Genderqueer Society in The Left Hand of Darkness

Even within LGBTQ speculative fiction, gender identity remains something of a fixed characteristic. You might see relationships between gay characters in science fiction, but rarely do you see examples of characters who don't fit neatly within the gender binary. Ursula K. Le Guin's novel The Left Hand of Darkness stands as the exception to this trend. Its story takes place on a planet called Winter, whose inhabitants live without gender identities. Only when they feel sexual urges--which is about once a month--does gender come in to play. The rest of the time, they live collectively without it. The possibilities of science fiction allow for so much of this kind of exploration of gender within society, and yet few authors take advantage of it. Props to Le Guin for exploring the territory.

It's OK to Be Takei

Most Trekkies already love George Takei and know him by his portrayal of Mr. (Hikaru) Sulu, the helmsman of the U.S.S. Enterprise on the original Start Trek. Younger people may recognize him (vaguely) from the sometimes-funny television show Family Guy, when his character often struts through the room during references to homosexuality and says, “Hellooooo.” Not only did George Takei age much better than Captain Kirk/William Shatner; he is openly gay, and actively participates in gay rights and other human rights campaigns. He’s also a Buddhist. The guy is completely cool.

His coolness factor just went up several degrees when he took on the disgusting bill that Tennessee recently passed. You may have heard of what’s being dubbed the “Don’t Say Gay Bill,” otherwise known as Senate Bill 49 in conjunction with House Bill 229, which was passed by the blatantly homophobic and anti-gay health and overall bullying buttholes of a Tennessee Senate committee, otherwise known as the We Hate Gay Kids Club.

The bill basically states that teachers in the state are not allowed to teach kids in grades k-8 anything about sexuality other than heterosexual material. This includes the “furnishing of materials,” so I guess gems like And Tango Makes Three and that one episode of Arthur about a child raised by lesbian moms are both out of the curriculum. Way to go, Tennessee, for alienating both your homosexual students as well as any homosexual students even further than they already are! Having been taught about sex education in the fifth grade and remembering how awkward it was for me (and I’d already had the talk with my mother), I can only imagine what it would be like to sit through all of that and have only part of it apply to me, feeling confused and angry and outcast that someone might suggest my body be used in a way that I would never use it.

Well, like most human beings with any sense in their brains, George Takei decided that this was an ignorant, counterproductive piece of legislation—not just because of our current climate of prejudice that often leads to gay teens taking their own lives, but also because it’s an example of gross neglect and withholding of vital information to gay teens who need to know about their sexual health just as much as the straight teens do (and whose parents pay for said education just as much as heterosexual teens’ parents pay their taxes, ahem).

So he decided to loan his name out to any Tennessee teachers who want to bypass the bill. Instead of saying “gay,” they can say, “Takei.” This will enable them to teach any kids who have questions about their bodies without, you know, being suspended for doing their f*cking jobs. While teachers may not take him up on his generous offer, Takei’s campaign serves another purpose besides its straightforward one; it raises awareness against the asinine bill (and the waste of taxes it provides!) by going viral, making fun of it, and even saying we should now replace the words “gay apparel” with “Takei apparel” in “Deck the Halls.”

Some are calling it a publicity stunt, but I am absolutely in love with George Takei’s campaign and would love to buy some of its merchandise, which you can check out here. Also be sure to watch his video, “It’s OK to Be Takei,” below.

9 Thoughts About Winter's Bone by Daniel Woodrell

1. Ree Dolly is the second most kick-ass young female character I have encountered in fiction this year. Katniss from The Hunger Games is the first. Both characters hail from coal mining country in West Virginia and environs. Coincidence? Or does Appalachia just breed extra-awesome women these days?

2. Ree Dolly's people were once Travelers. That's with a capital T, as in the people known also as Tinkers or as Gypsies. You know; from the movie "Snatch." They settled in the Ozarks a few generations before Ree was born, and now they make meth.

2A. Is this, like, common? I know virtually nothing about Appalachia, beyond the ugly stereotypes.

2B. This must conspire to make the people of Winter's Bone even more insular and suspicious of outsiders than normal. And seriously, can you imagine? An unusually poor sub-set of Appalachians? WOW.

3. Obviously I liked the sociology of Winter's Bone as much as I liked the story, the writing, and the characters. But I liked the story, the writing, and the characters quite a lot. Daniel Woodrell has a real talent for painting a scene, whether it's a deserted frozen lake or a dimly lit living room stale with ancient cigarette smoke.

4. It's pretty terrible that Ree's people make meth. Meth is a real scourge of our times. It destroys lives. There are no casual meth users, the way there are casual alcohol drinkers or pot smokers. But in so far as the Dollys live in preposterously impoverished conditions, what else are they supposed to do?

