#queer fantasy has altered my perception of reality

[sexy-sapphic-sorcerer]

I just told someone that I wanted to go to a ren faire so I could flirt with the knights and they said "oh, I thought you were gay" and I was so confused. I am literally so gay that I forgot that knights are usually only men. I was purely thinking about lesbians with swords.

[eventual-ghoste]

TOG rambling

Hello! This post has to do with Andy and some revelations at the end of Force Multiplied. Spoilers I give aren’t super specific but they’re there, and I can’t promise they won’t bite.

This is also in response to a TOG discord question I couldn’t stop thinking about, regarding Andy’s history as compared to Nicky’s, as posited by Em | salzundhonig:

But Nicky's past as a crusader and his growth from his past was well received, surely that'll be the same with Andy right?

I apologize if these ramblings sound like a rant but I swear my intentions are in the spirit of debate/discourse, and they are not an attack on any individuals.

The TL;DR is: Andy has work to do. Hopefully Hollywood and Rucka don’t fuck that up.

Feel free to check/correct/call me out if I’ve misspoke anywhere here (I realize I still have a lot to learn) but IMHO, I don’t think a semblance of Andy’s growth will be well received. Or, at least, I’m not so certain it should be because, in the comics, I genuinely don’t think Andy has grown. At the end of Force Multiplied, she still defends her actions with the “this is how I grew up” argument, and says it was “a long time ago,” and as much as I love love LOVE Andromache the Scythian for her badassery and how she’s a vision of female empowerment, I can’t help but think about how I hear those words all the time from people defending themselves against racist and/or sexist comments from so-called bygone eras.

Wanna know a sad difference between those people and our beloved Andy? They apologize for what they’ve done, or who they were. As hollow as the words will sound, however unforgivable their actions, however self-serving the apology will be— Those Asshats apologize. Comic!Andy never does, not even when confronted by Nile, an African American woman who likely descends from slaves, and has undoubtedly experienced racism and discrimination on a regular basis. It’s been thousands of years and Andy doesn’t even know how to say sorry (if she ever does, kudos to whoever finds a timestamp/panel, and let me know!). Instead, Andy buries the truth of her actions with a load of justifications to the point that she becomes self-deprecating, calling herself “vermin,” concluding she’s no better than the apathetic, selfish, evil POS they hunt. She may have spent the past millennia with TOG, trying to make things right but then—

But then she gives up. She’s tired. She resigns because she doesn’t have it in her anymore to fight the injustice she once willingly and self-servingly participated in. So, on top of being incapable of apology, Andy also doesn’t vow to do better. She doesn’t accede to change.

If there is one reason for why “The Old Guard” is a fucking absolutely shitty title, is that it refers to people who refuse to accept new ideas and progress. We are in a fandom that has four canonically queer characters, three people of color, and two female leads! Maybe the irony is intentional but damn, why is it that Andy, PROTAGONIST #1, hasn’t completely caught up with the program?

And that brings me to why I think Andy’s reckoning will not be on the same level as Nicky’s. Because as popular as Kaysanova is, neither Nicky or Joe are the main protagonists of TOG.

We don’t follow Nicky or Joe (or Booker) into scenes. The men are strictly back-at-the-ranch, supporting characters. We follow Andy or Nile (who also have the most screen time, I believe, but fact-check me). Filmically speaking, we ought to value them with a measure of precedence. Their words and actions matter the most, especially Andy’s by nature of how everyone looks to her for guidance.

So, with all that in mind: How does one reconcile a beloved protagonist with a despicable past in slavery, of all things? In the wake of an international racial reckoning, how is a celebrated, white South African actress going to fulfill that role? How is production going to balance fantasy with reality? How are Rucka and other involved writers (Theron, Prince-Bythewood?) going to alter the original IP, while retaining the nuance of this moral quandry?

Forgive me for the overkill but: How is it going to happen?

I’m well aware that my thoughts are going down a rabbit hole, and I am definitely overthinking this, but as somebody who’s genuinely curious about whether Victoria Mahoney and the rest of the TOG crew will have the guts to confront the issue head-on, or if they’ll take the easy way out. Excise the bits that no one wants to talk about, much less watch in a feel-good film that TOG has become for many fans.

Whatever production ends up doing, I hope that 2O2G doesn’t end on a cliffhanging “pity Andromache” note because, damn, I’m gonna feel real uncomfortable scrolling through fandom posts, reading people defending slavery and giving the same “the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there” spiel, in order to protect a fictional character played by a conventionally-attractive cis heterosexual white woman.

