployed in these matters is a smoke screen; insincere, obscurantist and appealing to certain sublimated cultural prejudices that paint LGBTQ individuals and experience as inherently “unclean.” Furthermore, it serves to occlude the underlying response to material that doesn’t include or automatically defer to cisgender and heteronormative requirements; sexual imagery and subjects in particular will necessarily cater to those whose demographics the dynamic in question serves (be it straight, gay or otherwise). Underlying the -ostensibly- moral response is an entitled temper tantrum that sex can exist at all outside of the reader’s own particular tastes and requirements; it is an imposition of taste upon both the creator and the wider readership, especially when the criticisms that occur are particularly vituperative.
Beyond that, one must take into account the differing dynamics of sex and sexuality in LGBTQ experience; unlike the vast majority of heterosexual couplings, the mere existence of LGBTQ sex in any media is a political statement, a revolutionary act (even now, after the strides that have been made). This is especially true in the likes of speculative fiction, where such experiences have, traditionally, been ignored or denied out of a misguided assumption of some “purer” human condition. Even traditions such as cyberpunk which -at its best- pushes boundaries and assumptions of identity to the utmost and beyond through subjects such as transhumanism, virtual reality etc are notably devoid of, for example, characters that defy gender binaries or assumptions of sex, despite the fact that technology clearly exists within such settings to make gender norms and proscriptions artefacts of a cultural past that has no particular relevance or meaning. This has -slowly- begun to erode with the emancipation of publication in recent decades through self-publishing and small press venues, many of which provide platforms and cultivate markets for marginalised or underrepresented voices, outside of the corporate and commercial pressures acting upon larger or more established publishing houses. As such, one is far more likely to find not merely representation in the industry but also work that caters to one’s specific tastes and interests, depending upon one’s demographic and particular identity. Erotic fiction is no longer consigned exclusively to the heterosexual nor does it cater exclusively to culturally proscribed sexuality; one is able to find erotic art and fiction of all kinds, tastes and forms, as well as communities coalesced around those works. Likewise, creators are more able to find platforms and venues for their work, regardless of the restrictions and prohibitions tradition consists of. Representation in and of itself has escalated by leagues and bounds in synchronicity with the unshackling of publication from commercial requirements and restrictions.
That said, even those quantum leaps still aren’t enough.
Representation in itself is baseline; it is the foundational status we should be aspiring to and fighting to maintain (i.e. the acknowledgement that LGBTQ people exist and are not some trespassing alien quantities). But, being baseline, it is also only a springboard for deeper and more transcendent discussion. The problem we as LGBTQ creators face is: tradition is so arrayed against us, establishment and enshrined interests are so organised and consistent in their corrosive assaults, we find ourselves fighting on the same old fronts and having the same old arguments that should have been done with long ago, merely to maintain that baseline level of operation. This is a necessary and ongoing fight; it likely won’t see any clear conclusion in my lifetime, and pressure must be maintained if we are to keep even a tenuous hold on the advances we have made.
That said, the constant, grinding and attritional nature of that dynamic means that we are often distracted from transgressing those foundational parameters; from elevating the conversation to new and exciting arenas. When this does occur, it tends do so within the bounds of the art and fiction we create rather than in the more direct, cultural and political discussions; the fiction that is currently being produced by and for LGBTQ demographics in arenas such as horror, science fiction and fantasy has the effect of blowing the gates off their hinges, breaching the walls of the old temples and cathedrals, allowing entire hosts of new voices, new concerns, new issues and subjects to be explored and expressed. It is now not uncommon to find entire short story anthologies dedicated to LGBTQ themes and issues or that include creators from specific sub-cultures thereof (for example, there is a wonderful science fiction short story anthology currently available entitled Brave Boy World, which includes stories exclusively penned by trans men, which explores their particular concerns and interests utilising science fiction subjects). This means that, not only are specific audiences more widely catered to, not only is there a greater degree of communication between and representation of LGBTQ creators and their audiences, but more people from outside of those demographics are being exposed to the art and fiction they create, enhancing understanding of who we are, how we operate, what drives and motivates and concerns and terrifies us. It is, in many respects, a beautiful situation; an efflorescence of not merely representation, but elevation; it is through our fiction, through our art, that the discussions will transgress proscribed parameters. And this is essential, as, all too often, those parameters are proscribed by those who fancy themselves as our enemies; the discussions that occur are defensive and essentialist in nature, rather than allowing for transcendence into other contexts and arenas of discourse.
Many stories created by LGBTQ creators are not merely concerned with providing excuses for our right to be or live or operate in particular creative arenas; many of us are long since weary of those discussions, given that they have been hashed out and done to death a million times over before. In any half-way sane cultural climate, we would have acknowledged that LGBTQ representation is merely a fact of existence in all arenas, another sphere of human operation that no genre, medium or mode of creation should deny, and moved on. That we haven’t, that there doesn’t seem to be a clear or easy path to doing so under our current climates, stinks to many of us of a mire that will require nothing save wholesale revolution to decontaminate; a swamp whose effluence is being pumped in as fast as we can clear it out. That said, we almost universally ache for that time, when we can stop shovelling, when we can climb out of the muck and look up at the stars without fear of being condemned and hurled back down for the transgression.
The sad fact of the matter is: all too often, the elevated forms of discussion that such art and fiction comprise only occur within the tightly knit communities of LGBTQ demographics themselves; we are very happy to have conversations between ourselves -and with select allies- that transcend everything from the historical proscriptions of sexual orientation and practice to gender identity, the implications those states of ostensible “transgression” have on a wider, cultural and even metaphysical level. We are happy to discuss the Utopianism inherent to our conditions; the fact that we almost universally believe that the world can be better than it is on numerous fronts, that there is a condition of humanity far and beyond what our current constraints and assumptions allow for. But those discussions rarely -if ever- filter into wider discourse on the matter, which is still mired -thanks to the efforts of our self-defined enemies- in essentialism; the need for baseline representation, the desire to simply be acknowledged as human and legitimate in the spaces where we operate.
Only in our art and fiction does the discussion transcend itself, and so, it is essential that our allies do everything in their power to consume, promote and make space for that work, rather than allowing traditional exclusions to continue as they always have.
Rebbie Reviews 