5. The book doesn't mention food stamps or welfare. My guess is that the Dollys are too proud to go on government assistance, or too itinerant, or too mistrustful of the government, or all three. But my heart broke when Ree went grocery shopping with her friend Gail, and pushed aside the idea of buying a green plastic can of powdered parmesan cheese because if her young brothers tried it, they would want it all the time, and it was too extravagant to buy on a regular basis.

6. That scene was an excellent example of the thoughtful, acutely-observed writing that Woodrell is able to pull off. It's tricky to write about people who are this poor without coming off like a work of poverty tourism.

7. I love the way the book downplays Ree's relationship with Gail. This, too, would have been a titillating sideshow exhibit in the hands of a lesser writer. Or Ree would have been characterized as a "dyke." But Woodrell makes it clear that it isn't so much that Ree prefers women, as it is that Gail is the only person - male or female - that Ree has ever felt safe enough to be vulnerable with.

8. I count at least three betrayals that Ree experiences in the course of the book. The poor thing deserves better. Maybe in the sequel she can, I don't know, get a job at Google and move to Palo Alto and drive a Prius to work every day.

9. I find it difficult to believe that people live like this, in the year 2011, in what is ostensibly a developed nation, but there you are.

How Gay is Brideshead Revisited?

Does Waugh's modernist masterpiece count as queer lit?

You'll often find Brideshead Revisited included on lists of the finest in gay literature. It's a brilliant work, to be sure: it's Evelyn Waugh's magnum opus and a masterful endpiece to modernism. Yet just how "gay" it is remains up for debate. 

The novel's first book revolves around the relationship between two Oxford boys. Their early scenes together are perhaps the most iconic in the work, the ones adopted by producers of Brideshead adaptations for promotional images. Charles Ryder and Sebastian Flyte make a great pair, and they share some sweet moments in the English countryside within the novel's first few chapters. Both reveal themselves to be very complex characters throughout the novel, which grapples with the significance of Catholicism in the 20th century. But despite the tenderness with which their friendship is described, Waugh never details any kind of physical relationship between his two characters. In fact, there is enough evidence within the text to suggest more clearly that Charles and Sebastian never engaged with each other sexually. In fact, the only sex scene within the entire novel is of a heterosexual nature.

Does that mean that Brideshead Revisited can't be ranked among gay literature? It comes down to what you mean by "gay." If you only consider homosexuality within your definition, then no, perhaps it can't. It's no Maurice, after all. Waugh's a little more subtle. But I like to complicate my definition of "gay" to include relationships that don't necessarily include the manifestation of sexuality.

The novel makes it clear that Charles and Sebastian are, in their way, in love. Their relationship is named romantic by one character, who goes on to label it as the type of thing that happens before adulthood romance--an incipient, boyish affection, childlike and simple. After all, neither Charles nor Sebastian have any experience with women at this point, either. They are each other's first romance, and it's a romance innocent enough to preclude sexuality. 

I'll happily invite homoromanticism under my "gay" umbrella and claim that Brideshead Revisited does indeed count as queer lit. Plenty of young queer kids manage to relate to it despite its lack of gay sexuality. Sometimes romance alone is the important force in a connection between two people. Charles and Sebastian may not be "gay" in the strictest sense, as we never see either of them engage in any kind of physical homosexuality. But there's homoromance aplenty between them, and that's been good enough for plenty of readers to include Brideshead in their queer libraries.

(image via TVRage)

The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell

Mary Doria Russell’s 1996 novel, The Sparrow, is ostensibly a science fiction tale focused on a group of humans who travel across space to make contact with an alien culture whose radio broadcasts have reached earth.  In reality, though, the novel is one of the most gripping accounts of spiritual conflict written in recent times.

 

The novel begins in media res, with the central character—Jesuit priest Emilio Sandoz—back on earth, recounting the mysterious and controversial particulars of his missionary team’s expedition to the alien world—an expedition which starts promisingly but ends in unmitigated disaster.  As Sandoz recounts to his Jesuit superiors, humans first become aware of the planet’s intelligent inhabitants when a SETI observatory receives radio broadcasts of their music.  Believing the music to be a divine revelation, Jesuit order funds an exploratory mission to the world in order to contact its inhabitants.

 

After reaching the planet (known as Rakhat) using an interstellar travel-equipped asteroid, the Jesuit team makes contact with gentle, vegetarian, gatherer inhabitants known as the Runa, to whom the Jesuits introduce agriculture.  The mission soon encounters another species of intelligent beings on Rakhat—the carnivorous Jana’ata.  The Jana’ata are stewards of the planet and feed on the Runa, whose population they closely control in order to keep the Runa’s numbers sustainable.  Eventually the mission team’s collaboration with the Runa leads to tragedy—the introduction of agriculture allowed the Runa’s numbers to exceed sustainability.  When the Jana’ata arrive to cull the young Runa, the parents and Jesuits attempt to defend them and are massacred—all except Sandoz.  As the rest of the novel unfolds, Sandoz narrates an increasingly harrowing series of events that leave him physically and psychologically abused and broken and—on his ultimate return to earth and his Jesuit order—an unbeliever.