(Also: If the past is so different from the present, why are there still calls for social justice? Why do ALL industries still lack diverse and equitable representation?)

Now, this is where I’ll go back to the original question and say: While I think Nicky functions well as an example for change/growth/redemption, I don’t think his change serves as a good comparison to Andy’s. I say this, even while I’m aware of double standards in gender, and even between the reception of gay characters vs lesbian characters vs etc. (re: I’m open to critique).

My line of thought stems from the fact that, canonically, Nicky always had Joe. The two have seemingly been inseparable from the moment they first killed each other. It’s likely that Joe would check Nicky whenever he said or did something wrong and offensive, and perhaps this symbiosis was mutual.

(I also have a feeling that many people easily disregarded the Christian/Muslim conflict because A) lack of knowledge in BOTH religions and B) the onscreen couple appear very much in love, especially when one is giving a beautiful monologue on the nature of their relationship. When we meet Joe and Nicky, we meet them at their best. Shout-out to interfaith couples who know more about this than my single (and secular) ass does, and might have more to say about this.)

On the other hand: Andy never had someone who was like how Joe was for Nicky. No one ever calls out Andy because A) she’s the oldest, B) she’s the lead, and C) her business card says ANDROMACHE OF SCYTHIA, WAR GOD. Yeah, she had Quynh/Noriko but— at the risk of yelling at Rucka for vilifying a queer woman of color (or praising him for not leaning on the stereotype of Asian passivity? idk, anyone got thoughts on this?)— Noriko is clearly not encouraging good behavior. Neither will Quynh if Netflix lets 2O2G be as faithful to the comics as TOG1 was.

Which means the Law 282 conversation might be…unavoidable? Somewhere along the line, we still end up in the hotel room with Andy, on the floor, pleading for her crew to not abandon her, even though she is the one who abandoned their cause.

This sets up a circumstance in which Fade Away might be spent trying to redeem Andy/Charlize Theron, bring her back to the “good side,” teaching her to be better— thereby highlighting her experience and “salvation,” rather than making a point of her past, and the reality of her actions. In other words, a “pity the white woman” fest.

(Because I’m crossing my fingers that TOG production/Netflix know better) In an effort to prevent that from happening, I wonder if Rucka will combine Force Multiplied with Fade Away for the 2O2G script. Given the series’ track record, I think it is feasible that FA’s release coincides with 2O2G’s, and that it finally resolves Andy. Whether by revitalizing her energy as a do-some-gooder, or finalizing her vulnerability by putting her 6,000 years to rest, thus handing off the reigns to Nile and a new generation of leadership.

The last thing I want to leave off with is: I don’t hate Andy. It’s a credit to Rucka and fellow writers (from film and fandom) that I don’t.

I might not love her character as enthusiastically as I used to, but that doesn’t mean I’m not amazed by her creation. She’s a female lead whose sexuality is not exploited by the male gaze; whose emotional vulnerability is not considered a hindrance to, nor an explanation for, her battle prowess; and whose unabashed queerness is not reinforced by cookie cutter stereotypes. Andromache the Scythian is AMAZING.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to excuse or ignore her most glaring and contemptible flaw. More than anything, I’d love to sweep her past under the carpet so that 2O2G can be problem-free. Like many people, I just want to enjoy a movie without getting triggered.

I want to see Quynh and Andy kiss and make up. I want to see Joe rocking Those Shorts, and a cheeky shot of Nicky appreciating his ass. I want to see Nile welcoming Booker back to the family again. Some form of group therapy would be chef’s kiss.

But something about glossing over/removing slavery from Andy’s narrative reeks of dishonesty, and reminds me that the (Hollywood) movie industry is full of people who do not want to be tainted with negative perceptions. Understandably, appearances are their livelihood— but that particular truth is something they still have to reckon with.

[reading-while-queer]

Ninth House, Leigh Bardugo

Rating: Mixed Review Genre: Fantasy, Mystery, Dark Academia Representation: -Bi/pan protagonist -Jewish protagonist -Latina mixed race protagonist Trigger warnings: Sexual assault (in scene), rape (in scene), CSA (in scene), graphic violence, murder, drug use, drug abuse, drugging of another person, overdose, domestic abuse, medical abuse, violence by dogs Note: Not YA

Why is it that every time I read Leigh Bardugo, I love the book with a passion...except for one thing that makes me want to tear my hair out?

