What Happens Next: A Gallimaufry

melancholic romantic comic cynic. bi & genderqueer. fantasy writer. sysrae on ao3.

Anonymous asked: 1) I was binge-reading your Wordpress blog a few days back and came upon a post you made where you talked about the ubiquity of really bad/rapey/abusive relationships in SFF and how early exposure to those stories changed how you looked at real-life and fictional romances, and it got me thinking: how can we talk about the real challenges and troubles of Problematic Fiction without, like, giving everything over to the antis? because as somebody who cares about the messages in media but who also

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It’s a hugely important issue, I think - and my short answer is, it hinges on context, circulation, criticism and conversation. When you look at a fanfic on AO3, the tagging system means that you, the reader, are either forewarned about the presence of any dark or squicky themes at the outset, or are made aware via the ‘author chooses to use no archive warnings’ tag that you’re venturing into the unknown. I’ve said this before, but to me, knowing the author knows a particular theme or relationship is badwrong, dubcon or otherwise fucked up allows me to enjoy the story in a way I otherwise couldn’t, because it changes how I receive the narrative - letting me know if I’m meant to accept the characters and their narration as correct, or if I’m meant to be reading critically. Some stories achieve this function with narrative framing - as in, something within the story itself lets us know that particular actions or characters are Bad, or at very least morally grey - but when a story is depicting dark themes without internal commentary, authorial intent becomes vital to interpretation. This is, for instance, why so many fuckboys think Tyler Durden is a hero in Fight Club instead of a terrifying asshole: they missed the fact that Chuck Palahniuk was writing ironically, and so took away the exact opposite message to the one intended.

Likewise in the case of Fight Club, the context and the circulation matter hugely to the impact. The film was a mainstream product with widespread distribution, and it came out in 1999, three years after the book was written. The idea of the protagonist lamenting belonging to a disenfranchised generation without a war to define them - aside from being inaccurate in the first place - was obliterated by the political landscape of the early noughties in the wake of 9/11, which in turn changed how the film was perceived in our cultural memory. All that being so, I’d argue that it had a much more toxic effect than was ever intended, in large part because the idea that the characters should be critiqued rather than lauded was missed in the mainstream dialogue around it for a long time. In the same vein, I’ve never held to the idea that fanwriters should be free to write whatever because stories don’t impact readers or reality - manifestly, stories *do* matter, and they can certainly impact their audiences in ways their creators don’t necessarily intended. Rather, I’ve held that fanwriters should be free to write whatever because, firstly, there’s no sensible, foolproof way to censor fanworks anymore than there’s one to censor other forms of art; and secondly, because fanwriting in particular is currently far ahead of the mainstream in its use of tagging and criticism, which are the real tools needed to navigate art and our reactions to it in the first place.

When I read fucked-up romances in mainstream SFF as a teen and absorbed the message that those romances were cool and normal and a little bit thrilling, it wasn’t because those stories should never have existed, or even because I shouldn’t have been allowed to read them; it was because they - and I - existed in a critical vacuum about their contents. I didn’t have an IRL or online community where I could go and talk about my favourite books and read enlightening essays about the character dynamics, and I didn’t have access to any older SFF fans who, just by virtue of having more adult experience in the world, could’ve helped me clue in by saying something like, “I love the magic and worldbuilding, but man, X novel is rapey.” We don’t learn how to be critical of media - how to analyse it, how to love a thing while still acknowledging and understand its flaws - as an automatic process: we have to be taught, or actively undertake the task of teaching ourselves. A lack of critical thinking about the narratives we consume and create - just like the cultural and political narratives we consume and create, for that matter - is the real cause of harm to readers; which is a major reason why fandom, for all its flaws, is so hugely important: it makes us think.

So, to answer your question: the problem I have with antis in this context is the idea that one piece of fiction is all things to all people: that there’s only ever one valid reaction to any one work, and if just one person has a bad reaction, then the work - and other works like it - is therefore inherently Bad. Purity wank deliberately elides the distinction between authorial intent and critical reception, arguing that the only way to prevent Bad Reactions To Fiction is censorship, instead of - as is actually the case - self-curating what we read, analysing the contents and thinking about their impact, while accepting that different people might have wildly different, yet still valid, needs and reactions to us. 

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