 

What I love about The Sparrow is that it deals with one of the most troublesome issues of religion and spirituality—theodicy, the fact that evil still exists in the world despite God’s supposed love and justice.  In spite of the characters’ Jesuit affiliation, their (and Sandoz’s) struggle is familiar many of us, whether we’re explicitly religious, agnostic or atheist.  Russell’s placement of Sandoz in a completely alien setting tests the universal message of his Christian faith, and brings up many more interesting spiritual questions: How can something that seems brimming with promise—an opportunity to expand the beauty and totality of creation—become instead a morally clouded cross-cultural disaster of epic proportions?  Are any religious tenets truly universal?  How much hardship can a person endure before feeling that God either doesn’t exist or has completely abandoned them?  Clearly, this novel is food for thought for any active spiritual or philosophical thinker!

 

Despite its weighty subject matter and science fiction themes, The Sparrow is an eminently readable book—the science fiction details are neither self-serving nor arcane, and Russell has a flair for dialogue that makes for quick page turning and well-developed characters. By its end, The Sparrow brings up quite a few more questions than it answers—just the way I like it, personally, but if you enjoy the novel and are interested in more development of its themes and more closure from a plot perspective, its sequel, Children of God is a must-read.

Y: The Last Man

Exploring Issues of Feminism, Gender and Sexuality

  Imagine a world suddenly hit with a plague, and just like that, all mammals carrying the male Y chromosome drop dead.  In a nutshell, you have envisioned the world and premise of Y: The Last Man. Within its first few pages, the comic series hits the ground running as you witness the apocalyptic aftermath of such a plague. Society's infrastructure collapses, food becomes scarce, and anarchy breaks loose. Though the outlook is bleak, hope remains in the only two males to survive: the series' protagonist, Yorick, and his pet monkey, Ampersand.

Despite the fact the author, Brian Vaughan, chose the protagonist to be a male, his supporting cast are a series of strong, independent, unforgettable women. There's Agent 355, a mysterious government operative, capable of taking James Bond down with one hand tied behind her back. She protects Yorick as they dangerously make their way from New York to a genetics lab in California. Beth Deville, Yorick's girlfriend, is the go-getter type. While Yorick is agonizing over how to propose (and keep her with him) she’s following her dreams of studying anthropology halfway across the world, in the Australian Outback. To say the least, the women in Y are confident and self-possessed.  

But in a world of all women and two men, issues of feminism, gender and sexuality are bound to come up. Though I believe Vaughan tried his best to create a story line that empowered women, there were moments I found myself pausing. Let's begin with the Daughters of the Amazon, a group (or rather gang) best described as "angry, man-hating feminist." These women, depicted as insecure and previously victimized by the men in their lives, become a monstrosity in and of themselves. In a world struggling to survive, the Daughters of the Amazon seem more intent on destroying sperm banks, male works of art, and all systems and edifices that stand for patriarchy. They even go so far as killing transsexual females. I understand that these women were meant to be fanatic and extreme. However, is it possible that Vaughan unknowingly discredited, if not muted, some of the issues the Daughters bring up? For example,  to what extent has patriarchy limited women? And if the Daughters are killing transsexuals, or those women who don't necessarily fit into the "female" box, what is Vaughan saying about gender vs. sex?

When I came across the character of Dr. Allison Mann, I was excited and relieved. For once, I saw great promise in a lesbian character whose identity didn't center around her sexual orientation. Dr. Mann is a world class leading geneticist before all else. Her complexity as a character runs deep and we learn that her orientation isn't a problem or an issue, but a fact of which she's fully comfortable with. But where Vaughan did well with Dr. Mann, he lacked elsewhere. In a world where there aren't any guys around (save Yorick and his monkey), women don't have the choice to practice heterosexual relationships. We learn that a good many, normally self-proclaimed as "straight," choose to be in homosexual relationships. But what we aren't told is how they come to feel about this last and only option. The comic series is nearly silent on the issue.

But all said and done, Y: The Last Man is a series that dares tread where no man (or woman) has tread before. Its efforts in portraying strong, empowered women is commendable and, as always, refreshing. Definitely worth the read. 

 
 
 


Hologram Pop Star

Hologram image

Hologram Pop Star

The Japanese love Anime and pop music so I suppose that it was just a matter of time before an Anime pop star appeared.  Miku Hatsune is billed as a hologram and appears in 3D at live concerts. She is based on a singing synthesizer and an animated character.  For more information, click here. 

 

First Gay Caveman Discovered?

