thevisibilityarchives

[thevisibilityarchives]

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo (2017), Taylor Jenkins Reid

LGBTQIA+

Summary: One of Hollywood’s greatest legends summons a struggling writer for a final tell-all to set the record straight about who amongst her many lovers was her one true love. 

Review Link: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4981011136

Full review: Roughly 2,408 years ago, Plato wrote of a Symposium (a drinking party for artists and philosophers in Ancient Greece). This particular Symposium produced a series of texts that are studied across different courses in schools and universities worldwide today. 

A poignant text from that evening is the Myth of Aristophanes, a farcical creation myth detailing the origins of man. According to the playwright Aristophanes, humans began as an intersex species with multiple sets of limbs. They aggrieved the gods in a display of great pride by attempting to climb Mt. Olympus. As punishment, Zeus cast them down and cleaved them in two, birthing our current anatomical state (fewer arms, legs, and eyes) and the two sexes. In addition to this, humanity became cursed, doomed eternally to forever search for their other half, their “soulmate”. This union the soul could only be found through Eros, in love or lust.  

Aristophanes meant this tale as a drunken joke, yet today we cling fervently to the notion of the soulmate. In cultures where we have the freedom to choose relationships, the majority of people believe in the existence of romantic soulmates. 

There are the other forms soulmates can take, especially for those who de-prioritize romantic love as a driving force in their lives, or who may practice non-hierarchical forms of nonmonogamy, like relationship anarchy. As the Washington Post states: ���Biologically speaking, close friendships are a type of soul mate too…This ability we have to make someone special — our brains can do it again and again. That’s why we can have more than one soul mate in our lives. (Lervine, 2022).

In offices above us all, companies from dating apps to food companies capitalize heavily on this same notion to sell products. “What you call love was invented by guys like me, to sell nylons,” says Donald Draper in the very first episode of Mad Men.

No matter our personal stances on the soulmate, it is the latter that has the biggest influence, all stemming from that drunken farcical speech Aristophanes made. The billion dollar industry of love powers media, social mores, and consumer markets. Its mark on literature is poignant, and for authors like Taylor Jenkins Reid is how they have found success. 

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo epitomizes this obsession with love, in an Americana-laced tale about an Old Hollywood star who reveals the secret she’s been hiding most of her life: her true love hasn’t been any of her seven spouses, but a woman. 

The titular character is an amalgamation of our world’s legendary screen sirens - Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, Ava Gardner, and Rita Hayworth. She’s beautiful, unscrupulous, and has a rags to riches story that takes her to Hollywood where she skyrockets to success.

At the beginning of book we’re introduced to Evelyn post-career, as an elderly woman who reaches out to a little known reporter named Monique and offers her an interview. Her words suggest a tone of finality that indicate terminal illness, and a desire to get some things off her chest. From there, she begins to recount her life, experiences, her seven husbands, and the woman she hid beneath it all: Celia St. James. 

Two connections are made clear in Evelyn’s contacting Monique, who is a talented but unknown quantity. The first, is that the two share similarities as women of color, with Evelyn being Cuban and white passing and having hidden her identity during her career to attain stardom. Monique on the other hand is Caucasian and Black, and proud of her biracial heritage. This pride in the seeming duality of her race is something Evelyn assumes wille make Monique an inherently open-minded person when she reveals the truth about her relationship with Celia.

Monique does not inherently understand. She instinctively assumes Evelyn is a lesbian, much to Evelyn’s chagrin despite her own numerous passages stating that she is “biracial, not black”. 

As Evelyn recounts the history of her career and husbands, readers are interestingly treated to descriptions of men she loved, and men she abhorred alike. She meets men who use her, abuse her, love her, and idolize her all alike. Out of the seven, the general point of the book is that Celia is her one true love. 

Celia is a fellow actress and co-star of Evelyn’s and a lesbian. While far from unscrupulus as Evelyn, she does not possess a careless attitude about social norms of the time. That said, Celia possesses a seemingly naive attitude about what will happen if they are exposed and their lives subject to ruin. 

The result is a tumultuous relationship that is depicted as romantic. Both maintain beard relationships at various points, and Celia explodes into emotionally abusive tirades. Neither defines solid boundaries about what they’re willing to do or not do for their relationship, nor do they simply walk away when they feel disrespected. As with many Classic Hollywood movies, Celia is portrayed as the passionate lover who just cannot stand to see her femme fatale behaving badly. Her cruelty is justified as romantic, while Evelyn’s actions can be justified as simply doing what she has to for their relationship, or reviled for doing Celia wrong.

While poorly studied, data shows intimate partner violence among LGBTQ partnerships is staggering. “Life-time prevalence of IPV in LGB couples appeared to be similar to or higher than in heterosexual ones: 61.1% of bisexual women, 43.8% of lesbian women, 37.3% of bisexual men, and 26.0% of homosexual men experienced IPV during their life, while 35.0% of heterosexual women and 29.0% of heterosexual men experienced IPV. (Rollè, Giardina, Caldarera et al.) 

For the majority of readers of the book this relationship is viewed as simply passionate. Celia’s insults, degradation, name-calling, and devaluement is something that can be forgiven in the name of love, or simply doesn’t count because Celia and Evelyn are both women. 

On the Multiamory podcast, guest speaker and OkCupid Dating Coach Damona Hoffman joined the shows hosts to promote her upcoming book F the Fairy Tale: Rewrite the Dating Myths and Live Your Own Love Story. Among those myths she detailed the soulmate narrative, which she believes prevents people from pursuing relationships as they do not expect meeting people to mirror the feelings Don Draper and advertising executives have described in movies, advertising campaigns, and books. Show host Jase Lindgren also echoed the concerns growing numbers of relationships therapists and psychologists have stated with this idea today, which is that many people adhering to this idea are inclined to stay in relationships that are emotionally or physically abusive because they believe they have found their soulmate and won’t find another. As Jenkins Reid writes shows us, that’s all that matters. 

For the rest of the tale the two continue to part and come back to the each other, with Evelyn flying between men. She does find love in a way that is troublesome. Evelyn marries one of her best friends, gives birth to a child, and has perhaps one of the most stable relationships in the book–but its completely discounted as meaningless because he’s not Celia. He is a bisexual man who has been with her from the beginning, has been the only one who did not judge her, and has been the only character to treat her with respect throughout the entire book. Their love is one that is real, whole, and for those of us that believe in multiple soulmates, fulfills the criteria. 

While the book has been well received, it doesn’t always sit well in its representation of queer or BIPOC individuals. Evelyn’s character is the walking embodiment of harmful stereotypes about bisexual women. She is portrayed as hypersexual, narcissistic, manipulative, persistently unhappy, and unable to maintain a monogamous relationship. She is consistently questioned about whether she is really bisexual, attached to mostly men, and seemingly only finds the resolution to some of these things through Celia. Add to this her description of being Cuban contains frequent reference to her body type, which is at odds with beauty standards of Latino culture (or even white beauty standards of the 50s) and the characterization becomes a fetishization of these aspects of her character. 

These instances are seen again whenever characters who are not white or straight are present. Monique has cringeworthy passages alluding to her status as biracial. These reflections are indicative of an author who does not spend significant time engaging with the culture or communities they are writing about, and is producing work that is not intended to be consumed by them. 

You can find The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo here via its publisher Simon & Schuster, likely at your local library, or perhaps your local bookstore. 

Citations: 

https://www.washingtonpost.com/wellness/2022/09/16/soul-mates-real-science-research/

[thevisibilityarchives]

Dune: Part Two (2024), Denis Villeneuve

BIPOC

Dune: Part Two and the Discussion of MENA Representation

Review Link: https://www.rottentomatoes.com/profiles/ratings/WYdFQDHR9tGJf9wiWXh8ZFR8iGGCaLHwBhawIZ0ubbCexiapiJVTWOFeeCzdIpjhmXFp4u11CYNTl4fOPSWQfkWC6bIb6SyBFVXfO4TZzc4m/movie

Following its much-anticipated release, the long-awaited second installation of Denis Villeneuve’s Dune adaptation has proven itself a sci-fi spectacle that must be experienced to be believed. 

It’s an outrageous combination of awe-inspiring cinematography, adept writing, and the talents of an all-star cast topped off by a score by veteran composer Hans Zimmer. The result: a feast for the senses that presents the stark realization that films on a scale this epic only come around once or twice a generation.

For those unfamiliar with the source material, the full extent of how truly epic this is may be lost. Part of the beauty of Dune is that Villeneuve simplified the story in such a way that it can be understood by moviegoers with no connection whatsoever to author Frank Herbert’s novel, or ever-having-seen the adaptations by David Lynch or SyFy (f/k/a Sci Fi). Within this simplification, the story of Dune doesn’t become reductive, nor are essential plot points lost. Like all adaptations, there are components lost, however even compared to Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings it can be argued that fewer creative liberties have been taken, and the ones that have been are worthy of discussion. 

Some of these changes are adaptations inherent to the modernization of source material written by a white man in the 1960s. While science fiction has arguably been a haven for progressive ideas, it still faces the limitations of the author's society and the popular sentiments of their time. 

Environmentalism, non-traditional relationships, the loss of innocence, and the power of femininity are all topics brought to life by Frank Herbert in his original novel–adeptly at times, sloppily in others. Decades later, Villeneuve irons out some of the flaws: the white savior narrative, the depiction of women, and the dreadful attempts to depict witch children.

These changes along with the skillful dedication to a remarkable piece of science fiction create what will undoubtedly be looked upon as a classic in due time, yet has been met with some degree of controversy for its depiction–or lack thereof of one group. 

Created in their image, the Fremen were shaped after those of the Middle East and North Africa (MENA), with the Islamic faith making up aspects of their religion and the Middle East serving as the very essence of Arrakis. Yet in casting, MENA actors were notably absent from these roles, and the focus on much of the Fremen culture was notably absent, leaving many to question why.

Dune’s Roots in the Middle East

Written in 1965, Dune is considered one of the most remarkable science-fiction books of all time. Part of this significance is because, in 1965, it was a book that attained popularity while being so fervently against the cliches present in normal bestsellers: moral absolutes, Eurocentrism, and Western imperialism. 

For over a decade, we have now come to cherish and normalize media that centers around morally gray and ambiguous characters. We actively seek out things that de-center white, straight, and cisgender narratives. Yet in 1965, a world wherein the United States had barely de-segregated, homosexuality was outlawed across most of the world, and Christian colonialism efforts still ran rampant across many nations? A book challenging the status quo was impactful. 

The representation of MENA culture is intrinsic to everything that Dune is, from its language to its scenery to the music present in Villeneuve’s adaptations. Set primarily on the desert world of Arrakis, Herbert based the topography of the planet on regions of the Pacific Northwestern United States, yet its allegorical implications are clear. 

Arrakis is home to melange or “spice”, a heavily-coveted resource that grants extended longevity, bestows metaphysical abilities, and fuels interstellar travel. The latter is perhaps the most commercially beneficial of the three, and drives colonization of Arrakis, as well as the oppression and subsequent eradication of its Indigenous peoples.  

Within his writing, Herbert created a clear mirror of our own world: a desert region, plagued by war, aggression, and despoilment of the environment all for the sake of natural resources. In our own world, that resource is oil, and our Arrakis is the Middle East. 

Arriving just as environmental advocacy began to take off in the 1970s, The History Channel states “Many environmentalists interpreted Dune as a critique of the oil industry, with Herbert’s friend Willis E. McNelly writing that the empire’s reliance on spice can “be construed as a thinly veiled allegory of our world’s insatiable appetite for oil and other petroleum products” (Greenspan 2024). Perhaps more salient are the linguistics of Dune, which are directly composed of Arabic words. Throughout the book, both the Fremen, the Indigenous peoples of Arrakis as well as other factions of the world are described using Arabic language. Manvar Singh writes:

“The language with the greatest influence in “Dune” is Arabic. In the novel, the Fremen use at least eighty terms with clear Arabic origins, many of them tied to Islam. The Fremen follow istislah (“natural law”) and ilm (“theology”). They respect karama (“miracle”) and ijaz (“prophecy”), and are attentive to ayat (“signs”) and burhan (“proof”) of life. They quote the Kitab al-Ibar, or “Book of Lessons,” an allusion to the encyclopedia of world history penned by the fourteenth-century Arab historian Ibn Khaldun. Central characters are dignified with Arabic names. The colossal sandworms are called shai-hulud (“thing of eternity”). Paul Atreides’s sister is Alia (“exalted”). Paul himself is known as Muad’Dib, an epithet that resembles the Arabic word for teacher (mu’addib), and he is fabled to be the Lisan al-Gaib, translated in the book as “Voice of the Outer World” but which, in modern Arabic, means something closer to “Tongue of the Unseen.”

Then of course comes the music, composed by industry titan Hans Zimmer who broke his longstanding alliance with director Christopher Nolan to focus on Dune and Dune: Part Two. In creating his score, Zimmer explored a full range of instruments in a way he claimed he had not since scoring The Lion King. Utilizing vocalists, an array of culturally diverse instruments, and spending ample time listening to the sounds of the desert, he synthesized the music together to intentionally create a soundtrack intended to mimic the experience of a spice-induced trip in a desert sandstorm, embraced by the energy of the divine feminine. 

An Absence of MENA

With the depth of these roots in Middle Eastern culture, it would stand to reason that Dune would feature a sizeable cast. In addition to the Arabic language, Fremen religion heavily mirrors Islam, and while there are certainly Caucasian converts–we are focusing on a war for Arrakis and its Indigenous peoples.