Here’s what seriously impressed me about Ninth House, Bardugo’s entry into New Adult. The pacing was phenomenal. The measured, perfectly timed revelations of information had me finding excuses to listen to the audiobook - taking extra neighborhood walks, doing extra loads of laundry - because I was so hooked. Then, there’s the worldbuilding. Bardugo managed to walk a delicate line, successfully suspending disbelief while still asserting that eight Yale secret societies do secret magic rituals to the benefit of the oligarchical capitalist machine (we all kind of suspected this was the case, right?). But the best part of the book, the part that had me recommending Ninth House in more than one group chat, was, of all things, the point-of-view jumps.

Rarely are point-of-view switches the star of the show, but I was so excited to see a genuinely original, intrinsic-to-the-heart-of-the-whole-novel use of that technical tool. The point of view jumps crank the volume up on the theme of the whole book. We start with the main character, Galaxy “Alex” Stern; she is the point-of-view character for the present semester during which the principal action of the novel takes place. Her upperclassman and mentor Daniel Arlington (or “Darlington”) is the point-of-view character for the semester before - all because something happened to Darlington. Alex is telling people he’s doing a “semester in Spain,” and all the reader knows is that her explanation isn’t strictly true. The point-of-view jumps being so strict (there is never an Alex perspective chapter during last semester, and never a Darlington perspective in the present) serves to separate the two characters from each other with a really incredible emotional effectiveness. The heart of the novel, for me as a reader, was yearning for these two to be reunited - and all because Bardugo holds the two character points-of-view separate across an unbreachable temporal divide. It’s a powerfully effective technique.

But let’s backtrack. Alex is a 20-year-old high school dropout from the west coast. As the story progresses, we learn that Alex can see ghosts, which is why, despite never finishing high school or getting her GED - or even applying - Alex is a freshman at Yale - contingent on her joining the secret society called “Lethe House” as apprentice (“Dante”) to the current leader of the society, Darlington (the “Virgil”). Lethe House is the governing body of the eight Yale secret societies that practice the magic that keeps the elite in power. These secret societies make books sell, make T.V. anchors charming and compelling, and open portals to other parts of the world - when they aren’t throwing over the top Halloween parties with magic designed to alter one’s perception of reality.

Darlington, by contrast to Alex, seems to belong at Yale. He’s from an old family, and he’s preppy and well-read. Most of all, he loves Lethe House and its history of keeping the secret societies from harming people in their pursuit of magic and power. That is, until he disappears just in time for Alex, only half-trained, to investigate the murder of a girl on campus.

The first three quarters of the novel are fantastic for the reasons stated above. Bardugo’s approach to mystery writing is effective. We have half a dozen suspects, most of whom, as elite ivy league magicians, are at least guilty of some misdeed. Having all your red herrings end up somewhat culpable anyway is a good way to keep your mystery difficult to solve until the end. We were off to a good start.

Unfortunately, in the end, Bardugo made the all-too-common choice to value “surprise” over the most compelling, satisfying solution. So while the reader doesn’t see the ending coming, that is at the steep cost of the ending not being justified by the rest of the book. Bardugo even has to invent new rules of magic off the cuff to justify the ending. When the rest of the book so painstakingly developed the rules of magic in a way that made sense and never felt overly expository, undoing all that effort feels like a monumental waste. And for what did Bardugo undermine all her hard work? A mystery that the reader won’t have all the clues to solve? It’s really okay - in fact, good - if the reader can puzzle out your story. It means your story has symmetry, internal logic, or perhaps, some sort of message.

This is what had me tearing my hair out. I know exactly how I would have written the ending of Ninth House to be the perfect conclusion to a stunning book. I know exactly what the message should have been. Is it somewhat ridiculous to say that Bardugo misinterpreted the message of her own book? Perhaps. But given the out-of-left-field-ending, the theme of the book ends up being a rather cheaply bought “No matter how traumatized you are, you can be a girlboss” instead of the message that the very structure of the novel itself was pointing to since page one: one of companionship, trust, and restoration (frankly, a better message for a novel with a main character who suffers so much loss and trauma. But, sure, “girl power” is a theme...I guess...)

Here’s what I mean by the structure of the novel itself pointing to a different theme. (Spoiler warning for the rest of this paragraph). Because the point-of-view switches in the first two thirds of the novel were used by Bardugo like two magnets being held apart, the only way to create a feeling of resolution was, so to speak, putting the magnets back together: getting Darlington back into the “present.” The degree of disconnect between reader expectations and the reality of the book is comparable to picking up a romance novel only to have the two leads decide to just be friends at the end. Bardugo set expectations - akin to genre expectations - but unfortunately Bardugo kneecapped her first book in the service of the sequel.

