If you follow the YA blogosphere, you’re almost certainly aware of the recent controversy over the upcoming Wicked Pretty Things anthology. (And is it just me, or is the YA world moving from controversy to controversy at the moment?) For those who were fortunate enough to miss the whole thing, it all went down on author Jessica Verday’s blog after the anthology’s editor asked her to change her story from a gay romance to a more acceptably heterosexual one. Needless to say, the internets were not happy.

By sheer coincidence, something similar happened in the world of adult fantasy around the same time. Brandon Sanderson, who you may know as the guy who was chosen to write the last few Wheel of Time books, became embroiled in a massive Reddit debate over a post he wrote on Dumbledore and homosexuality. His blog is down as of this writing (never mind, it’s back up), but you can find the whole Reddit discussion here.

So. Two internet controversies surrounding homophobia in publishing, one involving an editor and one involving an author. I’d like to split those into separate topics. The former is about how we as budding writers respond to editors and other authoritative figures in the publishing industry, while the latter is about how readers respond to authors whose beliefs or opinions they strongly disagree with. I probably don’t need to point out that this is a touchy subject for a lot of people, but I think it’s worth discussing all the same. Your thoughts on either topic are appreciated, as always!

Homophobia and the Industry: Why does it matter?

First of all, let’s take care of a very common complaint: when I say ‘homophobia’, I do not mean a literal fear or phobia of gay people. Pointing out that you do not run screaming at the sight of two men or two women kissing is not a convenient way to sidestep responsibility. If it helps, replace every instance of the word ‘homophobia’ you come across with ‘prejudice’, because it’s what people usually mean anyway.

With that out of the way…why does it matter that Trisha Telep asked Jessica Verday to change her story?

I’ll explain with an anecdote. (Don’t worry, it’s short.) In 2009, an Irish popstar named Stephen Gately died suddenly. It was all over the news, as these things are wont to be. What I found interesting is that he had been working on a children’s book called The Tree of Seasons just before he died; predictably, it was rushed to publication and given a fairly large marketing push to capitalize on all the media buzz surrounding his death. (I realise that sounds cynical, but let’s be realistic here.)

I was in Hodges Figgis, the largest bookshop in Dublin, a few days after his book was released. It was face-out in the most visible shelves in the YA/children’s section of the story, with his name prominent printed across the top of the cover. I was browsing through the latest crop of Twilight knock-offs (this was before I stopped trying to like paranormal romance) when a woman nearby asked one of the staff members behind the counter if they could help her find ‘an appropriate book’ for her 12-year old daughter. The ensuing conversation went something like this:

Hodges Figgis Lady: Well, the children’s section is over there, and the books are sorted by age group, so…
Ignorant Woman: *looking sideways at The Tree of Seasons and grinning conspirationally.* I assume Stephen Gately’s book isn’t age appropriate!
Hodges Figgis Lady: Uh…well, it’s-
Ignorant Woman: *self-congratulatory laughter*

See, Stephen Gately was gay (twist ending), so of course his children’s book, which was bought by a mainstream publisher and sold in mainstream bookshops, must have been full of gay sex and orgies and God knows what else.

You know, because he was gay.

This was Trisha Telep’s initial explanation for why she asked Jessica Verday to change her story:

Oh dear. Might as well give you my two cents. Not that it really matters but… Don’t take it out on the publishers, the decision was mine totally. These teen anthologies I do are light on the sex and light on the language. I assumed they’d be light on alternative sexuality, as well. Turns out I was wrong! Just after I had the kerfuffle with jessica, I was told that the publishers would have loved the story to appear in the book! Oh dear. My rashness will be the death of me. It’s a great story. Hope jessica publishes it online. (By the way: if you want to see a you tube video of me wrestling a gay man in Glasgow, and losing, please let me know).

A lot of people latched on to the fact that she used the phrase ‘alternative sexuality’, which is only one step up from the dreaded ‘alternative lifestyle’. (The bizarre ‘wrestling a gay man in Glasgow’ comment also got a lot of attention.) I have a bigger problem with the fact that she apparently equates an almost-chaste gay romance story with one featuring a lot of swearing and sex. The idea that homosexuality is an ‘explicit’ topic in itself, regardless of how much sexual content might be involved, is very common and very damaging. It plays into the common stereotype of gay people being sex-obsessed and permiscuous, an image that mainstream media is disturbingly willing to accept without question.

We need more YA with gay characters. Gay teenagers need to see themselves represented properly in literature written for their age group; they need to see that, contrary to what a lot of people in their lives might be telling them, they are not morally degenerate or sinful or a deviation from the norm.