Upon first glance at the Fremen in the first installation of Dune, we see a spattering of brown and black faces. Most notable are actress Zendaya who is biracial, and Javier Bardem, who is Spanish. Further introduction to the rest of the Fremen reveals similar casting choices among billed actors. 

It’s straightforward: “Despite the film's obvious inspirations, there are no leading actors of Middle Eastern or North African heritage.” (Shah, 2024) 

And why does this matter? When we beg the question of the difference between appropriation and appreciation, the deliberation includes questions about participation. Without the participation of the cultures involved, representation warps into fetishization at best, and appropriation at worst. 

Dune is a tale that warns us about the harms of colonialism, environmental despoilment, and religious extremism. Villeneuve’s version takes care to approach the topic of colonialism with extra caution, approaching painting the Fremen not as a singular unit that can easily be converted by the right white savior, but as a multitude of people with different beliefs. Some fundamentalists believe deeply in their faith and follow the direction of Paul and the prophecy instilled (falsely) by the Bene Gessirit. Then there are the detractors like Chani who have seen attempts at colonialism before, and who shy away from religion for that exact region. They reject Paul’s so-called place as the Chosen One–and any outsider who should lead them. 

To make these changes shows consideration on Villeneuve’s part. To fail to recognize the importance of casting actors of Middle Eastern and North African descent in a story directly inspired by a culture based on the Middle East and North Africa shows a distinct lack of it. 

A New Decade of MENA Representation

So, why such a prolific absence of MENA representation when it would truly make an impact? We need to examine two factors 1.) the overall distancing from Islamic culture within Villeneuve’s adaptation, and 2.) how filmmaking in a post 9/11 world has changed the representation of Islamic characters. 

As an adaptation of Herbert’s novel, Villeneuve takes the traditional liberties with the source material that a director is known for in bringing a book to the big screen. The core tenants remain, and many of the most important phrases and elements are retained. Yet to make the adaptation accessible to audiences unfamiliar with previous adaptations or the book it has been simplified. 

This simplification allows Villeneuve to pour energy into enhancing other aspects of the film. He drastically expands upon the female characters within the film, giving them purpose outside of appeasing Paul, bewitching men, or narrating his life.

With adaptation comes a loss of the “finer details”. In addition to the distinct lack of MENA actors, there is a drastic reduction in the language, and of course, scenes depicting Fremen's way of life and culture. These include rites of inheritance, polygyny (not to be confused with polyamory), and the decidedly not-Islamic-inspired ritual orgy that occurs following Jessica’s confirmation as the new Mother Superior of the tribe. 

These departures (the orgy notwithstanding, undoubtedly shed without a thought to maintain the film's PG-13 rating) are but a few of the cultural aspects sanitized from a story showcasing Arabic inspiration. Though it’s impossible to diminish it completely. Looking back through Villeneuve’s background, we can speculate on his reasons for this and perhaps consider whether it was done with intent. 

Following the September 11th attacks, Hollywood faced years of missteps in the representation of MENA characters onscreen, who were then stereotyped in the roles of jihadists, an imminent threat to the West for years to come. It didn’t matter whether the film took place in the past or present, the ideals were functionally the same. 

A notable example is Zack Snyder’s 300, adapted from Frank Miller’s graphic novel of the same name. Published in 1998, Snyder brought the film to life in 2006, where it received mixed critical reviews, and uproar internationally for its depiction of Iranians in the Spartan and Persian Battle at Thermopylae.

Brazilian actor Rodrigo Santoro portrays the antagonist King Xerxes as an effeminate gold-painted and pompous self-proclaimed God-king who seeks to drive forward a kingdom of sexual slavery. Leonidus, portrayed by Gerard Butler and his 300 men stand fierce to beat back Xerxes' soldiers and defend the good people of Sparta from slavery, the injustice of war, and the bleakness of what Xerxes promises. 

Yet the historical inaccuracy is ripe, and rewritten to appeal to Western notions of glory and sentiment. Historian Gary Leupp of Tufts challenged the film, explaining” In short: 300's depiction of the battle of Thermopylae is not merely inaccurate, as any film adaptation of a graphic novel has the perfect right to be. It's what the Iranians say it is: racist and insulting. It pits the glorious Greeks with whom the audience must sympathize against a "mystical" and "tyrannical" culture posing an imminent existential threat. It is, de facto, an anti-Persian/anti-Iranian propaganda film” (2007). In his statement, he explicitly breaks down the inaccuracies regarding the history of Xerxes and Persia versus the representation seen onscreen, which can be found in the citations link below. 

300 was but one example on the big screen. The late ‘00s/early ‘10s was the period of high-stakes television and as well. Shows like Homeland brought A-list performers like Claire Danes onscreen and normalized Islamophobia. Numerous forms of media following the attacks have depicted Muslims as “extremists, barbaric, insidious, and untrustworthy”. 

What many of us forget about is the very simple passage of time and the birth of new generations. Within a few short years, Gen Z has arisen, all but forgetting the pain and anxiety born of the September 11th attacks and seemingly everything that came with it–after all, none of them can even remember the day. 

In addition to that they are a generation born amidst an era of rapid information cycling and trend generation, and place an importance on publicly presenting their morality on their sleeve. All of this combined means the lessons, hardships, and mistakes of the past–can be forgotten quicker than we can imagine, and expectations to adhere to newly defined ideals of what is politically correct are defined seemingly overnight. 

It can be hard to keep up with. Especially if one is still concerned with the trials that seemed so important–and still are–ten years ago. Given the thought Villeneuve put into expanding upon aspects of Dune, it is difficult to imagine he didn’t put thought into how issues of problematic representation of MENA could arise. 

Ali-Karjoo Ravary writing for Al Jazeera pointed out during the release of the first installation of the film that the brand marketing changed up some of the wording of the film, stating “a crusade is coming” which marked an intentional difference from the book’s statement of “a jihad is coming”. Wording matters, as “Herbert’s nuanced understanding of jihad shows in his narrative. He did not aim to present jihad as simply a “bad” or “good” thing. Instead, he uses it to show how the messianic impulse, together with the apocalyptic violence that sometimes accompanies it, changes the world in uncontrollable and unpredictable ways.” (2020)

Of course, Herbert’s interpretation is an empathetic view and not one shared by many people with biases against those who pray to any god without white skin. While he tries, Paul ultimately succumbs to his will and manipulates the Fremen into following his aims to declare war on the galaxy. As the Fremen are proven to be some of the most formidable fighters we have seen and Paul’s manipulations are aided thanks to religious seeds planted by his mother’s order, this becomes a jihad in every way. He is the prophet. They are his holy avengers.

To cast MENA actors in these roles would once again fill slots of extreme religious fundamentalists, and this time, ones following a white man–no matter how nuanced the film has been made. Granted, as actors, they have a choice. Choosing representation is better than having none, however, if they had the conversation would likely then become “Dune: Part Two is a stereotype of MENA actors”. 

Is there a middle ground? There is of course, and this is where we notice the overt failure of casting directors in Hollywood. Following the criticism of the first film, Part Two touted its hiring of Swiss actress Souheila Yacoub who is of Tunisian descent. She played the role of one of the Northern Fremen, who stand against Paul’s attempts to co-opt their culture. Yet from the beginning, why not more featured characters? Why not Stilgar, Chani, Jamis, or even a surprise role similar to the one Anya-Taylor Joy played? 

While post-9/11 Islamophobia may have ebbed before the War on Gaza, we’ve entered a time where even the Hollywood excuse for “star power” fails when we remember the global world we now live in. Whether they are stars in their land or Americans with parents or religious heritage, there’s little to no excuse for the continued erasure and diminishment of culture onscreen–and in time Hollywood will come to know it. 

Citations: https://www.rottentomatoes.com/profiles/ratings/WYdFQDHR9tGJf9wiWXh8ZFR8iGGCaLHwBhawIZ0ubbCexiapiJVTWOFeeCzdIpjhmXFp4u11CYNTl4fOPSWQfkWC6bIb6SyBFVXfO4TZzc4m/movie

1. Maxwell D. Post-colonial Christianity in Africa. In: McLeod H, ed. The Cambridge History of Christianity. Cambridge History of Christianity. Cambridge University Press; 2006:401-421.

[thevisibilityarchives]

Westlake Soul (2012), Rio Youers

Disabled

Summary: Champion surfer Westlake Soul’s entire life is turned upside down after a surfing accident leaves him in a persistent vegetative state. As his family and friends struggle to maintain the hope that he will reawaken, Westlake himself persists in an ultimate battle for his livelihood with the newfound powers granted by the accident–powers that have the potential to bring him back for good.

Review Link: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/5256249753?book_show_action=false

Full review: When we reflect upon our preconceptions about health and disability, we’re faced with the ways such biases color our perceptions of that world.

In the United States alone, 27% of people are disabled. The World Health Organization estimates this number is 1 in 6 individuals worldwide. We we think of disabilities, the preconceptions above that arise are often the associations of people with physical disabilities, or occasionally debilitating mental disabilities associated with trauma. 

As growing numbers of people are beginning to recognize, however, disabilities come in a variety of physical, mental, and emotional forms. They can be physical conditions such as blindness, invisible conditions like Diabetes, or mental illnesses like Schizophrenia. Additionally, they can come in varying states of permanency, like a broken leg that will heal, or deafness, which a person can be born with, or Multiple Sclerosis which a person can begin experiencing the effects of during adulthood. 

Westlake Soul is an adept exploration of acquired disability that soars over the tropes of disability narratives, interweaving a fantasy-laden psychedelic experience to take us into the mind of a character trapped in a persistent vegetative state following a catastrophic surfing accident.

A vegetative state is defined as “when the cerebrum (the part of the brain that controls thought and behavior) no longer functions, but the hypothalamus and brain stem (the parts of the brain that control vital functions…continue to function. Thus, people open their eyes and appear awake but otherwise do not respond to stimulation in any meaningful way.” (Maise, 2022)

In the ensuing years following the accident, the titular character’s family holds out hope that he will emerge from his fleshy tomb, unaware that within the confines of his mind, Westlake has undergone a transformation. 

He’s developed superpowers. 

For decades, there was a misguided, ableist, and now-outdated trope of granting disabled characters superpowers, often promoting them to the status of over-arching villains or occasionally, insufferable heroes in some attempt to “prove” their worthiness to society. 

Dr. Sami Schalk alludes to this stereotype as the “supercrip” a term that has dated back since the 1970s and analyzes the issues with its deployment in media. 

In an article examining the term in disability studies scholarship, Dr. Schalk defines the trope and its issues: 

“in Marvel comics in particular, superpowers “‘overcompensate’ for a perceived physical defect, difference, or outright disability. Often, the super-power will erase the disability, banishing it to the realm of the invisible, replacing it with raw power and heroic acts of derring-do in a hyper-masculine fashion” (307). While there are connections and even overlap between the two, I distinguish the superpowered supercrip narrative from the glorified supercrip narrative because the person in a glorified supercrip narrative is represented as achieving something extraordinary through (supposedly) only hard work and determination, whereas the person or character in a superpowered supercrip narrative becomes exceptional by dint of their extraordinary powers and abilities alone—powers and abilities which are not the result of effort, but merely accident or luck. These are the stories of characters like the blind detective with extraordinary hearing or the superhero who gains powers after a potentially disabling accident.”

In Westlake Soul, author Rio Youers subverts this trope by crafting the development of Westlake’s powers as something of an enigma. Indeed, Westlake’s gifts are powerful, yet limited. So limited that he can barely make use of them. He is hardly the second coming of Professor X. 

He can mentally flit in and out of his body to influence others and spends ample time communicating with the family dog. His attempts to telepathically commune with family and friends to inform them that he is in fact still conscious and has newfound powers can be described as discomforting at best, leaving him to abandon the practice. Mostly, he spends his time battling an impending specter that appears within his dream space by the name of Dr. Quietus whose presence perhaps indicates a threat more real than a simple nightmare. These battles leave Westlake exhausted when he awakens, and with too little energy to put more into attempting to achieve his goal: figuring out how to regain control of his cerebrum. 

This importance of achieving this goal becomes imperative when it becomes clear that after several years, Westlake’s family has begun to consider his quality of life. Whether he will ever reawaken or if he is even at all conscious is a matter of debate that cannot be answered by doctors around them, and without a living will having been prepared in advance by Westlake, there is no guidance on whether the life he is currently living is one he ever would have liked to live. All they can now debate is his right to live vs. his right to die with dignity. 

The right to die is a highly contested issue right now, with more healthcare systems internationally adapting to the demand for people’s demand to die with dignity as populations continue to exceed life expectancy, and face an increase in disease. An NPR Boston affiliate reports “In the past five years, states allowing access to life-ending medication for the terminally ill have more than tripled.” (Sutherland, Chakrabarti, and Skoog, 2023). 

Their decision is one mostly driven by empathy and care: no one wants to see their loved one suffer or exist in a state of what many of us would consider to be a low-quality life. And herein lies the horror Youers brings: we see into Westlake's mind. We know that, unlike the real world of comatose and vegetative people, Westlake is very much conscious. He is fighting to come back, and he is battling each and every eerie day. 

Westlake must find the means to battle his foe and unite with his body while taking us on a journey through his innermost thoughts, memories, and desires in a spectacular book that makes for fantastic graphic novel material. 

With care and consideration, Rio Youers crafts a portrait of disability and tragedy and centers on a devastating situation while making it flourish with love and light. There are many joyful moments to be found and a beautiful journey to coast among the many waves. 

Not to mention lots of conversations with the family dog. 

You can find Westlake Soul here at Youers’ website, attempt to find or order a copy through your local bookstore, or find it via your local library. 

