Queer YA and the problem of tragic narratives

I was scrolling through my social media yesterday, looking for interesting articles or funny memes to share on my author page. I came across a sponsored ad for a book which led me to the purchase link. After finding out the content, I was disappointed and frustrated.

It’s yet another LGBTQIA+-themed YA novel with a coming out story that almost ends in violent tragedy. Another story in which a well-meaning non-queer (allocishetero) author has taken a story that is not theirs to tell and wrapped it in what I call a “punishment” narrative.

First, I’m not naming the author or the book. I have read previous works by them, and I’ve liked some and disliked others. I’m also making it clear that yes, unless this person at some future point says otherwise, I do know them to be non-queer. I believe they mean well but very often execute things badly. They are not on blast here, and I think it’s bad form to name and shame, seeing as they are not the only one nor the worst offender.

But it did bring up something in my mind which I feel is very serious, and that is the way non-queer authors write both YA and coming out stories—especially when those two things are in the same story.

I won’t go so far as to say that non-queer people should never, ever write a coming out story or queer YA in general or about bullying and gay-bashing. But I will say that non-queer people, who have never personally experienced those things in a queer context, should tread lightly. In particular, I think it’s wise if they can stay away from having all those things in the same story.

There are a number of observations I’ve made after reading hundreds of queer books over the last five-plus years. I believe this is probably for a few reasons, but one of them is that even allies who have queer friends and family only seem to be aware of a few media-driven storylines.

In some way, non-queer authors still buy into the idea that queerness is itself some kind of heartbreaking condition, like a cancer diagnosis. They have, in their minds, condemned us to experience nothing but tragedy before overcoming and having a romance-driven happily ever after. But that tragedy is centered on and rooted in our queerness, not in all the other things that can be painful or challenging in life.

Coming out stories, as written by non-queer folk, tend to follow a specific trend: a closeted person, fearful of others’ reactions; an unaccepting audience (friends, family, community, etc.); a violent incident (beating, forced into homelessness, suicide attempt); freedom in the form of a relationship (usually same-gender, unless the character is transgender).

The other trend I’ve seen is that these coming out stories focus primarily on gay boys and trans girls. This may be in part because allocishetero women are the main authors. Many straight women are uncomfortable writing about lesbians and bisexual women, but it also tends to collide with media coverage of lgbtqia+ people. The public seems to take perverse delight in the punishment of some while glossing over the violence done to others. It makes it easier for allies to believe that certain queer people deserve more pity than others.

I have had numerous discussions with people who genuinely believe that queer cis women have it “easy” compared to queer cis men. They also have a parallel belief that trans people assigned female at birth have it “easier” than male assigned people. Compounding this is the fact that up until recently, one of the ways trans folk had to use to prove they were, in fact, trans was attraction to cis people of their same birth-assigned gender. Put another way, trans women were expected to be interested in cis men and trans men were expected to be interested in cis women.

Non-queer authors writing coming out stories are rarely aware of this history nor of the long fight to change that perception. So in most of these books, trans characters are first perceived as gay, then heterosexual post-transition. This unnecessarily conflates gender and sexuality as well as being a tell that these non-queer people don’t genuinely see trans people as more than exaggerated gay men or lesbians.

To complicate it further, most of these folks are white and middle class, so they do not understand the role that race and class have with regard to queerness. They also don’t understand that physical violence, bullying, and verbal abuse are not the only ways in which queer people face oppression.

Thus is born the narrative of the poor, tragic white queer boy (or, on occasion, trans girl) whose story results in violence until they can be rescued either by true love or by a magnanimous non-queer person (or both). I’ve seen a version of this with trans boys and with non-binary male-assigned people, but rarely with queer cis girls or female-assigned non-binary people.

I get it. These stories are very rarely for us. Even when they are, they promise us our happy endings only when we’ve faced queer-antagonism (i.e., punishment) first. But even if they are aimed at helping other non-queer people understand us, they do a poor job with a limited number of flat, tired storylines.

We don’t need that kind of help. The media already does a great job of highlighting every one of our stories that ends in our deaths. They also do a great job highlighting every story that shows how we are “just like you, only more queer!” They fail to show all the beautiful, messy, complicated stuff in between.

Ally authors, if you really want to write our stories, stay away from those extreme narratives. Especially if you’re writing YA. Queer teens deal with all the same stuff as everyone else—sexual orientation and gender identity are only part of the coming of age process.

Do you need teen tragedy? Write about a trans girl with loving parents whose mother dies. Write about a gay boy being diagnosed with cancer. Take us through the heartache of having family who moves a lot or who is too poor to afford food sometimes. Being queer complicates all that but doesn’t dictate it.

Do you need something less heavy? Give us the heart-stopping tension of queer kids auditioning for a big production or playing football against the best team in the region. Tell us about that time students picketed outside their school or town hall. Give us a story about bullying and mean kids, but make it about literally anything other than queerness.

Write us into speculative fiction. Make up a school for pixies or gods or werewolves. Send us on adventures in outer space (or inner space). Give us super powers. Make us geniuses who invent solutions for global warming and evil geniuses who thwart our plans to save the planet.

Whatever else you choose to do, please leave tragic coming out stories for us to process and share ourselves if we choose to. Don’t hurt us so you can later save us.