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On Sexism and Misogyny in SFF

"What do you mean 50 Shades of Grey out-sold Harry Potter?!"

“What do you mean 50 Shades of Grey out-sold Harry Potter?!”

This past week, a buddy of mine and I somehow got into a conversation about representation of women, particularly in science fiction and fantasy movies. At some point, he pointed out how sad it is that rape is too often used as an excuse to show how “evil” a villain is when in fact there are plenty of other ways to indicate it without demeaning women and dredging up unnecessary and unpleasant implications. This discussion really got me thinking about one of the most difficult hurdles I’ve been facing both writing and marketing The Black Parade.

First off, let me just say that I still can’t believe sexism is a thing. Seriously. Women are just people without penises. Why is that hard to comprehend? Anyway, moving on—one of the most commons issues in sci-fi and fantasy is the characterization of the fairer sex. It can fall short for several reasons—stereotyping, laziness, misunderstanding the traits that make women who they are, good old fashioned misogyny—and it’s not limited to urban fantasy, nor is it specific to novels.

For instance, allow me to make a really large group of nerds angry: I don’t like how George Lucas writes women. I truly don’t. I don’t think he’s the worst guy out there, but I actually spent an hour debating with my writing sensei about the characterization of Marion Ravenwood from Raiders of the Lost Ark. For the longest time, I never understood why fans of the movies worshipped Marion and yet they hated Willie from Temple of Doom with a purple passion. I rewatched Raiders recently and I still found Marion to be a useless, shrieking harpy, and I find the fact that people call her an “Action Girl” insulting. She had exactly one useful trait and that was that she had the medallion. Otherwise, there was no reason to write her into the film because they never fully explore her backstory and so she has no personal stake in the story. People point out that they hate Willie because she bitches and moan at every opportunity (and she was doing the director and that’s how she was cast, which I get), but watch the movie again and count how many times Marion whines about something or shrieks Indy’s name. It’s kind of a lot. Plus, all she does is get rescued over and over again throughout the movie, and I don’t think that I should give her points for trying to escape because it still doesn’t make her useful or likable. She talks shit to the bad guys without being able to back it up and she has a serious attitude problem that made me want her face to get melted by the end of the movie.

Now, my Marion Ravenwood rant isn’t here just to enrage some nerds. I’m making a point. I think she was poorly written and executed, but I also think that Lucas did a much better job with Elsa from The Last Crusade. Consider this: she was beautiful, educated, motivated, useful, and cunning. She had her own thoughts and beliefs that were independent from Indy, whereas the other two girls just followed him around and did everything he told them to. She actively disagreed with him and even had the acting chops to trick him into giving her what she wanted. She was a slimy, selfish, ambitious hussy. And guess what? That was fantastic writing. Elsa was a bad girl, one of the worst, and that’s why I liked her. She was still gorgeous and feminine, but she was complicated and layered. With Marion and Willie, what you see is what you get. Not so with Elsa.

So maybe I’m not crazy about Lucas writing women. There are oodles of other beautiful ladies out there kicking butt, right? Of course. I’m proud to see the frothing sea of awesome women in fiction, from books to plays to anime to movies. Hell, I’ve even pointed out my favorite ones before. However, the reason why I felt the need to make a post is because we’re approaching some sort of horizon where the sexism in fiction is going to have to face a major shift.

I made a recent post about the importance of Katniss Everdeen both as a character and as a representation of a sadly underappreciated demographic of women. The current problem in our society is that for every fantastic, well written female protagonist, we have bucketfuls of awful ones. The fact that Bella Swan and Ana Steele will go down in history as two of the most profitable female characters in our history makes me want to Hulk Out and thrash someone Loki-style. Is it true that some women are doormats and hopelessly codependent? Sure. Should we be glorifying it to young, impressionable teens? HELL NO.

And while we’re on the subject, I’ll have to bring up another point that enrages me to the depths of my soul. The third installment to the Chronicles of Riddick series came out a few months ago. Did you see it? I bet you a nickel that you didn’t. Why? It was poorly done and no one cared because Pitch Black was perfect and didn’t need sequels. But that’s not my point.