Citations: 

[thevisibilityarchives]

Golden Boy (2013), Abigail Tarttelin

LGBTQIA+

Summary: 

Within the pristine confines of a white-picket-fence life, the perfection of Max’s world is shattered one fateful night. Handsome, charismatic, and intelligent, the Golden Boy of the Walker family finds himself facing the rippling consequences of that night and the revelation of a family secret that could undo not only him but the entire Walker family.

Full review: 

*Trigger Warning: This discussion contains mentions of sexual assault*

“Everyone has secrets. It’s just a matter of finding out what they are.” - Steig Larsson

The concept of the so-called “perfect family” harboring a scintillating secret that threatens to topple them from their gilded thrones is an alluring narrative. Everyone has their secrets, yet we demand to see what lurks behind the facade of those who pretend otherwise–even in a world that has evolved to demand the pretense of perfection at all times. 

Within the pages of Abigail Tarttelin’s Golden Boy, the Walkers begin as such a family. They are stereotypical WASP perfection, a white-picket vision that would make conservatives on both sides of the Atlantic jump with joy. 

Steve and Karen Walker are upper-class Brits, with Steve making an emerging run into politics and Karen serving as a successful barrister. Max, their firstborn, is a handsome, charismatic, intelligent, and athletic young man on the cusp of manhood–a Golden Boy in every sense of the word. He looks after and connects with his younger brother Daniel, who seems to have autism or ADHD and doesn’t receive the attention he needs from his parents.  

In all their dazzling perfection, it's natural the Walkers harbor a secret or two. Right off the bat, it’s revealed that Max, a walking Abercrombie & Fitch model is intersex. In the U.K., statistics show up to 1.1 million are estimated to belong to the community according to The University of Manchester.

That estimation must consider the way intersexuality is reported. Intersex people are defined as having anatomical sexual characteristics that may not necessarily align with the definition (or that fit multiple definitions) of male or female bodies. Because sex is assigned at birth, “it is very rare that the sex of a child is recorded as indeterminate or intersex at birth registration” (Office for National Statistics). Just like statistics on non-binary identities or sexual orientations, however, people can contribute to polling at other ages, thus giving estimates to the numbers in existence. 

There is a single person outside the sphere of Max’s family and medical team who is aware of his status as intersex: Hunter, a childhood friend. What began as the innocence of childhood baths together grows into an impending threat that Karen reminds him must be mitigated by staying in Hunter’s good graces. For the burden of Hunter’s secret is a source of shame, and the revelation of that shame could bring down the entire family. 

A drunken visit by Hunter one evening reveals that over the years, he has harbored a confusing mixture of feelings towards Max, and himself: confusion, attraction, shame, and anger all wrapped up in a bow of toxic masculinity. 

The result? A horrific scene in which Hunter lashes out, brutally sexually assaulting Max while he attempts to reconcile his sexual orientation and feelings by convincing himself what gender Max is–and isn’t. 

A UN study found that in instances of sexual assault experienced by LGBTQIA+ individuals, “sexual and gender minorities are mainly attacked because they defy gender stereotypes…high proportions of sexual and gender minorities experienced physical and sexual violence, motivated by perception of sexual orientation and gender identity.” (Blondeel et al, 2023).

Hunter demands to know why Max doesn’t exist along some sort of binary, and this question fuels his anger as it challenges his own twisted perceptions of masculinity, heterosexuality, and of course, the gender binary. 

Whether they are intersex, nonbinary, or bisexual, people who exist outside of society’s notions of either/or at some point have encountered difficult, or even hostile comments concerning the nature of their existence. To simply be in a world that operates along black-and-white lines despite the sheer complexity of our realities presents a challenge that evokes strong emotions in some. 

Like many heterosexual men who are survivors of sexual trauma, Max attempts to bury the incident, even as that night sets off a chain of events that can’t be ignored. He meets a girl that for the first time, he believes he wants to share himself with. He also can’t avoid the physical or mental toll that was taken on him that night, which seeps its way into just about every other facet of his life including his family. 

In a post #MeToo society, we’re remiss if we don’t acknowledge the realities of sexual violence on men. Part of the irony is that misogyny’s impacts have consequences on everyone including its perpetrators. While gay and trans men are sometimes referenced regarding survivor narratives, few straight men report sexual assault due to reasons ranging from demasculinization to psychological grooming when older women are involved. Reports have found over 10,000 men are assaulted in the military yearly, (more than women due to the repercussions, and lack of reporting). 

While the book can be brutal, horrific, and emotional, it's also a book that gives the opportunity to help heal. It’s a tale that presents space for learning, through the lens of empathy, love, and compassion. It’s not without its flaws of course, but Tarttelin takes us through the life of an individual whose narrative would otherwise be erased in this era of authoritarian conservative censorship bans. 

Taking journeys through a bitter journey of trauma, identity, and teenage love, Golden Boy also teaches us perhaps the most important lesson when it comes to our bodies: Max is the only one who has any meaningful autonomy over his anatomy or identity. It doesn’t matter who else’s hopes or desires matter–only his do, and when we consider non-cisgender bodies that should be one of our priorities. 

Golden Boy can be found here via its publisher, you can attempt to find it at your local bookstore or find it at your local library.

Citations: 

[thevisibilityarchives]

The Hungry Ghosts (2012), Shyam Selvadurai

BIPOC

Summary: At a young age, a great burden falls upon the shoulders of a young boy named Shivan. To find shelter in a family torn apart by Sri Lanka’s raging Civil War, he is forced to appeal to his grandmother’s good graces, becoming the right hand of a legacy fueled by avarice and cruelty. As he grows, this legacy becomes a part of him, something he cannot separate himself from no matter how far he travels or what journeys he undertakes. In this semi-autobiographical work, author Shyam Selvadurai carves a quest weaving together spirituality, pain, and the journal to rebalance the karmic legacy the Shivan has offset so he may free himself and his family once and for all. 

Review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/5598790639

Full review: Death: one of the most frightening subjects for human beings to consider. With a sense of dread, we unconsciously (or consciously) invest in ways that extend our longevity, participating in diet regimens, religious rites ensuring afterlife, and avoid discussion of the matter. 

The topic of our expiration date can be so anxiety-inducing that according to psychologists Jeff Greenberg and Tom Pyszczynski “people go to great lengths to seek security; they embrace belief systems that give them a sense of meaning — religion, values, community.” (Vedantam, Cohen & Schmidt). 

What spurs this fear? It’s a complicated question, bearing in mind religious beliefs, political status, and socioeconomic status. Practitioners of certain religions have been associated with heightened fear of death due to anxiety regarding punishment in accordance with their religious doctrine. According to this 2012 study, the afterlife and risks of eternal damnation can strike fear in the hearts of many. Meanwhile, those facing political violence experience fear regarding their manner of impending death, according to Dr. Jade Wu. The seeming absence of fear by macabre-obsessed goth kids and at-peace end-of-lifers? Lacking religious connection or a fear of death, so too lies an absence of fear. 

Yet there remains a final debated fear rooted in the ego–or put in nicer words–the legacy we leave behind. What comes after us, be it in terms of our family, business, or even our species? 

The question of this legacy and its foothold in spirituality is a touchpoint in Shyam Selvadurai’s The Hungry Ghosts, titled after the preta of Buddhist and Chinese traditional faith. Voraciously hungry, these ghosts are sired by life that has displayed tendencies towards unfettered greed and cruelty and exist in a state of insatiability that causes relentless misery even in death to their living kindred. It is only good deeds that can resolve their lifetime errs–a rebalancing of their karma, transforming their hungry spirits into ones of peace. 

Selvadurai presents us this journey as a semi-autobiographical reimagining of his life immigrating from Sri Lanka to Canada. The story begins with young Shivan, his mother, and his sister arriving at the doorstep of his grandmother during the Sri Lankan Civil War, a bloody 30-year conflict that only recently ended in 2009.

Previously cast out by her family for marrying a Tamil man, Shivan’s mother has no choice but to return with the death of his father. On the verge of homelessness, it is Shivan who manages to appeal to his grandmother and thaw her cold shoulder, acquiring shelter for the three of them and forging a bond that only grows over the years. 

It’s a relationship but on equal parts manipulation and admiration. Even in his young age, Shivan understands his need to appeal to his grandmother’s every whim to earn his keep, and his grandmother in term knows his complicity extends so far as to acquire housing for his mother and sister. Still, an exceptional bond of love grows between the two, as she dotes on him, and he her, a natural matriarchal love tearing through the iron armor that has shrouded her for years. She uses Shivan as a tool, embracing his soft heart for her business needs as a landlady and business developer while Shivan’s quick wit and clear aptitude gain him more responsibility.

Unknown to both of them, a day comes when Shivan unexpectedly begins to consider his own yearnings and desires and whether they have more meaning than the needs (petty or essential) of his family. Beneath the many burdens he has carried into adulthood, a profound one surfaces: his sexuality. Illegal in Sri Lanka, Shivan’s burgeoning identity as a gay man threatens to break free as he begins to imagine a life where no longer has to accept remaining a secret. With immigration opportunities arising due to the war, he is given the chance to choose: a new life in a country where he can find freedom? Or his commitment to the woman who has given him life, shelter, and a path?

Freedom, it turns out, comes with a significant cost. Upon moving to Canada, Shivan, his mother, and his sister experience the brutality of racism, poverty, and isolation. Within the gay scene, Shivan faces fetishization from people who go so far as to use his status to manipulate and assault him, and discrimination from men who treat him as a plague to be avoided at all cost. 

Racism in the gay community should not come as a surprise in 2023. It was in 2020 that hookup app Grindr announced it was removing its ethnicity filters, a longtime part of a culture in which it was normalized for men to actively promote whiteness to the upper echelons of attractiveness. The central argument of “preference vs. racism” of course can be broken down by two researchers who found:

 “...Despite gay white men’s insistence that sexual exclusion was not racism but rather personal preference, and that these personal preferences have nothing to do with racism… attitudes toward sexual exclusion were related to almost every identified factor associated with racist attitudes in general. More importantly, the authors found that even gay white men who do not actively engage in acts of sexual exclusion were incredibly tolerant of racist behaviors from other gay white men who did.” (Han and Choi, 2018)

Shivan’s experiences are all the more painful as they are unexpected. He comes to Canada expecting acceptance, only to find a community wherein one aspect of himself is accepted (his sexuality but not the rest of him.

During this time, the pull of the hungry ghost he has helped create in his grandmother begins to surface, sucking misery into it year by year. Happiness cannot be attained, and tragedy abounds. It becomes clear over the years that Shivan must make amends for the pain he has caused in conjunction with his grandmother to find peace.

As human beings, we will inevitably cause harm, cruelty, and grief in our lifetime. Yet to sire a hungry ghost goes beyond the norm, and it is this we seek to avoid. And in our age of constant consumerism, greed, and rampant apathy, the book serves as a reminder to stay on the path of karmic balance, seeking balance, and accepting opportunities to remain true to ourselves and others. 

This was a difficult book for me to track down through my local library in the U.S. I advise tracking down The Hungry Ghosts through Shyam Selvadurai’s website here, or trying your luck at your library if you’re in a bigger city (or Canada).

Citations: 

Han CS, Choi KH. Very Few People Say "No Whites": Gay Men of Color and The Racial Politics of Desire. Sociol Spectr. 2018;38(3):145-161. doi: 10.1080/02732173.2018.1469444. Epub 2018 Jul 6. PMID: 30906102; PMCID: PMC6426121.

[thevisibilityarchives]

Back to Blogging

Some time ago I announced I would be taking a break due to what was becoming an overwhelming amount of time spent searching for a new job while working full-time, navigating a disability, and balancing the normal stresses of living in our capitalist dystopia. 

Months later, I’m still job searching. I was laid off from my full-time job, giving me much-needed time to return to this site. In the United States, continued book bans, the progression of white supremacy, growth in anti-trans rhetoric, homophobia, and the recent conflict in Gaza have reminded me of how much people of all ages need to be reminded that there are stories out there that represent them. Books, movies, and TV shows span the ages of time that represent their lives. Tales told well, terribly, and somewhere in the middle, all to reflect a pure and simple truth:

We exist. 

Not just as some “other”. Some overlooked minorities, or stereotypes. But as vibrant communities whose everyday lives have existed since the beginning of time, regardless of persecution, oppression, and oppression. 

I will do my best to continue this blog, to fulfill my dreams for it no matter what the future holds. And the hopes that it helps someone out there find a reflection of themselves that they need. 

Stay visible.

[thevisibilityarchives]

Content Update

For any and all regular parties to this page just a note, I'm currently taking a break from content updates for a while as I work on a job transition. I'll resume once I've found a new position and settled in -- hopefully soon. Between my current job and applications, it's an all-consuming affair, but I hope to be back to sharing out reflections of visibility by the end of summer. In the meantime you can follow me on Goodreads where I'll be catching up on book reviews xXx! https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/107751294-billie-alexander

[thevisibilityarchives]

"Auntie Diaries", Kendrick Lamar (2022)

LGBTQIA+

The Complicated Conundrum of Kendrick Lamar’s “Auntie Diaries”

*Trigger Warning* the following song contains the use of slurs and perceptions of deadnaming and misgendering which some may find triggering. 

“This is how we conceptualize people,” intones the voice of German theologist Eckhart Tolle during a notable tonal transition on Kendrick Lamar’s Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers. 

Deep within the second disc, listeners have delved into Lamar’s innermost thoughts on a concept album that plays like a journal read from shaking hands to a therapist.

 From progressively amped-up recordings confronting the celebrated rappers status as the often hailed “Voice of a Generation”, the Pulitzer Prize winner pivots to the soft-spoken and introverted side of himself that often catches reporters off guard for the controversial and wholly unexpected song “Auntie Diaries”.