Agents and editors are constantly telling us that they’re ‘looking for’ manuscript that buck the heteronormative trend, yet gay teenagers are still severely underepresented on mainstream YA shelves. (Note that I’m talking about mainstream YA here, not the ‘issues novel’ ghetto where most of these novels go to die.) I know for a fact that these books are being written by unpublished writers – just look at the likes of Absolute Write for evidence of that – so why aren’t they making it to the shelves?

To be honest, I suspect it’s because a lot of them never get further than their author’s hard drives. If you publish a YA book with gay characters, you are probably going to get some flak for it. People will inevitably wonder if it means that you’re gay. (And if you are gay, publishing will carry with it the added stress of implicitly coming out to your family and friends…along with your entire audience. Fun times.) And, just maybe, an editor will ask you to change the story you’ve been working on for months or years so that it will be more ‘acceptable’ to some publishing house. What do you do in a situation like that – hold on to your integrity and remain unpublished, or sell out and get that contract you’ve been dreaming of for the last ten years?

Maybe you’d be better off just writing a ‘straight’ book like everybody else.

Homophobia and your favourite authors: why does it matter?

Have you ever finished a book and immediately Googled the author? I did it after finishing Ender’s Game, which I loved, and was extremely dissappointed when I uncovered this. It turns out Orson Scott Card has some…strong views on homosexuality, let’s say. I shrugged it off (yes, really) and went on reading the Ender books, convinced that an author’s personal views shouldn’t affect how a person approaches their writing.

I’ve changed my mind since then. Maybe it’s because I’m a bit more self-aware now, but I can’t look at an Orson Scott Card book without immediately thinking of the incredible bigotry he’s displayed in the past. I can’t help but remind myself that he’s been an active participant in one of the largest anti-gay organisations in America.

It doesn’t particularly matter that most of his books don’t address homosexuality at all (I’ve heard that at least one does, although at this point I don’t care enough to see what it’s like). I would rather give my money to an author who doesn’t advocate overthrowing the government as a favourable alternative to letting me get married someday.

Brandon Sanderson, like Orson Scott Card, is a well-known genre writer, a member of the LDS Church, and somebody who believes that gay relationships are inherently wrong. He says as much in the Reddit thread I linked to above:

If it helps, I’m trying very hard not to be hateful. It’s not an easy topic to deal with, however.

I believe that engaging in homosexual acts is sinful. So there is that, which may pretty much mean the issue is dead in the water, without any handshakes to be had. But, of course, it’s also sinful to be prideful, respond to someone in anger, and be greedy–all things I’m pretty much guilt of myself. So it’s not my job to point at you and say “SINNER!” Jesus is pretty clear on that fact. But if someone asks me if something is/isn’t a sin, I have to answer to the best of my knowledge.

Note, also, that I (and many I know) have a different way of looking at that word “sin.” Much like the words “sexist” or “racist” it has come to be loaded with a whole ton of meaning that almost makes it impossible to use in conversation. When I say sin, I mean one thing only: It impedes spiritual growth. And it’s not my job to do an assessment of your personal spiritual growth or goals.

As for the gay marriage issue, I have altered my stance as I posted elsewhere in the thread. One large part of the church’s worry about gay marriage (perhaps even the primary part of it) is a worry that without action, the state will be able to declare whom the church can or cannot marry, as marriage is the central religious ordinance in the church. This is as scary to us as the lack of gay marriage is to you, and I do wonder if maybe our knee-jerk reaction was hasty.” (Source)

‘Dead in the water’ is probably a good way of putting it; if you tell me that ‘engaging in homosexual acts’ is wrong (I’m going to assume that precludes the kind of intimate relationships that straight people are allowed to have), we’re done. I can get on board with somebody who’s a bit politically hesitant about gay marriage, mostly because there’s an awful lot of misinformation on the subject. I can accept that some people are just uncomfortable with the whole area of same-sex relationships. But if you tell me that you think a gay person should never have a loving, intimate and sexual relationship…well, don’t expect me to just overlook that. I can’t.

And to be frank, it’s insane that people would expect it. I said to fellow Interrobang Phoebe that reading Sanderson’s rhetoric – supposedly inoffensive, hesitant, all in the spirit of ‘finding common ground’ – is akin to being beaten over the head with a wooden stick by somebody who insists they’re only holding a piece of styrofoam. I cannot think of any other area where it is considered acceptable to expect that people will be polite and understanding towards you after you’ve expressed this kind of prejudice against them. Need I remind anybody that most states in America have passed constitutional amendaments for the express purpose of preventing gay marriage? Or that gay couples still cannot legally adopt in the majority of the USA and Europe? People like Brandon Sanderson, comfortably within the bounds of the majority, can afford to treat this as nothing more than a polite difference of opinion. Not everybody is so priveleged.