When I first read this headline, I got pretty excited; I love it when we have new historical finds, particularly those that prove that people (and animals) have been gay since forever and it’s perfectly natural so STFU, Uncle Gary. But when I read the basis of the study it gave me pause.

The remains of this potentially gay caveman are thought to be so because he was buried without tools or weapons but instead with household jugs. That’s it; there was no sign of him, say, buried with his mate, but he was pointing eastward, which was traditionally a placement for female skeletons.

Okay, so wouldn’t it be more logical to suggest that this might have been the first transsexual caveman instead? There really isn’t evidence that this skeleton’s bearer was gay or not, but there is evidence of both female roles and burial rites—which were taken pretty seriously, as scientists say.

The article actually ends with the statement that a female cave person had been found before buried like a man. So, in actuality, if they are making this the case for the “first homosexual caveman,” it sort of fails on all fronts, doesn’t it?

If it is an indication of homosexuality or transexuality (as is actually postulated at the end of the article), however, it would be a pretty cool discovery, perhaps serving as further proof that our “liberal media” and whatever else is blamed for “causing” people to be gay isn’t reality, but that nature itself, in fact, is what causes people to love who they love.

Cherie Priest, Boneshaker

I have to admit that as the years pass, I have less and less interest in speculative fiction. I, formerly a die-hard science fiction fan (and a die-hard fantasy fan before that) have lost patience with the choppy plots, extreme fixation on technical minutia, and near-complete lack of interesting female characters.

So perhaps you can appreciate what it takes to get me into a speculative fiction book these days. It takes overwhelming praise from every corner. It takes the promise of steampunk AND zombies. It takes a female author, who employs many strong female characters. And it takes an interesting look at a familiar setting.

In other words, it takes Cherie Priest's book Boneshaker.

(My first (and least momentous) quibble with Boneshaker is in the typesetting. The book is set in a sepia print, which is an interesting stylistic choice. But those of us with aging eyes greatly prefer the time-tested readability of black print.)

Boneshaker is set in an alternate history Seattle, round about the 1860s. Several years before, a mad inventor (Leviticus Blue) designed a giant earth-drilling machine as an attempt to win a bounty from the Russian government for the person who creates the first gold-digging machine for use in the Alaskan gold rush.

Unfortunately, this giant machine (the eponymous Boneshaker) goes nuts and drills a huge hole all the way from Blue's house on Denny Hill to the central business district. There it cracks open a bank, and also opens a vent in the earth which releases a yellow gas that turns people into zombies.

In order to protect the rest of the world from the zombie gas, they build a big wall around Seattle. (Thankfully the gas is heavier than air, and sinks.)

Fast forward to Leviticus' widow, Briar, and their now-teenage son Zeke. Zeke gets it into his head to cross the wall into poisoned Seattle to go looking for his father's house. Briar, when she comes home and finds Zeke missing, follows after to rescue him.

Seattle, walled off and filled with poisonous zombie gas (and zombies) as it is, still harbors a small population of criminals. At first it seemed to me that these were extraordinarily generous and helpful criminals, even given Briar's credentials. (She is the daughter of Doc Maynard, who in this reality is a kind of folk hero.) It later develops that everyone has their own, less noble motivations for helping her. Nevertheless, I felt this aspect of the book is the one that needed the most shoring up.

Briar and Zeke take their separate routes through Seattle, barely missing each other repeatedly, until the story comes to a head (as it surely must) in the lair of the mysterious and sinister Dr. Minnericht.

This was a satisfying and interesting read. Among other things, I greatly appreciated the book's many varied female characters, who have depth and human interest, and who are not just allowed by the author to do useful things, they collectively bear the plot forward on their shoulders. Would that there were more female-positive books in the speculative fiction racks; it might help woo me back.

Stealing Some Time by Mark Kendrick

Gay Science Fiction at its best!

Are you looking for a nerdy, science fiction book with a gay twist? If so, check out Stealing Some Time by Mark Kendrick (author of the bestselling novel entitled Desert Sons, along with Into This World We’re Thrown, and other gay sci-fi). It will have everything you have been craving - and then some. 

"Kallen Deshara has discovered his world’s origin, nature, and destiny; and has fallen madly in love with Aaric Utzman in 1820. His decision to stay with Aaric, knowing full well that his presence might change all of history, brings him to the very edge of reality. But his colleagues who have returned to the 25th century have other plans. They intend to bring him back before he changes anything, even if it means killing him. But first they have to find him.

Traveling along the Wilderness Trail with his new companion, Kallen is totally unaware he’s being stalked. In the meantime, he realizes what had been missing his whole life, deepens his love with Aaric, and sees more water than he thought possible. Slowly but surely, he recognizes that he has more to offer than he ever knew. In fact, he may even be able to shape the future that should have been!

But Kallen learns an even more important lesson. He discovers that love knows no boundaries—not even of time itself."

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