Since the beginning of his career, Lamar’s music has been branded “conscious hip-hop”, described as: “a subgenre of hip-hop that challenges the dominant cultural, political, philosophical, and economic consensus, and/or comments on or focuses on social issues and conflicts.”

With this definition of conscious hip-hop in mind, it’s natural that Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers (MMATBS) treads into waters that provoke sociopolitical thought–even if many other rappers avoid these particular issues. 

Toxic masculinity, misogyny, sexual abuse, homophobia, and transphobia are addressed in equal measure, topics often avoided, ignored and sometimes amplified by a male-dominated industry. Regarding sexual abuse, Lamar is one of several, including Denzel Curry and JPEGMAFIA who are bravely speaking about the experiences they or friends have undergone as young black boys at the hands of family members, and the ways it impacted their own relationships with women–creating an unhealthy cycle of misogyny rooted in a need to reclaim their manhood.

An entire culture exists unspoken regarding the sexual assault of young men: black and brown boys in particular, who experience abuse, and rather than acting out in ways we associate with abuse, they exhibit their trauma instead as aggression, internalization, or silence. According to this article, often the abuse goes unreported for issues ranging from internalized homophobia to a refusal to cooperate with sending family members to the legal system. 

With these thoughts in mind, Lamar’s reckoning with these issues brings to light many of the darkest secrets within the black community, while shedding light on the duality of the joy that can be experienced in a painful life. When telling stories about trans lives this theme is no strange concept, and arises in “Auntie Diaries”, his tale of two transgender family members, the impact they have had on his life and the understanding they have brought on how he conceptualizes people. 

The Central Message

As a concept album, those who don’t listen to Mr. Morale in its entirety may not receive the full effect of what Lamar is presenting to the world: an unbridled unburdening of thoughts, emotions, and experiences. It’s equal parts intimate, and at times overwhelming when examining the scale of information about his personal life he has presented us with. 

This isn’t anything new for him. Previous albums, such as his mega-hit good kid, m.A.A.d city are layered with personal anecdotes that have allowed Lamar’s fans the ability to connect with him in a way that extends beyond the beats. His music does more than get people up and moving, it allows connection and depth, reaching into the farthest heart of the roots of rap to remind us of the full extent of what rhyme can be.  

After a writer’s block-fueled absence of five years since his last album DAMN., Lamar reveals on Mr. Morale that he’s been undergoing a personal journey. Confronted with the impending demise of his marriage to his high school sweetheart due to his infidelity, his own inability to write, and the realization that his interpersonal relationships are distanced, Lamar reveals what he has learned in therapy, shedding light on the issues that have been plaguing him, as well as the men that surround him. 

There’s a subtle transition in the language used throughout the album and its content. Some listeners in threads on Reddit and YouTube note that Lamar’s description of women as “bitches” tapers out, and inevitably disappears in the second half as the theme of transcendence and discovery of the root of his misogyny is explored. Others note that his discussions of infidelity, commercialism, and other “surface level” talk often associated with rap disappear as time goes by. 

It’s at the end of MMATBS that “Auntie Diaries” appears, marking the tonal shift in which Lamar switches to songs focused on piano-laden tracks and soft-spoken vocals as opposed to rap. Here, he tells the story of two family members who have had a clear influence on him.

As the song takes off, Lamar begins to reminisce about his uncle (the title “Auntie Diaries” itself a somewhat problematic misnomer to be discussed later), stating:

My auntie is a man now

I think I'm old enough to understand now

Drinking Paul Masson with her hat turned backwards

Motorola pager, off-white Guess jacket

Blue Air Max's, gold chains, and curl kits

'93 Nissan wax job, the earliest

Big social, big personality, vocal

Played the underground verbatim and stayed local

My auntie is a man now

I watch him and his girl hold their hands down

Tip of the avenues under street lights made his

Thinking, "I want me a bad bitch when I get big"

For those who are members of or allies to the trans community, the language used here feels jarring. Lamar shifts from pronoun to pronoun, gender to gender fluidly in reference to his uncle, an interesting detail that is never worked out or resolved in the song. There is no static point in which his uncle simply becomes “he”, or stops being referred to as “auntie”, indicating that Lamar could house confusion about how to refer to him, simply not care, or see him interchangeably in a way that’s surpassed us all as mere listeners debating the point without knowing the family. 

One of the other points that’s significant to note however is the overwhelmingly positive memories Lamar invokes in reference to his uncle, some of which directly reference the influence his uncle had on his eventual rap career as well as influences upon his masculinity. 

These are important notes, particularly in consideration to the themes of toxic masculinity that abound in the album. In Lamar’s earlier song “Daddy Issues”, he confronts the harmful values instilled by his own father, which he realizes has negatively affected his ability to form healthy relationships. By all details provided the relationship Lamar has with his uncle is a positive one, and he serves as an influential role model who in some part shows Lamar some of the positive masculine attributes he’s been missing in his life. 

Often we don’t think about trans men in roles of caregiving, mentorship, or childrearing, and the song provides a beautiful and tender memory of the ways in which his uncle inspired and modeled the positive aspects of his character that today have shaped him into who he is. 

The second half of the song similarly describes another family member, Lamar’s cousin, who transitions from male to female.  Lamar recounts the fraught relationship that seemingly existed between the two due to misunderstandings and emotional disconnection that would later be resolved. 

Inevitably, the central message he means to convey is an understanding of things he didn’t fully grasp as a child, and that as a cisgender and heterosexual person he may not have fully grasped until recently. 

A poll conducted by the Public Religion Research Institute in 2019 revealed an increase of over 50% of people who reported having a close friend or family member who was trans in the United States (Greenberg, Nagle, Jackson et. al, 2019). That increase over the span of time since last reporting in 2011 is indicative of the ways growing visibility leads to understanding. 

The message Lamar is trying to state is overwhelmingly positive, yet the feedback for the song has been nothing short of divisive, even for the age of internet culture. Labeled by NPR as “jarring”, “a clumsy attempt at acceptance” by Vox, and alternately “powerful” by Variety, it was praised and shredded in equal measure by LGBTQIA+ fans and heterosexual ones alike. 

The most balanced review perhaps comes from Preston Mitchum of The Trevor Project, referencing some of the more controversial parts of the song to be explored: “I’m thankful he spoke in favor of love & acceptance of trans sibs – even after admitting what society did to them first,” he tweeted. “The [slur] threw me off because it isn’t his word to use. But that’s his point at the end.” (Andrew, 2022)

Central to these criticisms are recurring themes: the repeated use of the word “f–got” to cast a point, deadnaming, misgendering, and Lamar’s centering his own voice and experiences over his family members, opening the way for the discussion: do the ends justify the means? Does the intent justify the execution?

The (Positive) Elephant in the Room

Before breaking down these points, it’s necessary to address the elephant in the room – the complexity of emotions this song provokes. In itself, it offers a conundrum, a mixed vat of emotions that the world of “cancel culture” often fails to recognize. It’s a debate that’s as tinged with grey as they come, which in itself provokes profound observations about Lamar’s intentions and the state of homophobia and transphobia in hip-hop. 

It’s difficult to talk about this subject without acknowledging the inherent importance of this song and the fact that it simply exists on this album, put forth but a man of Lamar’s status, and his positioning as a cishet man with perhaps the most privilege possible in the world of hip-hop. His status is such that when he talks, tweets, or even whispers: the world listens, and when he has something to say: people notice. 

Hip-hop has a homophobia problem. Over the last 10 years, listeners and industry professionals alike who are not a part of the queer community (and even some who are) may have fallen into a degree of comfort, believing the presence of rappers like Saucy Santana, Lil’ Nas X, or Tyler, The Creator’s quasi-under-the-radar-admissions-of-bisexuality signaled greater acceptance of homoerotic identity. 

After all, in 2023 we now have A$AP Rocky, a man hailed as a certifiable fashion god cozying  up intimately beside trans actor Elliot Page in Gucci ads. Following Frank Ocean’s reveal of his orientation as a queer man, Russell Simmons released a public statement offering “I am profoundly moved by the courage and honesty of Frank Ocean. Your decision to go public about your sexual orientation gives hope and light to so many young people still living in fear.” (2010)

And yet…

When you attempt to name five rappers who top the Billboard charts belonging to the LGBTQIA+ community, can you do so? Male, female, or nonbinary? On Spotify, listeners can find dozens of so-called “Pride” playlists targeting queer listeners and allies filled with artists popular within the community. The rap playlists in particular are often lacking when it comes to actual LGBTQ performers, often including those who themselves may be played in clubs, despite histories of making inflammatory comments towards members of the very community the playlists are targeted towards. 

While bisexual women who adhere to concepts of traditional femininity are accepted to a greater degree, often they still do so while actively and continually dating men, making music for them, and creating songs appealing to them. For this reason, reactions to Megan Thee Stallion talking about sexual encounters with women in “Captain Hook” vary from the reaction to ppcocaine’s “DDLG”, a lesbian-kink anthem that alienated cishet men on a degree so prolific it caused a panic on YouTube. 

Still, the landscape remains somewhat stagnant. While artists like Steve Lacy seem to have a foot in the door, they aren’t able to break it down, making Lamar’s song head-on recognizing transphobia from the perspective of the community which implicitly engages in it (himself included), a celebratory effort–even when it doesn’t land well. 

Centering the Cishet Experience

Centering Lamar’s voice rather than that of his trans family members is one of the arguments posed in the criticism of “Auntie Diaries”. 

During the most pivotal moment of the track, Lamar relays a moment in which his pastor attempts to publicly shame his cousin for her gender identity. As the music swells, Lamar’s own voice rises as he calls out the hypocrisy of a religion that preaches love, while reinforcing bigotry, standing up in the center of the church to defend his cousin and actively condemning transphobia.

The combination of his voice, the music, and the words are cathartic, an emotional tidal wave that violently breaks for some who felt that the message simply wasn’t enough. Where Blood Orange gives space to trans voices on his album Negro Swan and rappers such as Vince Staples and JPEGMAFIA have publicly uplifted their trans peers, the basic statement of “I stood up for my trans cousin and love my uncle” rubs people the wrong way. 

Yet this argument fails to acknowledge a few different things: 1.) people are at different stages in their journeys of learning and growth, 2.) Lamar’s album is a reflection of his own self and it makes sense for the album to be centered on his own experience. 

To shift the topic of the song to issues such as anti-trans legislation or violence, would be an inauthentic reflection of an experience Lamar may not know. To utilize a voice not of his own would be admirable–yet he’s telling memories of his past, nothing more, or less, where his own voice holds the most merit. 

Dropping the F-Bomb

For virtually all involved, the emotional tidal wave all but violently collapses at the end of the track with a series of slurs, as Kung Fu Kenny rapidly fires the f-word repeatedly. 

There’s a point to this of course, and it’s stressed throughout the song. That doesn’t make it any less jarring, nor does it make it any less deserving of controversy in 2023, at a time when most of us have accepted that it’s not remotely acceptable to use without being a gay man or nonbinary individual (yes, this includes lesbians). 

The point? Lamar’s reflections on a time in which it was acceptable, and he used it abundantly. There was no ill intent behind his words, no true dislike of homosexuals (which is more than can be said about members of the community he likely grew up with). 

It can be difficult to imagine a time when many slurs were said with impunity, echoing across the halls of schools as commonplace parlances. The intergenerational divide between reclamation and past traumas is a sore sticking point. “It's still a difficult word to hear or read because of the past history. But language evolves,” stated an NPR editor when confronted with the complicated history of the word “queer” (Rocheleu, 2019).

Part of the grand irony of the worst part of this song that may get missed, however, is that it’s Lamar’s beloved uncle, the referenced “Auntie” who once again drives home the lesson. He remarks that with no ill intention in his heart, as a cisgender and heterosexual man, Lamar can certainly use those slurs: with a caveat. 

In 2018, Kendrick pulled a fan onstage in a now-infamous incident at one of his concerts for a performance of his song “m.A.A.d City”. The fan (a young white woman), proceeded to sing along thoroughly, including the racial slurs that caused Lamar to stop the entire concert for a common sense check of sorts. 

After it happened several more times, he simply booted her from the stage in frustration. Undoubtedly, the “woke” will agree that she should have known better. Unknown the most, including Lamar’s fans is a great irony–until Mr. Morale, Anna Wise (an incredibly talented vocalist who happens to be white) has provided all female vocals for his albums, racial slurs included. 

The caveat his uncle mentioned? He could indeed use homophobic slurs. If he himself allowed young white women to use the n-word. 

It’s a mic-drop moment, more or less suppressed by the flood of f-bombs that are chaotically insensible in their excessive use. It’s likely he hasn’t even used the word in years at that point, so why so many times now? There’s a good message, lost in the slurred sauce. 

Behind it all, however, is an album ripe with a man’s journey deep into the heart of emotional unrest, confrontation, and grief, a profound experience that we can celebrate. Within the black community, there’s an absence of black joy linked to introspection in men, and the destruction of toxic masculinity. An album that focuses on confronting trauma – even when it missteps (because hey, the guy is human like all of us) is truly a victory worth celebrating. 

Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers can be streamed via streaming platforms, purchased wherever music is sold, and you may even be able to borrow a copy from your local library. 

Citations:

[thevisibilityarchives]

Mary and Max. (2009), Adam Elliot

Disabled

Summary: Two lonely souls find the connection of a lifetime, their friendship growing through the exchange of heartfelt letters shared across the Atlantic for 20 years in Adam Elliot’s directorial debut. 