The Mary Sue made an excellent article that pointed out how unacceptably misogynistic Riddick was and there were tons of comments supporting it, mine included. How is it that the writers/director wrote a movie about a bunch of mercenaries hunting a serial killer on a planet infested with killer aliens…and somehow came out with rampant sexism? The sole female character in the film is constantly verbally harassed by her male counterparts, is the only one to have a pointless topless scene, and contributes little to nothing to the overall story. Oh, and her name sounds like the word “doll.” If you’ve seen Pitch Black, this should make you absolutely furious. Richard B. Riddick is not sexist. Hell, the only reason he doesn’t leave Jack and Imam to die on the planet alone in Pitch Black is because of Carolyn Fry’s bravery and willingness to redeem herself. He actually sheds a tear when she sacrifices herself to save his life at the end. Are you kidding me? How could one possibly make a film so excellent and then write a sequel that is insulting to the very memory of the awesome female characters in Pitch Black?

My attempts to explain this phenomenon unfortunately bring me no comfort. The only reasons I can rationalize are (1) the writers/director decided that it was more important to pander to the He-Man Woman Hater side of the fanbase who thinks women are just things to be objectified (2) they failed to realize that writing a rapist into a story with only one female character makes you look like an insensitive sexist jerkoff. Rape is not to be taken lightly, and it is way too overused in the sci-fi/fantasy genres. There are other ways of presenting threats that don’t have anything to do with sexual interest. This is not to say that no one should ever discuss the subject, (it comes up in my work in small doses) but when it’s used for lazy purposes, it can be insulting to the characters and make the audience angry or uncomfortable. When used that way, it brings up the nasty idea that women can never be the equals with men because most men will never have to worry about the threat of rape unless they go to jail. There are plenty of differences between the male and female experiences. We are obligated as writers to explore them, but that is where the problem with equality in gender representation comes into play. Writing rape as a backstory should never be a shortcut just to squeeze a few tears out of the readers, nor should it just be an easy way to show that a bad guy is really bad.

One last distressing notion is women who are sexist against other women in fiction. It sounds confusing out loud, but sadly, there are a lot of female authors who talk shit about certain kinds of women whom they dislike for whatever reason. It’s time that I draw a line in the sand. If any of you have seen my Youtube series, you know that I greatly dislike the recent works of Laurell K. Hamilton, author of the Anita Blake vampire hunter series. I say recent because the first nine books, while not perfect, are pretty damn good. I grew up reading them. Then I got to Narcissus in Chains and it all came crashing down.

The problem with authors like Hamilton is that they think they are part of the solution when they are in fact part of the problem. For instance, in Cerulean Sins (the novel following Narcissus in Chains), Anita says that one of her clients is not a “liberated woman” because she prefers to be called by her husband’s last name and likes being a wife and mother. Anita’s vastly ignorant statement is not satire or criticism or a character flaw. This bitch actually believes that housewives aren’t “liberated women.” Let that sink in for a minute or two, and then please feel free to flood the author’s Inbox with hatemail at your leisure. In addition to that nonsense, Anita actively bashes feminine women (particularly tall blondes since she is a short brunette), and her author makes a point to show every other woman as either a psychotic kinky slut or a jealous whiner who hates that Anita has a huge harem of supernatural men who follow her around begging her to have awesome sex with them all the time. She makes sure that the male characters constantly dump undeserved praise all over Anita and the only time men don’t want in her pants is when they are gay. All of this is done in a vain attempt to prove how “tough” and “special” Anita is as a character, but all it truly does is make me want to take all of the books after NiC and have a bonfire out in my front yard with them.

Slut shaming is a huge problem in urban fantasy fiction where the female protagonists often have multiple love interests and steamy sex scenes. Sleeping with a bunch of guys can be ill-advised and dangerous, but there is no reason to try to reverse this problem by absolving a main character from any wrongdoing related to sex by making it forced on her by magic. Anita Blake is now a canon serial rapist thanks to vampire mumbo jumbo that forces her to bang her harem boys every day or she’ll die. She’s essentially a succubus with a serious chip on her shoulder. This is and always has been unacceptable. She’s nothing but a Straw Feminist. Hamilton builds up easy targets so she can mow them down with insulting, snotty comments that she thinks make her a feminist and a “liberated woman.” Don’t believe me? Watch the following.

The final point is this: the only way to combat sexism and misogyny in our favorite fiction is to simply speak up about it. Any authors worth their salt hungrily devour their readers’ comments, and if they are well-meaning authors, they can address these issues. Few writers go into a project wanting to make enemies. For the most part, they want their readership to be happy with what they’ve done. That’s why it’s so important to stand up for things that are generally awful like Riddick and Narcissus in Chains. That’s why it’s important for authors to read lots of material and recognize the signs of bad female characterization. It may happen by accident, but it’s still something that can be remedied. Everyone wants to be represented fairly. Women are no different. We’re fantastic and flawed. Write us that way.