So – will I buy a Brandon Sanderson book in the future? I honestly don’t know. It helps that I’m not particularly fond of his writing to begin with (and I can’t stand the Wheel of Time series), but if he wrote something that piqued my interest in the future? I might think about it. He’s no Orson Scott Card, that’s for sure – I get the impression from his comments on the Reddit thread that he realises that his religion is wrong on this one, but can’t admit as much to himself without the whole thing unraveling on him. (I shouldn’t need to point out that I don’t see this as much of an excuse.) But to me, it matters what an author believes. We elevate writers to positions of cultural authority by supporting their work, and I believe that this does give them a kind of power in any society that values artistic ability. Why give that power to somebody who might turn it against you?

Me: Hello, my good man! I would like to purchase one of your fine e-books this day.

Mr. Bloomsbury: Indeed! I have quite the selection, young sir. Which one in particular has taken your fancy?

Me: That one there. It comes highly recommended from a friend of mine.

Mr. B: Most excellent. If you’ll just pay the requisite fees, I shall…ah. Hold on.

Me: (Jokingly) Is there a problem?

Mr. B: Er, yes. This is rather embarrassing, but I’m afraid I can’t sell you that particular item just now.

Me: But…why not? Surely it can’t be out of stock…?

Mr. B: Haha, no, of course not! Well actually yes, it could be, but that isn’t the issue we find ourselves presently facing. No, the problem is that your papers identify you as coming from the Republic of Ireland.

Me: So?

Mr. B: (Mumbling) Well…you know, licensing issues, all sorts of difficulties…

Me: Speak up, man!

Mr. B: I just can’t sell it to you, I’m afraid. If you lived in these United States of America, we might be able to do business, but it’s quite impossible for you to purchase this item from where you currently reside. So sorry.

Me: But that’s ridiculous! I could buy a paper copy of the book from an American business any time I like! Surely the electronic version is no different?

Mr. B: Well you would think so, wouldn’t you? But honestly, we were never all that comfortable with people just buying copies of things willy-nilly like that. The very thought of somebody purchasing something before it is available in their territory…urgh, there is bile in my throat at the mere thought! No, this way is much better, all things considered.

Me: Well…all right, I’ll go to the UK branch of this particular business.

Mr. B: Ah, I’m afraid you can’t do that either.

Me: (Exasperated) Why not?

Mr. B: Because, as we have already established, you are from the Republic of Ireland. And if I’m not mistaken, that country has been quite distinct from the United Kingdom since 1922.

Me: I really don’t see how that should be a barrier to purchase, given that there isn’t any dedicated Irish branch…

Mr. B: But Ireland is in Europe, you see? Completely different from the UK. If you want the book, you’ll have to wait until it’s available in your area.

Me: But I’m trying to give you my money! Look, here it is, just take it and provide me with a copy of your excellent book!

Mr. B: I cannot!

Me: So…let me get this straight. I can buy a paper copy of the book from anywhere I please, America or the UK or anywhere else?

Mr. B: Of course.

Me: But I can’t buy the American electronic copy, even if I have purchased a device specifically for the purpose of doing so.

Mr. B: I’m afraid not.

Me: And I also can’t purchase from the UK branch of this popular purveyor of novels, even though it is the de facto branch for my country.

Mr. B: No, it would be quite impossible.

Me: So I have to either pay exorbitant shipping costs, or else wait a week for my book to arrive?

Mr. B: My hands are tied, I’m afraid! And actually, even if you did live in the UK, we still couldn’t do business, because there is no electronic copy for that region either. Ha, you will have to forgive me, these things slip my mind on occasion.

Me: ….

Mr. B: I don’t know what you’re so upset about. Just be glad you don’t live in some non-Western country, or you’d be proper screwed, let me tell you.

Me: I’m sorry, I was too busy acquiring a copy of the book via other means while you were talking.

Mr. B: Ah…and when you say ‘aquiring’…

Me: Yes.

Mr. B: Mm. Well. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to pay for it after the fact…?

Me: I don’t think so.

Fin

(Before I get any irate comments: I didn’t actually pirate the book. I certainly wanted to, though.)

Our story has a happy ending! I finally managed to get a perfectly legal copy of the book. Take that, publisher. (Note: I am saying ‘take that’ because I managed to successfully give you money despite your stringent efforts to stop me. DO YOU SEE THE PROBLEM HERE.)

Sean on Meg Rosoff

Artistic merit is not a guarantor of popularity. Everybody knows this: you know, it, I know it, the critics know it, and the people queueing up all over the world to be overcharged for a ticket to see Gnomeo & Juliet (sorry, Shakespeare!) most likely know it. Everybody complains bitterly that Transformers 2 made millions and millions of dollars while the Scott Pilgrim movie tanked, yet nobody could honestly claim to have been surprised. It almost seems as though there is an inverse relationship between creative or artistic merit and the potential for profit; again, everybody knows this.