Full Review: The isolation enforced by the COVID-19 pandemic brought to the forefront a growing problem facing today’s population: the burden of loneliness. As social creatures, throughout the course of our evolution, it's been recognized that we have an innate desire to connect with others. Even for the most introverted of us, forming meaningful connections with a select few enhances our quality of life (and those select few can come as fellow humans, or four-legged furries). 

The difficulty of making and sustaining said connections is a challenge not to be dismissed, and one that is taking a growing toll on our mental and physical health, with Americans, in particular, reporting heightened rates of isolation even prior to COVID-19 pandemic. 

Some of the culprits? Many scientists debate whether technology helps or hinders communication, and there is no secret about the impact of modern-day technology on the social anxiety and self-esteem of those who engage with it, which can hamper the development and maintenance of interpersonal relationships. But the roots of this conversation extend back further than we often think about, and similar conversations took place in the 1960s and 70s with the integration of the television set into a growing number of households, as well as the introduction of fast food as a more commonplace feature of weekly dinnertime routines out of convenience. What was argued to be a “less social” family structure (the replacement of the dinnertime around the circular table ritual), was proposed as a trigger for what would result in children who would become less social, and who would fail in forming stable relationships of their own. 

Here in the 70s, is where Mary and Max. begins, on opposite sides of the world with two characters who embody both isolation and domestic instability in their own right. In Australia, the eight-year-old Mary Daisy Dinkle (voiced by Toni Collette) is a bullied youngster who lives with her alcoholic, kleptomaniac mother, and her emotionally-absent father. The closest person she has to a friend is her agoraphobic double-amputee neighbor, who she communicates with across the street via waves in the window and her pet rooster and as she wistfully spends her days drinking her favorite food, sweetened condensed milk, and gazing after her crush, Damien Papadoupolis (voiced by Eric Bana). 

One day while at the post office, Mary does what many children in the era of thoughtful penmanship, seeking random encounters of a time-forgotten kind have done: she picks a name out of a phone book, pondering what the lives of Americans must be like. It's a chance act, a name that could have been anyone, and it happens to belong to one Max Jerry Horowitz (the late Philip Seymour Hoffman). 

Dwelling in New York City, Max is a 44-year-old who has lived a life working odd jobs, seemingly moving from one thing to the next as life takes him. He is overweight, attending Overeaters Anonymous meetings at the behest of his psychiatrist, yet displays a degree of comfort with himself and his body despite every signal from society telling him he shouldn’t. These meetings are a discomfort to him, not due to the fact that he has no desire to lose weight, but due to the sexual harassment he endures from a fellow attendee and his inability to communicate his displeasure at her advances (more on this later). 

When Max receives Mary’s first few letters, they send him into full-scale panic attacks due to the gravitas of her curiosity and the scale of her questions. Eventually, however, the two form a friendship and discover they share the same love of chocolates, the Noblets (a Smurfs-like television show), and an understanding of one another's loneliness. 

The pair build a friendship that stands the test of time: Max’s meltdowns, Mary’s ascent through puberty, the death of her parents, and his own winning the lottery. It's a beautiful reminder of a time in which we could envision innocence in such an encounter, rather than assuming the worst.

In 2023, it’s clear from the outset that Max is neurodivergent. The description of the film is quick to point out his characterization as a man living with Asperger’s Syndrome, yet even millennials can remember that there was a time in which awareness of Autism Spectrum disorders wasn’t as commonly talked about, and those displaying neurodivergent qualities were often written off as “quirky” at best, or stereotyped as screaming “retards” at worst. 

From Max’s inability to fend off the woman at his Overeaters Anonymous meetings who aggressively kisses him to the occasionally inappropriate things he pens to Mary, Max displays hallmark symptoms of difficulties understanding how to relate to others, and the world around him, and struggles to emote. 

When Max is diagnosed with Asperger’s, it comes as an aha moment for him in which he finally has an answer for the questions people around him have been demanding for so long. In one of the most poignant speeches in the film, he writes to Mary:

“Dr. Bernard Hazelhof says my brain is defective but one day there will be a cure for my disability. I do not like it when he says this. I do not feel disabled, defective or I need to be cured.

I like being an Aspie. It would be like trying to change the colour of my eyes. There is one thing I wish I could change, however. I wish I could cry properly. I squeeze and squeeze but nothing...comes out.” (Mary & Max. (2009))

Following this, Mary sends him a jar of her own tears which he proclaims to be the best gift he has ever received. While he struggles to cry and emote in the ways neurotypical people do, the warmth that he feels practically emanates through the screen, a display of profound body language resonating through claymation that is a testament to the power of both the animation and power of Eliot’s writing.  

Later in the film, the most pivotal moment in their friendship comes when Mary, writing her senior thesis on Asperberger’s Syndrome, uses Max as her test case without his consent and publishes a book to launch her career which she hopes to use as a “cure”. She does not speak to him about this beforehand, somehow forgetting his statement all those years later, and informs him shortly before publishing when she sends him an advance copy of the book which nearly causes him to have a heart attack due to his outrage. He is betrayed by the feeling of being used and the implication that he needs to be cured. 

Furiously, Max goes back and forth about writing her an angry letter then finally resides on simply ripping out the “M” key from his typewriter and poignantly sending it to her, before ceasing contact for some time. 

In time, they resolve their relationship. As the older of the two, one of the more prominent details in the film is Mary endlessly flounders through the struggles that plague young women and seeks to resolve them by conforming the way society often tells us to: through romantic relationships, though aesthetically “fixing” ourselves, through pouring ourselves into careers or giving birth. Max on the other hand often imparts on her the most simplistic advice that over time, we inevitably learn to be the most effective: love yourself first. These are powerful words, printed on a chalky candy heart that are easily forgotten by Mary, discarded time and time again no matter how many times Max imparts them through various lessons, tales, or forms of advice. Yet throughout the twenty years of their friendship, they work effortlessly to improve his own life, offering him solace in a world that refuses to accept him.

Today, the idea of a 44-year-old man and an eight-year-old girl becoming pen-pals would undoubtedly strike the idea of “grooming” first and foremost in the hearts of many, and one would wonder if the film was realized in 2019 rather than 2009 if it would have been received as beautifully as it had. 

Given its time though, Mary and Max. instead captured the reminiscence of an era and the purity of a relationship that instead of ending in horror, represents the types of love we don’t see represented onscreen enough: platonic love, and self-love.  

Mary and Max. is a powerful film, one that stands as a beautiful example of representation of neurodivergent folks, as well as an example for young people about a bygone era of life in simpler times. Even now, it wasn’t so long ago that a generation of people now just in their 30s experienced the pleasure of making friends based on calling strangers in phone books, discovering the power of intentional connection, and the freedom that rested in long-form letters and postcards. 

Currently, Mary and Max. can be streamed on Tubi, rented via digital platforms like Amazon, Google Play, and YouTube, or you may be able to find a copy at your local library. 

Citations:

[thevisibilityarchives]

There There (2018), Tommy Orange

BIPOC

Summary: From the ill-fated Alcatraz Occupation to the nonprofit cubicles and projects of millennial Oakland, three generations of Native Americans are brought together for an annual Pow Wow that provokes questions of identity, and oppression, and highlights the experiences of America’s overlooked. 

Full review:

“What does it mean to be a real Indian?”

It’s the question that lingers in Tommy Orange’s There There, the celebrated debut novel that erupts with a brutal, but profound message: you think you’ve erased us, but we’re still here. 

The question itself is posed by Orvil Red Feather, an earnest teenager who ironically embodies the most passionate and solidified sense of self of all the characters presented in Orange’s vignette-style novel. Even as he questions and doubts himself, his identity, and his authenticity, he does so as someone attempting to connect with his heritage in a way that is admirable–and enviable. 

Orange makes it clear from the outset, that no community can be represented monolithically. While Orvil ponders whether he is “Indian enough”, a young man named Tony suffering from Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, and his friend Octavio hatch plans to heist an upcoming Pow Wow, stealing the prize money from their community so the latter can pay off money owed to his drug supplier. 

Set against the backdrop of Oakland, California is a prominent theme: poverty and oppression, rooted in white supremacy starting from the initial first contact and colonization of The Americas. When judging the actions of Octavio and his friends, or observing the prominence of alcoholism, drug addiction, or destitution prevalent within Orange’s novel, one cannot do so without examining how scenes of the past come together to form the full picture. 

In 1492, Italian explorer Christopher Columbus (today, arguments question whether ethnically he may be of Portuguese, Spanish, or other descent, but outside of the United States nationality is viewed with far less complexity. A person of Ghanaian descent born in France would simply be identified as French. Likewise, an American with Irish grandparents would not be wise to call themselves Irish when abroad.) set out on a wayward journey to India, instead landing on the other side of the globe. Upon landing in the “New World”, he noted the dark-skinned individuals and erroneously deemed them “Indians”, however in their interactions quickly found them to be far inferior to those he expected to find in India. 

They were uncivilized and barbarous creatures, serving Pagan gods, living in filth, exhibiting laziness, and lacking the technological advancement that made Europeans so righteous. Columbus recognized they were fit for conquer, relaying the following to Queen Isabella:

“...They have no arms and are all naked and without any knowledge of war, and very cowardly, so that a thousand of them would not face three. And they are also fitted to be ruled and to be set to work, to cultivate the land and to do all else that may be necessary, and you may build towns and teach them to go clothed and adopt our customs..." (Morgan, 2009)

It could of course seem as though he sought to do kindness to these poor savage creatures, but the reality was that Columbus’ methods varied depending on the tribes, and cooperation of the locals. They also eventually involved slavery, a practice that would come to grow into the largest, deadliest, and most consequential slave market in all of history: the West African Slave Trade. 

Today in the United States, he is held as a representative of Italian culture, his name marked by a celebratory bank holiday associated with cultural heritage despite the fact that other Italian figures–Leonardo Da Vinci, Julias Caesar, and Michelangelo to name a few–have all had immense contributions to culture that did not result in bloodshed that continues indirectly centuries later. 

 According to this map, a small number of states have thus adopted Indigenous People’s Day (in name only, mostly) in place of Columbus Day. Meanwhile, the holiday of Thanksgiving itself still serves as a celebratory recognition of the first shared holiday between European settlers and Native Americans, with no mention of all that would come next: slaughter, the despoilment of lands, and an intentional erasure of culture that lasted up until the last few decades. 

The dropoff of this government-sponsored erasure is where There There picks up, with a group of Native Americans attempting to occupy the island of Alcatraz in the momentous year-long preservation that served as a catalyst for Native rights protest movements of the 1970s. It is a turning point in which Orvil Red Feather’s grandmothers Jacquie and Opal Victoria come to understand that they will return to their lives in the city, struggling to make ends meet because it is all they can do. Alongside the other black, brown, and yellow people tucked into ramshackle houses and forced to fight for a way into the suburban sprawl to achieve the American Dream–combatting brick walls of stereotypes, the realities of poverty, and the toll racial trauma takes on our mental health–they become lost in the melting pot of urbanization. Another statistic, another person of color, another welfare recipient. Some intermarry. Some retain the old ways of life. Some die off too soon. Most adapt, persevere, and continue on. 

Orvil’s question is never answered. It can’t be, but it provokes poignant observations nonetheless. Most notably, can this definition change over time? Today, most people who are of Indigenous heritage have the unique perspective of having access to their culture, as well as the recent cultural memories of oppression and pain other ethnicities do not. It’s an enviable ability, one that cannot even be claimed by European-Americans and exists solely within Indigenous people of the world who have faced the pressure of assimilation, adapted, yet retained parts of themselves.

The full puzzle these pieces come together to create over time is a portrait that Orange displays in full gravity: a small sampling of the lives that each Thanksgiving, more and more of us are beginning to think about, despite being pressured to forget and focus instead on family, turkey, and American football. 

Which seems strange, given the purpose of a holiday seemingly rooted in the mythos of remembering these very people. 

You can find There There at your local library, here, or at your local bookstore. 

Citations:

[thevisibilityarchives]

The Bone People (1984), Keri Hulme

LGBTQIA+

Summary: On New Zealand’s South Island, three isolated souls find solace in one another, bonded by their identities as mixed-race, their damaged familial relationships, and the journeys they must undertake to learn how to love. Keri Hulme unveils the deep heart of love, the complexities of abuse, and the poisonous fruits of intergenerational violence in her controversial and monumental work, The Bone People. 

Full review: High atop a tower, amidst the choppy seas, there once dwelled a large and menacing creature, unlike anything the locals had seen…

It is a fitting Brothers Grimm-esque description of the tone set by the opening of Keri Hulme’s The Bone People, which quickly shifts from tragedy on the Pacific to the self-imposed peace of Kerewin’s domicile: an eccentric and imposing structure befitting an equally eccentric and imposing woman. 

In Te Waipounamu, Kerewin has carved out a life for herself that is every introvert’s fantasy. Having won the lottery young and invested the money to win it back tenfold, she lives a labor-free life, spending her days spearfishing, playing the guitar, and drinking without a care in the world. 

The home she raises would plague a suburban Home Owners Association: a multi-story tower with dolphin-adorned banisters, toadstools peeking from corners, and an overgrown weed-strewn garden. It is a home created with a sole purpose: Kerewin. It is not a place for visitors or dinner parties, for hosting family or friends or visitors of any nature. 

By her own definition, Kerewin is very much the “spinster” single and childfree women of a certain age are branded when they are not involved in monogamous heterosexual relationships by a certain age. Written in 1985, off the bat it is refreshing to read a book wherein the dominant narrative does not revolve around Kerewin’s inherent need to “resolve” this status, and it is clear from the beginning that there is an intentional choice in it. 

