I read a piece (which I’m intentionally not linking because I don’t want to give it more clicks) in which Becky Albertalli, the author of Simon vs. The Homo Sapiens Agenda, is taking credit for being “groundbreaking” and giving queer kids a voice. I’ve been back and forth on whether to write this, in part because I know how many people are so thrilled that Love, Simon is a big hit movie. But I’m going to anyway because…well, it’s me, and I can’t leave it alone. I’m like a dog with a bone.
Queer books—no, books with white cis gay male protagonists—written by straight women are not groundbreaking, and neither are the films the spawn.
There. I said it.
Sure, maybe it’s a new thing(?) for a book/film to become mainstream. And I don’t want to take away from how many people are really attached to this movie (though they do seem to be mostly adults, not teenagers, which is pretty telling). But there are a couple of things which trouble me deeply.
First, this is not a new thing, and we need to stop saying that this book and movie are “firsts.” They’re not. We have literally decades of queer lit and queer cinema behind us. The problem is, they’re not necessarily widely publicized or available. These are from indie presses and production companies, so they’re seen by a limited audience.
Over the last 5 years, I’ve read hundreds of books by LGBTQIA+ authors. They are in every genre imaginable: sweet romance, erotica, humor, science fiction, dystopian, fantasy, historical, memoir. I’ve read YA, New Adult, Adult, and even children’s lit. They cover every stripe of the rainbow, and they feature characters of many races and ethnicities and religions.
White, allo-cis-hetero (i.e. not queer) authors: You are not doing something new. At all.
Heck, there are even some well-known authors whose books have been made into films, including some with teenage protagonists. I’ve watched a lot less queer cinema than I’ve read queer books, but trust me, it exists. Lots of it is sweet and funny and cute. Lots is not. But it’s there, and it’s marvelous. The best part is that it was expressly made by and for us, and it often gives roles and a voice to queer people who might otherwise be shut out of mainstream film.
Second, let’s talk for a sec about this notion non-queer people have that they are “rescuing” us from unhappy endings. This is appalling. (I think we need a separate conversation that this usually means “rescuing” white, cis, able-bodied gay boys and men, but I’ll leave that for another time.)
There are a couple of things wrong with that. One, it’s got this tone of disbelief that we can write our own happily ever afters. Maybe these folks think they’re saving us from common really dreadful narratives written by other non-queer folks. I don’t know. But seriously, trust us to come up with our own good stuff. Maybe check out the awesome things we’re already doing.
Another problem with this is that it ignores and minimizes queer pain—which is dealt to us by non-queer people. We have the right to create stories that speak to this. By shouting, “First!” over a story that addresses none of this, you’re speaking over the voices of people with decades of pain and shame behind us.
If you’re a person who has worked with us, say in counseling or another profession, tread carefully. Using what we share with you as creative fodder violates the trust we’ve placed in you. You’re not writing from personal experience or even from being friends with us. I’m not saying it can’t be done ethically, but it’s tricky. Please watch how you talk about it, too. If you’re trying to claim that you know us better than we know ourselves, you’ve already crossed a line.
Finally, if your story still includes some variant of anti-LGBTQ+ bullying, you haven’t done what you’re claiming anyway. If you create scenarios of public outing and other queer antagonism, and then don’t deal with those appropriately because you’re trying to be “upbeat,” you’ve missed the mark.
This is not about whether someone can (or even should) write a thing. This is about how time and again, when we try to tell our own stories, we get blocked and told they are “too niche” and will only appeal to a small audience. But when someone outside our community comes along with their credentials in hand, giving us a palatable version of queerness meant to appeal to the non-queer masses, they’re hailed as a hero to us. This is absolutely not okay.
If you want a list of some of the best LGBTQIA+ books, I’ve got hundreds of reviews to show you. I’ve also got connections, so I can introduce you to a large community of readers and writers who will make recommendations. There’s absolutely NO lack of great queer lit; it’s just not always visible.
One last thing: We tend to do this in every genre of literature and cinema, with every type of marginalized character, and it means celebrating some really problematic books and movies. While I understand concerns about #OwnVoices non-consensually outing people, there are many, many people who are out, public, visible, and not catfishers who are creating all kinds of queer art. You can start with supporting them instead of giving more self-identified allo-cis-hetero authors accolades for “rescuing” us.
Title: Social Media Central
blogger, Madeline Q. In a chance meeting, Tayler, loner and geek, is introduced to her world of parties, fan worship, and seduction.