-Kyoko

The Problem with Being Batman

Peekaboo...

What I look like when customers try to return outdated products.

Disclaimer: this post is not a response in regards to Ben Affleck being cast as the Caped Crusader. Believe me, I am getting to that soon enough. Boy, am I.

So tonight I had a particularly horrific experience at my day job. I work retail. If you’ve ever worked retail, I know your feels, bro. I work retail because I’m still a self-published indie author and my net gross selling books has only been enough to buy me dinner and a movie. Depressing, but them’s the breaks when you go into this thing on your own. Not my point.

I won’t go into detail, but I ended up spending over half an hour being screamed at by a couple who were returning over a thousand dollars’ worth of technology for undisclosed reasons and my store’s register wouldn’t work properly, and so it ended with them accusing me of stealing and calling the cops. Yeah. Fun times were had.

At some point during their tirade, I caught myself thinking what I’ve thought for a long time while working this job: this is not who I am. As angry as this couple made me—and believe me, I had to walk away from them three times in order to keep my temper in check—I almost got a case of the giggles when I stepped back and looked at my life. I just turned twenty-five. I’ve got one toe in the grave. I haven’t done much worth repeating in my years, sadly, but one thing is that I have a relatively firm grasp of who I am as a person.

For instance, for my birthday, I accomplished yet another thing on my Bucket List—I went out and got a tattoo. No, not a tramp stamp. I got something important to me, inspired by a man who has always meant a great deal to me since I was a kid. Sure, he’s fictional, but what he represents is really what got me thinking tonight after the meltdown at my store.

Close up Batman tattoo

I think being an author is a lot like being Batman.

At least, that’s what it’s been like in my experience. Let me explain. Bruce Wayne is a persona. He’s a rich, snobbish fop. If you’re a big Batman fan, you know that Bruce Wayne is actually the mask and Batman is the man beneath it. He uses Bruce to operate in normal society, to get around, to keep people from suspecting that there’s something more to him than what’s on the surface. He’s the handsome, shallow face on the package of a product. He’s necessary, and useful, but the truth is that he is just a façade.

Batman is the cause. Batman is the answer. Batman is the real man beneath the mask. He does all the things that really mean something—saving lives, seeking justice, putting fear into the hearts of the wicked, and inspiring hope and goodness to those without it.

I could never compare myself to such a great character, but I do think that his duality is something that most writers/authors experience. In our day to day lives, we are often mild-mannered wallflowers. Some of us blend right into the crowd. Some of us are shy and withdrawn. Some of us are fun once you get to know us, but we keep our real selves below the surface. Part of what I realized about myself while this French lady and her husband insisted that I was a thief and a charlatan was that they had no idea who the hell I really was underneath. Maybe it was just my ego, but I almost wanted to snarl at them, “Do you know who I am? I write stories. This job is not who I am. I weave entire tapestries of conflict and horror and wonder. I dig into the ribs of monsters and expose their guts to the world. I am not some retail monkey. I am powerful. I am fearless. I am the one who writes monsters. I am a goddamn writer, you putrescent simpletons.

So many authors are cursed with menial jobs that they don’t enjoy because sadly, this calling of ours isn’t always lucrative or fair in the money department. If you go into the writing business to make money, you’re going to starve. It’s a labor of love, pure and simple. However, nothing’s worse than being stuck doing something that you’re good at, but you don’t enjoy it. Tonight more than ever, I felt the call of the night, the call that I think Batman always feels when he’s trudging around wearing the grinning mask of Bruce Wayne.

Hell, one of my all-time favorite poems by Paul Laurence Dunbar speaks to this exact problem:

“We wear the mask that grins and lies

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes

This debt we pay to human guile

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile

And mouth with myriad subtleties

 

Why should the world be over-wise

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us while

We wear the mask

 

We smile, but O great Christ our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise

We smile, but O the clay is vile

Beneath our feet and long the mile

But let the world dream otherwise

We wear the mask!”