Kerewin is childfree, not childess, a distinction that is growing but still merits broader discussion. Childfree individuals make an active choice, at some point in their lives, to forgo having children. In doing so they often bear society’s judgement, pressure, and even hostility for going against what many deem to be the “default choice” we should all fulfill with our bodies–to reproduce. Childfree people may choose this decision at a young age or may choose it during their 20s and 30s, after actively giving thought to having their own children and deciding against it. They may love children, dislike them, may fill their lives with the children of their friends, pets, or simply be happy without assuming any type of caregiver role.

Childless people, alternately, can be defined as those who may genuinely want biological children, but be unable to have them. They may experience significant emotional pain over their inability to have children, judgment and stigma directed towards their so-called failings, and may not find adoption, surrogacy, or IVF suitable or financially available options. 

Kerewin makes clear her feelings about children early on: she doesn’t like them. Frankly, she doesn’t like much of anyone: that’s why she lives alone, thrives alone, and chooses isolation, which makes it fitting that when a child appears in her window, injured and alone during a whirling storm Kerewin’s immediate reactions of both pity and irritation are so enthralling. She’s immediately drawn to the boy, a sopping wet thing projecting an aura of mystique and the maturity that precedes and child who knows more about the world than they should.

“Mature for their age” is a compliment granted to children and young women alike, who are today learning that it is often an unconscious recognition of the ways abuse leaves its mark. The effects can be mental, showing up as behaviors that appear to make one older than they are, or physical, such as early onset puberty, thinning in the ventromedial prefrontal cortex, and reduced cortical thickness according to the Americal Psychological Association (Colich, Williams, et. al 2020). 

As he is unable to speak, Kerewin discovers that she must take time to interpret what the boy, Simon is saying. He in turn discovers that she has patience he is unused to, and from there the two develop a bond that draws them together, transcending his rampant behavioral issues and naturally bringing forth the involvement of his adopted father Joe, who develops an attraction to Kerewin. 

The trio becomes close over their shared experiences having multiracial heritages of Pākehā (European) and Māori descent, and as Kerewin comes to care for Simon and Joe she also notes the symptoms of abuse Simon displays, both physical and emotional. As she tries to get to the root of who is responsible, Simon finds in her the first semblance of a mother he has had since Joe’s wife died, while Joe questions the nature of Kerewin’s asexuality. 

There are several times throughout the book when the direct question of Kerewin’s sexual orientation comes up. As she is directly based on the author, Keri Hulme herself, there could be no better source of writing on this front regarding representation in asexuality than the simple expression of “it’s who I am.”

Asexuality can be a confusing concept to wrap one's mind around, in part because it does not take a monolithic form, as well as because representation is so lacking for those of us who do not belong to the community. Asexual identities encompass nine labels people may gravitate towards, and the spectrum itself, like any, is prone to fluidity. 

Throughout the book, Kerewin is asked whether her asexuality is the result of sexual trauma, whether she is actually a lesbian or bisexual, and consistently whether she and Joe are sexually and romantically involved due to their gradual co-parenting of Simon.

In a brief but poignant speech, Kerewin details that she has never experienced any degree of sexual passion, interest, or feeling. She has attempted to learn about the reason for people’s interest in sex, reading books like the Kama Sutra, and picking apart whether there is something “wrong” with her, only to determine she simply is who she is, a fact Joe must accept. 

Despite being pegged as aromantic, Kerewin is a creature capable of love. While our society harps upon the importance of romantic love (to the deficit of all others), it is a testament to her own love for Simon and Joe the increasing feeling of protectiveness she begins to display over Simon, as well as her reaction upon the discovery that Joe is the responsible party for Simon’s physical abuse. 

The book has generated significant controversy for Hulme’s relentless depiction of this topic, as well as the portrayal of Kerewin, Joe, and Simon as ultimately three-dimensional characterization on this front. 

Simon is a boy who both hates and loves his father, Joe is a man who is both spiteful and pitiable, and Kerewin is both a perpetrator and a savior. It’s complex, and the reaction itself speaks volumes about the way different cultures speak about abuse, view the roles of abusers, and the idea of the psychology of victims, the cycle of abuse, punishments, and so on. 

All of this is draped within a mixture of Māori and Pākehā culture, with the book continuously streaming in and out of Māori dialogue, incorporating the atmosphere of Te Waipounamu in each and every meal, blade of grass, and breath the characters take, and bringing forth the mythology of one of the few cultures who have faced colonialism, yet are permitted the stamp of appreciation under the modern gaze due to New Zealand’s appeal to white culture. 

You can find The Bone People at your local library, on ThriftBooks, or at Barnes & Noble. 

Citations:

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/5151801806

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2022/apr/18/childless-childfree-child

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/childless-women-discrimination_n_58b6f352e4b0780bac2f3413

https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/health-wellness/2021/11/29/trauma-forces-some-children-mature-here-their-stories/6358716001/

Natalie Colich, Eileen S. Williams, Maya Rosen and Katie McLaughlin. Biological Aging in Childhood and Adolescence Following Experiences of Threat and Deprivation: A Systematic Review and Meta-Analysis. Psychological Bulletin, 2020 DOI: 10.1037/bul0000270

https://www.asexuals.net/asexual-spectrum/

https://www.thriftbooks.com/w/the-bone-people_keri-hulme/265444/?resultid=3817f3f4-addc-4b5f-a780-c9685dac3d8d#edition=14605880&idiq=46581207

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bone-people-keri-hulme/1100258806

[thevisibilityarchives]

Hi Tumblr,

Help me out a bit? I'm seeing a huge uptick in people saying that "trans romcoms" and "happy trans books" don't exist, and like... I published one two years ago and the paperback is still readily available at bookstores, so this is just not true?

My battle to get Meet Cute Diary recognized as a romcom is literally still ongoing. People keep arguing it MUST be an issue book just because the characters are PoC and trans, but it's literally a comedy, it doesn't "educate" on trans issues, and his being trans is NOT the plot of the story.

Anyway, I don't need anyone to buy the book or read the book or like the book. I just want people to acknowledge that it exists so I can stop 1. having to explain to people that it's not an issue book. The fact that it doesn't deal in trans suffering is actually the highlight, yes. and 2. dealing with people blatantly erasing the fight and progress I made within the industry just to get this book published.

Anyway, this is the cover. If you could just share it around and let people know that we *are* allowed to write trans romcoms and one already exists and has had bookshelf space in stores across the U.S. and ALSO in several other countries, that would be great, thanks!

[thevisibilityarchives]

Mass Effect (2007 - Present), BioWare & EA

Disabled

Summary: In the 2180s, humanity has harnessed mass effect technology, a discovery that jettisons forward centuries of advancement in a matter of decades. Space exploration, colonization, and technological advancement propel unprecedented evolution. As Commander Shepard, players assume the role of a celebrated military hero representing the human race whose life changes forever when a routine covert-ops mission unearths a deadly threat with paramount implications. 

Where Mass Effect Soars – and Occasionally Flounders – in Its Disabled Representation of Joker

The release of BioWare’s Mass Effect in 2007 kicked off the first installment of a trilogy that can be credited as one of the most prolific video games in history. Right out the gate, the game brought together a confluence of traits necessary for success: an original storyline, role-playing capabilities allowing players to immerse themselves and influence the game based on their actions, high-stakes combat, and beloved science-fiction tropes and callbacks. The resulting product? A series touted as “some of the best sci-fi ever made”, which has consistently achieved critical acclaim from both critics and fans alike and sports a monumental fan base, even 16 years after its release. 

There’s much to be beloved about the game, from the philosophical questions it poses about everything from genocide, xenophobia, the cost of colonialism, AI sentience and evolution, and the self-destructive nature of human beings, to the RPG mechanics that allow plays to fall in love, and define themselves again and again. Each time playing I find something new I never noticed before. With each of these three massive games that take hours to explore, building and expanding upon challenges becomes an entertaining adventure – especially when being granted the rare opportunity to do so with a character whose gender and race I have the ability to choose to my liking. 

Commander Shepard’s character is deeply shaped by their experiences, background, and the choices players make, culminating in a gameplay experience with high replay value, even years after controversy following what many perceived as a less-than-satisfactory ending, and a spin-off game mired in disappointing reviews. 

As mentioned in my previous post covering SyFy/Amazon’s The Expanse, one part of the successful formula of a sci-fi opera lies in the successful writing of not one, but multiple engaging characters, and Mass Effect is no exception. Commander Shepard is surrounded by a mishmash of personalities, experts with the ability to enhance your probability of ultimate survival and success in the game’s final missions over the trilogy.

No exception to this is the ship’s pilot Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau, known colloquially as “Joker”, and voiced by veteran comedian Seth Green. Undoubtedly the best human pilot in the galaxy, Joker’s place aboard the most cutting-edge ship in humanity’s arsenal is no incidental placement and the writing of his character as one with a physical disability is an example of the gains made in representation in a time where “political correctness” had not yet become a charged topic. It’s a reminder that positive, respectful, and nuanced representation can and does exist – even if it does occasionally slip up. 

The Power That Lies in Introductions

Unlike The Expanse, Mass Effect doesn’t grant players the reality of a future in which diversity has become the norm we would expect. While your crewmates vary in race, gender, and even species, representation flails in the way we can only expect of a piece of media designed, written, and driven at the hands of primarily white, cisgender, male video game designers in the early 2000s. 

As one of only two main characters with a disability (the other being a potential love interest who suffers from severe migraines), Joker’s presence becomes that of the stock disabled character, and in that like other characters who are (or at least have the potential to be) tokenized, his introduction within the series sets to stage for whether his inclusion will indeed become a hollow symbol of diversity or a realistic reflection of it. 

The introduction of a minority character sets the first impression of how we, as viewers, players, or readers will get to know them. It can make or break some people’s interpretations of them, and even influence how they will be regarded by fanbases in the future. 

The first time Joker is seen, rather than being beholden to his status as a disabled character, his personality becomes the defining characteristic of his person: the sarcastic and biting wit that lends him his name. It is not until later in the game that you have the option to uncover that he is disabled, and it is entirely possible for players to miss or forgo this interaction entirely.

Through both this interaction, as well as the unveiling (or lack thereof) of this scene it's apparent: Joker exists to serve a purpose far beyond that of representation. He is a pilot first and foremost, a crew member second, and a source of comedic venting, and overall, his disability becomes but a detail of his character rather than reason he exists.

Typically, “the disabled characters we're presented with usually fit one or more of the following stereotypes: Victim, Villain, Inspiration, Monster. And the disabled character's storyline is generally resolved in one of a few ways: Cure, Death, Institutionalization.” (Nussbaum, 2013)

In describing the ways disabled characters are typically portrayed in fictional works, playwright and author Susan Nussbaum explores the way able-bodied writers have historically pigeon-holed disabled representation for centuries, capturing the tales of mentally, physically, and intellectually disabled people in ways that reduce them to sideline tropes meant to serve as a tool to fulfill the purpose of the main characters. 

Joker is none of these things: the victim, the villain, the inspiration, or the monster. He simply is, the ultimate state of being that represents how most of us with disabilities exist. Given the state of technological advancement of the fictional universe portrayed within the narrative, his characterization becomes all the more important when we consider what it means for writers to forgo the need for the resolution Nussbaum mentions, allowing integral insight into the fact that sometimes to be disabled is to also simply learn to accept. 

Forgoing a resolution

Some fans argue that Joker’s condition – Vrolik’s Disease, presents something of a “plot hole” within the narrative. Within the world of ME, medical technology has advanced along with many other types of technologies, allowing a significantly enhanced quality of life that has all but eradicated certain diseases and extended the life expectancy in wealthy nations to 150 years. 

The aforementioned character with migraines, Kaidan Alenko, suffers from his condition due to his status as a biotic. Within the ME universe, biotics are those with the ability to manipulate mass effect fields, and among the human population in the last generation or two have developed as a result of several genetic testing incidents. Paired with an amplifier embedded in the base of the skull, humans who develop biotic powers can be trained to hone them, and often find themselves sought after as contractors by the military due to their abilities (and shunned just about everywhere else among humans). The first iterations of the “amps” designed cause significant side effects, the migraines being among the least severe, and death being the most. 

The search for upgraded amps is a small detail found within side quests, barely noticeable and buried among the dozens, if not hundreds within the entire trilogy players can engage in–or miss–if they do not pay careful attention to the dialogue and exploration of the galaxy available to them. It is also one of several side quests in which characters who suffer some type of illness seek a quality of life resolution, be it financial compensation, moral recognition, or a cure. 

Commander Shepard receives cybernetic implants in the second game, following their death in the opening of the game after being exposed to the vacuum of space following the destruction of their ship. These same implants opened up a debate as to why Joker would not receive the same treatment. 

In the blog Writing Diversely, Sossity Chiricuzio touches upon a common trope that appears within disability narratives: seeking a cure. They write “Disabled people do not need to be fixed, or saved from themselves. Disabled bodies are valid just as they are, with complex strengths, wisdom, beauty, and vulnerabilities.”

These arguments at their core fail to acknowledge the idea that disabled people can learn to live without a constant desire to be “fixed”. Just as many fail to comprehend the idea that a fat person can exist in a state of self-acceptance with their body, or that a black person can touch the natural coils of their hair without feeling dismayed, disabled people can feel at ease in their body on good days – and frustrated on bad ones, without a narrative driving them for a cure. 

Alternative arguments have centered around his status as being “fit for duty” by the standards of the Alliance Military, and whether in being disabled, he would actually be eligible to serve. 

It’s worth noting that ME was written in the post-9/11 years, in which pro-military sentiments reached an all-time high. Games like Call of Duty and Far Cry excelled due to their appeal to a gaming community that still targeted a predominantly white and male audience. 