But those examples are from the world of cinema, where hundred-million-dollar budgets reign supreme and creativity is a rarified commodity. Surely, you might say, the world of publishing is different? It deals in books, for God’s sake. Books are intellectual. Books are respectable, even, as long as they’re written by the right sort of person and have other right sorts of persons on the cover. Surely books are different?

Well, no, although it seems to be an enduring myth that they are. I’ve come across the idea many times before that a truly ‘good’ book, defined here as something with genuine literary merit (answering a question with a question there, but let’s go with it), will be appreciated and championed by readers even as it becomes a commercial disaster. It feels almost unfair that a really good book could fail to make millions for its author while simultaneously being underrated by readers.

Exhibit A: Meg Rosoff.

Rosoff’s first novel, How I Live Now, was released to massive acclaim and a string of awards. It tells the story of an anorexic American girl who gets sent to stay with English relatives on the eve of WWIII – or at least, the reader is left to assume that the conflict is a third world war, since it’s never explained in any detail. More interesting is the fact that her cousins appear to have supernatural abilities. Oh, and she falls in love with one of them.

So yes, it’s a magic-realist ‘issues’ novel featuring an incestuous relationship at its core, set to the backdrop of a near-future armed conflict. It’s also brilliantly written. I read it when I was a teenager and was completely entranced from start to finish – it may even have been my introduction to ‘literary’ fiction, since I distinctly remember thinking that I had never encountered a book like it before. It deserves its accolades, and the reputation it garnered for its author.

Go and look up How I Live Now on both Goodreads and Amazon. I’ll wait.

You’re back? Good: you now know that, according to the forces of the democratic rating system, the book is of about average quality. It has a solid 4 stars on Amazon (very few widely-reviewed books get less) and a 3.7/5 rating on Goodreads. By comparison, both The Hunger Games and Catching Fire have higher scores on both sites: 4.5 stars on Amazon, and a 4.5/4.05 rating respectively on Goodreads. All three of the main Uglies books also edge it out on Goodreads, although only by a thankfully small margin.

Am I being elitist if I say that How I Live Now is a much, much better book – better written, more important, of greater merit – than any of the others I just mentioned? Well it is, and yet its target audience has apparently decided that it is the worst of the lot.

The second book I’d like to mention is also by Meg Rosoff. What I Was is, again, something of an oddity: its unnamed protagonist is a 100-year old man telling the story of how he fell in love at the age of sixteen. Exiled to a Spartan boarding school on the east coast of England, he sees nothing but mediocrity in store for him until he meets Finn, a strange boy who lives in a fisherman’s hut close to the sea. What follows is a beautifully written and painfully evocative account of their very odd friendship/one-sided romance. The standout scene for me involves Finn and H (as he’s known) taking a kayak out to a submerged Roman fort. Rosoff’s description of the ancient, sunken building has stayed with me since I first read it, and I doubt I’ll forget it any time soon.

I’ll admit that What I Was is not as good as How I Live Now. The plot is meandering yet simple, the main character is not always likeable (although I maintain that main characters don’t need to be likeable in a story like this) and there’s a near-infamous plot twist at the end that almost reverses a lot of the thematic buildup that came before it. There’s also a fairly important side character who I still think was handled very badly. But even if all of those faults were orders of magnitude more serious, they still wouldn’t diminish the strength of Rosoff’s prose or her genuinely brilliant portrayal of obsessive first love. This is the kind of book where plot and pacing almost don’t matter; it is pure emotion on the page.

You can probably see where I’m going with this.

Goodreads average: an unusually low 3.49. Part of this may have to do with the fact that the book straddles the line between YA and ‘adult’ fiction, although people claimed the same thing about The Hunger Games and still showered it with praise. Apparently a book is allowed to cross publishing categories only if it does so unproblematically, retaining thematic simplicity while adding a smattering of violence.

What bothers me more than the not-great ratings from Goodreads users, though, is the fact that authors like Rosoff are practically unknown compared to the heavy-hitters in YA. Suzannne Collins has become a household name by writing mediocre science fiction, Scott Westerfield has become a household name by writing bad science fiction, and as for the paranormal romance crowd…well, let’s not go there.

I’m not one of those people who chide adults for reading ‘kid lit’ and insist that they go and cleanse themselves with some Faulkner every time they accidentally walk through the YA section of a bookstore. No, I’m one of those people who chides adults for only reading the ‘blockbuster’ children’s titles: Harry Potter and the Hunger Games, if you insist, but why not also Meg Rosoff or Patrick Ness?

It’s because both of those authors are still underrated by YA readers as a whole. Based solely on the quality of their writing, they deserve to be up there with the popular luminaries.