As a writer, it’s hard to suppress that raw creativity and stuff it into something suitable for public consumption. I am a die-hard introvert, and so I never once raised my voice or lost my temper with these relentless assholes, but the entire time I felt like donning a cowl and bursting out into the cold night to fight criminals. The average person doesn’t know that I’ve written four novels. The average person doesn’t know that I gobble up stories like Pac-Man. The average person doesn’t know how many hours I spend a week meticulously planning to make my characters suffer. They can’t know, because it’s not the kind of job that everyone understands. Writers do something that’s important, but isn’t always celebrated like it should be. We get a lot of hate—especially those who’ve gone to college and gotten degree in the “useless” English major—and a lot of condescension. (“You write books. I’ve always wanted to do that. Maybe I will someday. Can’t be that hard, right?”)  Our love of literature and poetry and abstract concepts are so often swept under the rug because it’s not important to mass media and to the general public most of the time. It’s sad, but it’s just another fact of life.

I say all that to say this—the Bruce Wayne mask can be stifling sometimes. But when the sun sinks beneath the horizon and the moon calls your name, it’s all worth it. Lace up your boots. Put on your Kevlar. Tie on your cape. Go out there and kick some ass, writers. Who gives a shit if the world only sees Bruce Wayne? Batman makes headlines, dammit.

Don’t want us writers to be famous?

Make us infamous.

-Kyoko

To the Starving Artists

To you, the one sitting in front of the keyboard. The one squinting at your bright-ass screen at three o’clock in the morning, wondering if you used the word ‘perfunctory’ in the right context. The one meticulously combing through your prose with your fingertip pressed against the somewhat smudged screen. The one determined to force another chapter out of your aching skull before you can finally drop to the pillow and go to sleep because your day job wants you there early the next morning. The one dragging yourself to something you’re good at, something you’ve probably always been good at, but isn’t your one true love like writing is, but you do it anyway because it pays the bills. The one who listens to conversations not because you want to be nosy, but because it might be something useful or interesting for your writing.

To you, the one searching desperately for a writing community, but your town is too small to have one. The one scrolling through Google trying to find a forum with other writers because you’re hungry for people talking and laughing and moaning about the same writer habits that you have. The one fretting over the fact that no one’s replied to your comment and you worry that you’re annoying everyone and you’ll never connect with them.

To you, the one who is doing well enough but not quite where you wanted to be with your writing. The one desperately hoping that you’re actually good at telling a story and it’s not just your friends and family humoring you. The one who quietly does the research, compiles lists and facts, calls people to ask them weird questions, and tries to compact it all into the story in a way that makes sense. The one scouring every inch of Tvtropes and Tumblr to make sure you’re not accidentally employing a cliche that will make future readers hate you. The one who diligently makes mental notes of things you love in films you watch, books you read, comics and graphic novels you flip through, and television shows you obsess over, and also marks the things you hate that they do.

To you, the one who secretly daydreams about being interviewed on the Colbert Report even though your book is fiction and would probably have nothing to do with political satire. The one sitting in the middle row at a comic book or anime convention wishing it were you up there with hundreds, or hell even dozens, of adoring fans all dying to hear any tiny anecdote of your life. The one sighing wistfully as you read adorable behind the scenes stories about your favorite actors, or watch their blooper reels, and praying that someday your book will help you climb out of your shell and become someone other people can root for.

To you, the one who finally makes it to the mountaintop, looks down at the world below you, and openly admits that you’re scared shitless. The one who bites your lip as you stare miserably at your rank on Amazon. The one who lays in bed listening to Aqualung and Dashboard Confessional and Death Cab for Cutie and worrying you’ll never amount to anything. The one who picks through your various social media personas and ponders why you seem unable to get through to anyone, or at least it seems that way, the way that others do. The one who is terrified of being mediocre, or worse, so terrible that you are instantly wiped from the memories of anyone who knew you because your work isn’t that good, it’s just okay, and okay only cuts it when it’s mass-produced by a corporation or the government. The one who sweats and bleeds writing and loves it to your core like a family member and couldn’t stop even if you were banned from the entire Internet itself.

You.

You are not alone.

Your dreams are not empty. Your words are not poison. You are something special. Maybe you’re not Shakespeare or Stephen King or Dean Koontz but you are doing something worthwhile if only because you give a damn about your writing. Even if it doesn’t soar off the bookshelves, even if you never crack the Amazon 100 Bestsellers, even if you get no reviews, no ratings, no nothing, you are still worth something. You are an author. You tell stories. You breathe legends. You have power beyond measure, even if it’s only in your mind and your Word document.

To you, starving artists.

You deserve better than what you settle for. Don’t give up. The world will always need stories.

Tell them.

And tell them without permission, reluctance, or restraint.

-Kyoko