In truth, this is where we likely need to remember that the game has a race of 8-foot-tall jellyfish-like creatures who speak in the third person. Within the United States Army, servicemen cleared for duty are eligible to serve with a disability diagnosis. Within the world of ME, The Alliance Military represents all allied U.N. forces as a whole, and it is possible that standards have changed, Joker has been cleared for duty, or that the writers simply never thought too much about it.

For those naysayers, however, there comes an opportunity for Joker to prove he is “fit for service”  within the second game, further securing his status as a positive portrayal of a disabled character in a truly monumental moment. 

Joker’s Big Moment

One of Joker’s greatest moments–and the greatest scenes in the ME trilogy as a whole–occurs near the end of the second game, where players briefly have the opportunity to play as Joker for a mission. While Commander Shepard is away from their ship the Normandy, it’s boarded by the hostile alien race you have been battling for the entire game, and Joker must now do what he can to both drive the creatures from the ship while keeping himself alive. 

This is the only time you play as another character in the entire trilogy, and it is difficult not to attribute any importance to that decision on the writers’ behalf. Any other character could have been chosen at this moment: Dr. Chakwas, the (hot) older medic who undoubtedly could hold her own with a gun. The Janitor/Cook Rupert, who makes unsettling jokes about the nature of his dual job of cleaning the toilets and preparing gourmet meals. There is any number of crew members BioWare writers could have billed here, yet it is Joker they chose and the payout is huge. 

Playing as Commander Shepard, you come into the trilogy as a top-tier war veteran serving in the highest-rated program within the military, the N7s. For nearly all of the trilogy, you are clad in armor, armed with varying weapons, and granted various power abilities that you have the opportunity to assign yourself. Even at the beginning of the game at your “weakest”, if you know what you are doing you can make a beautiful mess of your enemies. 

Playing as Joker, each and every one of these qualities is stripped away. As a pilot, you have no weapons. You have no armor. You have no powers. And more than that, due to Joker’s condition: you have physical mobility constraints. 

It’s a fantastically designed scene. Joker presents no underlying superpowers or overcompensatory abilities that propel him from the realm of realism to the unbelievable. He saves the Normandy with all he has, and unless players stick to the strict timing constraints of the game given his limitations, they will die during the mission. 

Single-handedly Joker saves the ship, and the writers of the game prove they have a core understanding during this mission of the ways in which physical disabilities can affect people’s lives – especially during times of physical challenges. 

For all these positive areas, there is one theme where the series does potentially come up short: the question of love, and the narrative of how we portray relationships between people with physical disabilities and those who are able-bodied. 

Where Mass Effect Falls Short

One of ME’s greatest calling cards is its romance arcs, and the ability for players to engage in (monogamous) romantic relationships with characters during the course of the games.

In an effort to include more same-sex options, Mass Effect 2 & 3 include non-squad mate romances, meaning Commander Shepard can romance crew members who do not go on combat missions with them but reside on the ship and assist with operations. The second and third games also place more emphasis on friendship building, a feature notably absent in the first game. 

Crewmates and squad members who are not pursued by Commander Shepard often end up pursuing one another, a sensible detail granted by the writers that yields fantastic background conversation. One such pursuit is that by Joker, whose romance arc becomes a small plotline of its own when he and his love interest consult Shepard for advice on the matter. 

Introduced in the second game, Joker ends up getting paired off the EDI, the ship Artificial Intelligence who progressively gains sentience and awareness over the course of the games and completely “breaks free” during Joker’s Mission mentioned in the previous section, when he removes her shackling protocols so she can help take defensive measures of the ship during the attack. 

Her evolution is rapid, and core to one of the central themes of the game: can AI truly gain sentience? Can AI become a person?

As a sassy and prideful pilot, EDI’s introduction to Joker goes over as well as curdled milk, and the general development of their relationship points to its inevitable outcome despite the insistence of the writers that they didn’t intend it. When she picks up an overtly-sexy android body in the third game, it becomes all but solidified. Over the course of the year or so spent with Joker at the helm of the Normandy arguing about flight settings, telling jokes, and getting to know one another, the two develop feelings in a way that we are now seeing in real-life with the 2023 Replika AI controversy. 

There lies one issue with this, however, which is that in pairing Joker with EDI, ME reinforces (consciously or unconsciously) the harmful and untrue stereotype about disabled people’s sex lives. 

Whether it's the complete erasure of disabled people’s sexual desire or ignoring the barriers to sexual access they face, people with disabilities are often portrayed in ways that can be both inconsistent and harmful to healthy sex lives. While disabled asexual people certainly exist, it is important that we do not erase the majority who have or want active and healthy sex lives. 

The punchline of Joker and EDI’s relationship in the third game often revolves around their inability to physically be together without her causing physical harm to him. 

So the question remains…why wasn’t Joker additionally given a romance arc and the option to be picked up by Commander Shepard, whom he’s known for years and stood by? It’s hard to say, but regardless the choice of pairing him up with EDI essentially seems a decision played for “laughs” that does a great disservice to the romantic representation of disabled folks after all the strides the game takes the create such a fantastic character. 

That said, there’s no discounting that Joker is an overwhelmingly adept portrayal of people with physical disabilities, and an example of where writers can and should be aiming in diversity representation. As we await Mass Effect 4, with the ending of the first trilogy we can only hope that we see new narratives that only improve further on what is an exemplary foundation. 

You can purchase the Mass Effect Legendary Edition (which includes the remastered trilogy and all DLCs) here for Xbox, PlayStation, or PC, at big box stores, or gaming stores, or borrow it at your local library. 

Citations:

https://www.theguardian.com/games/2021/aug/14/why-mass-effect-is-some-of-the-best-sci-fi-ever-made

https://www.metacritic.com/search/all/mass%20effect/results?page=0

https://www.forbes.com/sites/paultassi/2021/05/15/fine-lets-debate-the-mass-effect-3-ending-again/?sh=6b7c62cd3769

https://www.ign.com/articles/2017/03/20/mass-effect-andromeda-review

https://gamerant.com/mass-effect-joker-most-important-character/

https://youtu.be/AI4lXXzpMhI

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/disabled-characters-in-fiction_b_4302481

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osteogenesis_imperfecta

https://www.writingdiversely.com/post/disabled-characters-avoiding-the-tragedy-or-inspiration-binary

https://www.military.com/benefits/veteran-benefits/disability/having-va-disability-rating-doesnt-prevent-you-serving-military.html#:~:text=%20Yes%2C%20it%20may%20be%20possible%20to%20serve,disability%20compensation%20payments%20to%20comply%20with%20federal%20law.

https://masseffect.fandom.com/wiki/EDI?file=Jungle_planet_-_joker_and_EDI.png

https://theconversation.com/i-tried-the-replika-ai-companion-and-can-see-why-users-are-falling-hard-the-app-raises-serious-ethical-questions-200257

https://www.popsugar.com/love/misconceptions-around-intimacy-in-disability-community-48530695

https://www.ea.com/games/mass-effect/mass-effect-legendary-edition

[thevisibilityarchives]

Homegoing (2016), Yaa Gyasi

BIPOC

Summary: In the heart of Africa’s Gold Coast, two half-sisters, Effia and Esi, fall victim to the West African Slave Trade in drastically different ways. Their experiences plant the seeds for what their ancestors will undergo in the centuries to come in Yaa Gyasi’s debut novel exploring the familial roots essential to blackness in America. 

Full review: What does it mean to be an African-American? Because it has ranged for decades, it can be easy for younger generations to be unaware of the roots of the debate about identifying as “black vs. African-American”. The distinction may seem nonsensical or petty, a pure syntactical preference rooted in self-consciousness about black identity. 

However, the conversation was born out of a recognition that blackness is not a monolith. One could be black, but not African-American. African-American is a term specifically meant to refer to those born on U.S. soil to the descendants of those enslaved generations past. Our identity and culture are unique in that the era of slavery so wholly shaped who were were, and who we are today. 

Another differentiation for descendants of those who were enslaved (and a particularly sobering one), is that most, if not all of us, have European ancestry. Various fantasies, arguments, and justifications exist to explain what this may have meant for our ancestors. Under the yolk of racism, however, the answer is fairly clear: our homelands were taken and despoiled, then our bodies were taken to a new land and equally despoiled. 

In a way, this is where Yaa Gyasi’s Homegoing begins, with Effia and Esi–two Asante women dwelling on the Gold Coast in the early 1800s. This British colony would eventually become known as Ghana.

Despised by her mother, Effia is married off to a white merchant currently residing at the Cape Coast Castle, a menacing structure that became the final portal for slaves shipping out across the Atlantic. As his common-law wife, she is treated as gently as a woman can be in a patriarchal society, and their relationship fulfills the previously-mentioned arguments set forth about interracial relationships during the age of the Slave Trade. Effia did not choose her husband James. She did not elect him out of love or desire. She was lucky enough though to have been met with a man who treated her with kindness and gentility, and given that he was legally married to a white woman in Britain, he remained committed to her as a common-law wife and cared for their son, Quey. 

Esi is not so lucky and represents the majority of experiences our ancestors encountered. 

Captured as a slave, Esi is taken beneath the bowels of the very Cape Coast Castle in which Effia resides on the upper floors, ignorant that below her feet pass the bodies of Asanti peoples like chattel. In the dank dark, it is there she is taken by an unknown white sailor, not by the kind tenderness shown by James, but by cruelty and callousness in a pool of human excrement. There will be no one but her to care for the child, who will be born into slavery.

Gyasi does not attempt to shy away from the fact that the Asanti people are in fact, complicit in the slave trade. Often, Conservatives attempt to argue in favor of racism by perpetuating the narrative that because West Africans took part in slavery, this serves as some sort of justification for its existence. 

Often, these arguments tend to ignore the fact that the intertribal slavery present within West African cultures prior to the West African slave trade, or even that practiced by the Vikings, Romans, Egyptians, or Aztecs does not really equate to the prolific scale of that which took part during the WAST. No other slave trade resulted directly in the formation of a set of prejudices and beliefs created solely just to sustain it. 

Race, as we know it, is a byproduct of this justification, defined by the National Human Genome Research Institute as: 

“a social construct used to group people. Race was constructed as a hierarchal human-grouping system, generating racial classifications to identify, distinguish and marginalize some groups across nations, regions and the world. Race divides human populations into groups often based on physical appearance, social factors and cultural backgrounds.”

No other slave trade resulted in the violent erasure of cultures, the systematic destruction of belief systems, and the violent attempt to so intensely segregate populations, the reverberations of which continue to exist today in the form of police brutality, gerrymandering, and the Supreme Court’s newest measures the end Affirmative Action, effectively restricting access to black and brown individuals from now reaching the upper echelons of academia.

Poverty, drug abuse, death, hope, famine, fear, lust, love, greed, violence, disease: these are the experiences of Esi’s ancestors in America, the experiences of my ancestors, of our ancestors. Where they diverge from Effia’s, they eventually converge once more for colonialism leaves nothing untouched in its corruption. It simply transforms things differently. Where it chokes the petals of a flower in one way on one side, its strangle may look slightly different on another. 

In America, we were beholden to slavery. We tilled fields, and in exchange were “gifted” Christianity as our languages and spirituality were violently beaten out of us. We were forced to conform or die, and left with just enough of our culture to influence the world around us so that our Creole flavors, soulful music, curvaceous bodies, and shrugged off and discredited ideas can flow in and out of fashion, never given full credit where it’s due. 

It is our story, the story of African-Americans: those descended from slaves, and by extension, those who have immigrated here. 

Black History Month celebrates the accomplishments of Black Americans, however many African-Americans remain ignorant of the long history of what has been lost to us: the culture stolen, the history hidden, the pain beneath, and the homes left behind.

You can find Homegoing at your local library, big box bookstores, local bookstores, or here via IndieBound.

Citations:

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/not-all-black-people-are-african-american-what-is-the-difference/

https://www.science.org/content/article/genetic-study-reveals-surprising-ancestry-many-americans

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cape_Coast_Castle

https://nmaahc.si.edu/learn/talking-about-race/topics/historical-foundations-race

https://www.genome.gov/genetics-glossary/Race

https://www.forbes.com/sites/evangerstmann/2022/01/24/the-supreme-court-gets-ready-to-end-affirmative-action/?sh=7ab8a9695e38

https://youtu.be/v9hlvEl3Gf0

https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781101971062?aff=penguinrandom

https://www.washingtonpost.com/history/2020/12/15/enslaved-african-smallpox-vaccine-coronavirus/

[thevisibilityarchives]

In The Dream House (2019), Carmen Maria Machado

LGBTQIA+

**TW** This review will contain discussions of partner abuse (including verbal, physical, and sexual assault) some may find triggering. 

Summary: Abuse is a rolling cycle: it perpetuates, begets, and traps. Unspoken within the queer community, a vicious spell of enablement and toxicity festers in the form of partner abuse, described by writer Carmen Maria Machado in her memoir In The Dream House. In heart-rending prose and roiling verses Machado spells her story, reminding us of the experiences untold in the LGBTQIA+ community and recalling how it all went wrong for her. 

Full Review: The topic of abuse within queer romantic and sexual relationships is an oft-ignored narrative with harrowing consequences. Statistics from the National Domestic Violence Hotline report that 26% of gay men, 37.3% of bisexual men, 43.8% of lesbian women, and 61.1% of bisexual women report experiences of rape, physical violence, and/or stalking by an intimate partner at some point in their life. 

Of those numbers, fewer than 5% seek protection orders from the police. This number compares to 35% of heterosexual women, of whom partner abuse narratives often center in the media, fundraising campaigns, and the general perception of domestic violence. 