And then there’s the trauma. Alex’s backstory wouldn’t be the same without some level of trauma; it’s an important part of her character arc. Even the explicit presence of sexual assault on the page was justified in the case of Alex’s backstory - and I think that is rarely true. But when it came to a side character’s explicit in-scene rape, which was used as a clue in the broader murder mystery rather than treated as a crime in its own right, that tipped me over into feeling the trauma in Ninth House was more excessive than necessary for character development. The resolution to that side character’s rape is oddly cartoonish - like an over-the-top prank rather than justice - and again, the only reason the rape happens to the character is to give Alex more information she needs to solve the plot. Maybe that wouldn’t bother some readers, but for me, a book has to bend over backwards to justify showing me a character being raped. Bardugo does well earlier in the book when depicting Alex’s assault; the assault is the explanation for why Alex doesn’t view magic with the same childish excitement as the rest of Yale, and it’s part of what holds her apart from the entitled secret societies. It needed to be in the book. Everything else was gratuitous.

That said, there’s one thing still to address in this roller coaster of a review, and that is: wait, is this a queer book? I had gone into it assuming that it would be, mostly because all my queer friends were reading it. And the answer is….kind of? Knowing Bardugo’s history with putting queer characters in her books, I’m going to assume she wasn’t baiting when she had Alex claim to have loved a girl in her backstory. Which, in the context of the rest of the novel, would make Alex bi or pan. As a book that a lot of queer fans of Bardugo’s YA have read, or will read, it feels appropriate to review it here.

This was a mixed review from start to finish, but to finish up: if you are thinking about reading Ninth House, go for it! There is so much to like about this book. Take to heart that if you read and liked Bardugo’s handling of sexual assault in her YA titles, you should be prepared to be surprised by Ninth House. It is not the same. I would not have called her handling of sexual assault in Six of Crows, for instance, restrained - but compared to Ninth House, it absolutely is. Despite my strongly worded feelings about the ending, Bardugo left room to redeem herself in the sequel (which, if you ask me, is why the ending was so bad in the first place...). I for one will definitely be reading the sequel the second it comes out.

[awalkwithwordsmiths]

Blog Post #8: Carmen Maria Machado

Carmen Maria Machado may be the most inspiring author I’ve read this year. Her two works published by Graywolf Press, Her Body and Other Parties and In the Dream House, have altered any literary convention I once looked up to. Her experimental style integrates a narrator’s inner world with the subjective realities of their external worlds, bringing the reader into the process of navigating how these two spheres collide.

In the Dream House reveals the lack of representation for queer domestic violence and how societal perceptions of abuse are shaped by gender roles. Machado delves into her personal traumas in her memoir when she was living with a partner that verbally abused her and made her concept of safety a fantasy. The secret keeping of abuse and the gradual mental breakdown that occurs crumbles the home they share and Machado’s sense of reality. Machado manages to bend time and space to convey how memory tampers with trauma and our sense of selves. She also integrates these themes throughout her short story collection, Her Body and Other Parties.

My favorite piece of Machado’s work is her short story “the Green Ribbon.” I remember being deeply affected by this story when I was a child before I was old enough to truly understand its deeper meaning. It follows a young married woman with a green ribbon tied around her neck all her life and the only thing she keeps from her husband is why. He tolerates this boundary their whole life until she finally concedes on her death bed to allow him to remove the ribbon, and to his surprise, her head. Machado reconstructed this story that has always stuck with me by interweaving the harsh realities of a woman’s sexuality and how finite a woman’s choices are, even modernly. I was amazed when it was the first thing that I read by Machado and that the first short story in the collection played off this folklore. Machado retitled “the Husband’s Stitch.”

Beyond this story, Her Body and Other Parties interweaves sci-fi narratives with mesmerizing protagonists in worlds not too far off from our own. The stories have pandemic-like concepts with women slowly fading away, a medical procedure that alters women’s bodies leaving behind a ghostly presence, and a narrator who can hear the thoughts of pornography actors. Each are detached from reality in their own unique way, yet the magical elements and experimental themes reinvent a new kind of reality that belongs to each protagonist.

All of Machado’s work is rooted in psychological suspense and dreamy horror that somehow relates back to feminist realities in both her fiction and non-fiction. She has become my favorite writer from this year because of her abilities to blend genres and craft plots that are relatable even in the strangest of horrific realms. I’ve wrote a lot about Carmen Machado this semester already and I’ve told just about all of my friends to read her. Regardless of if you can’t relate to the queer content, her poetic prose builds worlds that draw you in even if you’re not entirely sure where you are.