The Australian Institute of Family Studies’ Practice Guide on addressing the issue notes “gender roles and assumptions about LGBTIQ relationships affect the way domestic violence service providers view intimate partner violence…the dominant view of men as perpetrators and women as victims may inhibit the ability of both victims and service providers to recognise intimate partner violence in LGBTIQ relationships.” (Campo and Tayton, 2015)

This heteronormative viewpoint has been commonplace for many of us who grew up prior to the age of internet culture, including Machado herself, who details the experience of falling into an abusive relationship during In The Dream House, her years trapped in it, and the process of seeking an out. 

Within the confines of a queer relationship, who is the abuser, and who is the abusee? The top? Surely, the one who physically wields the most strength. Is it inherent to the one with the most masculine features? These are stereotypes both Machado and older readers may find reminiscent over the course of the book, a discomforting misjudgment that comes to greet Machado with a brutal awakening. Her slender white partner, presenting with both masculine and feminine attributes (stemme), serves in the role of abuser against the larger-bodied, brown-skinned Machado. After all, larger bodies are more physically resilient, and Latino women are loud, argumentative, defensive, and often antagonistic towards their partners – according to stereotypes. 

Machado meets The Woman In The Dream House while attending the University of Iowa, finding a relationship as seemingly out of place as she herself is in the rural plains of the U.S. 

Curvaceous and brown-skinned, capturing the attention of the lithe stemme Woman is a narrative worth sharing in a queer society that often reinforces Eurocentric beauty ideals far more aggressively than the heterosexual community does. 

Machado and The Woman meet at a time when The Woman is in a relationship with another named Val. For a time, they attempt to date openly, a relationship in which The Woman dates Machado, and Val. It is more of an open situation than a polyamorous triad, with Machado relegated to the role of a “casual” sexual partner, and The Woman and Val maintaining a more committed emotional relationship. 

After some time Val and The Woman end their relationship on suspicious terms, leaving The Woman free to join Machado, and so they enter The Dream House, which becomes a symbolic and horrifying force wherein Machado faces years of torment and abuse at the hands of The Woman. 

The Dream House itself represents both a metaphorical place and an emotional state of being. Within its confines, Machado finds herself uneasily trapped in a daze, a clusterfuck of corridors forever rearranged like an MC Escher print. Gaslighting, sobering apologies, lamentable self-esteem, and isolation from her friends and family – it's the hallmark compositional maze of abusive ruin. Slowly but surely Machado loses parts of herself, The Woman chipping away at her being, her passions, her support, and her sureness, until all that is left is a lost figure in the hallways of The Dream House too confused to remember at times that her reality isn’t a natural state. 

It’s a harrowing and remarkably awful tale, one that will reek of painful remembrance to survivors, and speaks to a deep and pervasive secret lurking in the LGBTQIA community: queer partner abuse, which encompasses physical, emotional, sexual, and verbal assault at rates often ignored by mainstream media. 

There is a happy end to Machado’s tale if there can be one. Her escape from The Dream House yields a reconnection with Val, The Woman’s former partner and the two eventually marry, finding solace over their former experience at the hands of The Woman, a measure of unifying healing that brings them together for a time.

Like many survivors, Machado notes the reaction of mutual friends she shares with The Woman, who express the “that doesn’t like something they’d do” sentiment that often dismisses the experiences of survivors when an abuser's friends, family, or admirers do not want to or cannot reckon with their perception of them in juxtaposition to the details of their actions.

Rather than accepting that life exists within a state of complexity, often the stories of survivors get ignored or dismissed,  the community they need revoked, and friends and family turn their backs. While Machado mentions having lost shared friends, the relationship found with Val paints a small ray of hope given the amount of validation it must have provided, nurtured by their shared experience. 

The flow of the book is structured to mirror the rampaging emotions and thoughts that encompass such a foreboding tale, sometimes spiraling off into wistful thoughts, sometimes thumping forward into horrific anger as the claustrophobic walls of The Dream House close in. It's an oppressive and nightmarish read for survivors, and potentially an eye-opening and occasionally confusing one for those who have never experienced abuse.

If you or someone you know is experiencing partner abuse of any kind, help is available. For members of the LGBTQIA+ community in queer relationships, The Network/La Red offers support and services and can be reached via their hotline at 617-742-4911. 

Both queer and heterosexual partnerships and polycules can additionally use the following resources, a Personalized Safety Plan which you can fill out at your local library, workplace, or a friend's house and keep somewhere safe to consult. 

Those in heterosexual partnerships can contact 1-800-799-7233 to consult The National Domestic Violence Hotline which services all sexual orientations and gender identities, but may not have the same level of specialization as The Network which offers staff trained in kink and ENM relationships, and different gender identities. 

You can find In The Dream House at your local library, here on IndieBound, at big box retailers like B&N, Amazon, etc., or at your local indie bookstore. 

Citations:

https://ncadv.org/blog/posts/domestic-violence-and-the-lgbtq-community

https://aifs.gov.au/resources/practice-guides/intimate-partner-violence-lesbian-gay-bisexual-trans-intersex-and-queer

https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Stemme

https://curve.carleton.ca/system/files/etd/6c67743e-0d18-4089-98f3-0f174e4ea526/etd_pdf/9a4362ec5ba62984a725b812afe3ea91/conte-morefatsmorefemmesandnowhitesacriticalexamination.pdf

https://www.tnlr.org/en/

https://ncadv.org/personalized-safety-plan

https://www.thehotline.org/

https://bookshop.org/p/books/in-the-dream-house-a-memoir-carmen-maria-machado/16645986?ean=9781644450031

[thevisibilityarchives]

Melancholia (2011),  Lars von Trier

Disabled

Summary: On the night of her ill-fated wedding, Justine witnesses a celestial object named Melancholia which engages in an approach with Earth for a fatalistic dance of death that sparks apathy in the severely depressed Justine, and triggers anxiety in her sister Claire, who seeks any escape from the impending disaster.

Full review: Celebrated and reviled, film director Lars von Trier can be credited among those showcasing mental illness most provocatively onscreen in the last three decades: in part because many of his films stem from his own experiences. They are real and raw interpretations of the suffering of the mind, delving into the innermost pain evoked by previously (and sometimes still) dismissed conditions buried within the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-V). 

While mental health culture has moved into a state of acceptance not seen in previous generations, conversations about illnesses like Bipolar Disorder, Schizophrenia, BPD, and numerous others still leave plenty to be desired in terms of empathetic let alone realistic representation. Cancel culture has crucified celebrities for the use of terms now deemed slurs such as spaz and schizo. Yet in everyday vernacular, describing the weather as bipolar or making light of Tourette’s tics remains commonplace. 

Released in 2011, Melancholia was the second in a trio of films dubbed Von Trier’s “Depression Trilogy”, accompanied by Antichrist (2009) and Nymphomaniac (2013). On a personal note, I’ll make a outright commentary and offer no pretense about my complicated feelings about Von Trier. 

The Danish director’s films are steeped in a degree of whiteness that doesn’t necessarily reflect its reality, and Von Trier himself has been the subject of controversy for off-color remarks interpreted as pro-Nazi. The comments have since been explained as a mixture of poor judgment, nervousness, and Von Trier’s particular dark sense of humor combined with the press and Europe’s general overreaction to any whiff of pro-fascist sentiment, yet while the director may not support white supremacy, he inarguably centers the white body in his films. 

Denmark itself is by no means a melting pot, however, statistics found here show a number of immigrants from Middle Eastern countries (which themselves feature a rich tapestry of white, brown, and black bodies). As Von Trier films all of his work in mainland Europe due to his own fear of flying, the whiteness depicted onscreen is an intentional choice, one clearly rooted in how he prefers the world rather than how it actually exists. 

On the other hand, as someone who has suffered from severe depression, some of his past work resonates with me in a profound way. Melancholia can be considered the Magnum Opus of these films, a resolute portrait of manic depression at the end of the world and the way it manifests as two planets collide both literally, and figuratively in the form of two sisters. 

As the film opens, Justine, portrayed by Kirsten Dunst, arrives late to her wedding dinner much to the frustration of her sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg). The tardiness is initially portrayed as the result of jubilant celebration between Justine and her husband Michael (Alexander Skarsgård) who float in with a measure of endearing happiness, their bliss a formidable match of Claire’s administrative fury. 

Over the course of the dinner, however, it becomes clear that something is amiss in Justine’s world. Cracks appear, dull grey ick seeping into the verdant green overtones of the picturesque scenery where the luxurious celebration takes place. The tardiness gives way to hesitation. The hesitation gives way to doubt. Doubt shows itself to be symptomatic of Justine’s underlying depression, ever-present and poorly contained. “Are you sure you want this?” Claire asks. Justine, half-heartedly assures her that she does. 

By the end of the evening, Michael is gone. 

It’s a chaotic affair, a breakdown of events sure to make little sense to those unaffiliated with symptoms of manic depression. In a sheer matter of hours, Justine manages to blow her life up in such an astounding way that is frankly admirable. Her husband is gone, her job is gone, and the wedding costing thousands of dollars has been rendered worthless. The greatest consolation she has appears as a celestial object in the night sky, a blinking star that doesn’t quite belong signifying that perhaps there is some meaning to Justine’s actions, a cosmic sign that with her relationship’s end, comes the beginning of something else. 

Part two of the film focuses on Claire and the aftermath of Justine’s actions. Melancholia, both Justine’s mental state and the name of the celestial object she spotted in the night sky appear as a rogue planet destined to make a fly-by past Earth. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime event, arcing around the planet and inducing a proper amount of panic in anyone with access to the internet. 

Serving as Justine’s caretaker, Claire now has the task of doing everything from physically bathing to spoon feeding her sister who has become infirm for all intents and purposes. Severe depression, for the uninitiated, is nothing like the Ben & Jerry’s shoveling sessions depicted on television sitcoms. It can be deep and abiding, lasting for months at a time. 

Numb and lifeless, slowly but surely Justine seems to gain strength as Melancholia makes its way closer to Earth, gathering speed for what will inevitably be apocalyptic destruction. As she finds peace in the absoluteness of the demise of all living things, Claire, who has been the one constant herself begins to come apart. Where Justine is solid, Claire begins to panic. Just as Melancholia and Earth engage in their dynamic dance, Claire and Justine, these two opposite forces, gravitate to and fro until there is nothing left.

The film is a true measure of the nightmare of living with severe depression for those in it, and those around you, a disease so debilitating it becomes disabling and to this degree can often be overlooked until suicide takes its place. For his many faults, it is at its core an emotion Von Trier portrays well because he knows and feels it well, a blank and haunting admission made over the course of the film. 

If you or a loved one is suffering from suicidal ideation, you can dial 988 (formerly the National Suicide Prevention Hotline). 

Melancholia can currently be streamed on Magnolia Selects or HBO Max. You can find hard copies of the film for sale, and also borrow them and potentially borrow digital copies at your local library. 

You can find my new Rotten Tomatoes profile, specifically for snippet film and TV reviews linked here.

Citations:

https://www.theguardian.com/film/2011/may/18/lars-von-trier-cannes-2011-nazi-comments

https://www.statista.com/statistics/571909/number-of-immigrants-in-denmark-by-country-of-origin/

https://www.magnoliaselects.com/dQrB4Z

https://play.hbomax.com/page/urn:hbo:page:GYVLQ2wCF_6TDXgEAAACc:type:feature

https://www.rottentomatoes.com/user/id/Google_104297383807596184966/ratings

[thevisibilityarchives]

The Expanse [TV Series] (2015-2022)

Network(s): SyFy, Amazon

Creators: James S.A. Corey

BIPOC

Summary: 200+ years in the future, humanity has ventured into the far reaches of the solar system, colonizing the Milky Way and spreading the political turmoil of Earth among the generations to come. A fragile peace exists among the three factions that arise, a peace that cannot last when something greater emerges that threatens them all, changing the course of humanity for all time to come. 

Full review: For every generation, there is a defining sci-fi television show that captivates audiences, tapping into visions of the near future while simultaneously managing to address modern sociopolitical themes and changing mores. 

Can The Expanse be ranked as one of those shows, among the likes of Star Trek, Firefly, and Battlestar Galactica? Undoubtedly, it’s a question deserving of consideration and debate.

In a time before streaming, the impact would be more obvious thanks to ever-present television ratings data, fights over family television screens, and demands for network advertising time. But when a show exists solely within the realm of the digital sphere, on a streaming service like Amazon Prime, there’s a bit more nuance to consider when judging its success and audience impact. 

Conceived by authors Ty Franck and Daniel Abraham under the pen name James S.A. Corey, The Expanse originally aired on the SyFy network in 2015, a high-budgeted adaptation of their book series that was well-received by critics and audiences alike until its early demise (due to said budget) at the end of its second season. With a bit of luck, the show was picked up by Amazon Prime studios, given the Jeff Bezos Budget, the TV-MA stamp of adultification freedom, and was renewed, allowing it to take off for the remaining four seasons which concluded in 2022. 

The series retains the core features beloved by sci-fi fans, the formula complicit in defining those generational sci-fi hits: space exploration, the imaginativeness of the near future, the role of politics, and perhaps a central and often missed detail – its diversity and multiculturalism. 

There is a sharp division between the science fiction and fantasy crowds when it comes to multicultural representation. Often, the two genres are clumped together, their metadata schema combined as one – sci-fi/fantasy. Yet within these two genres, the approach to racial and cultural diversity could not be more different. 

This reaction has never been more pronounced than in the past year, during the airing of Prime’s Rings of Power and HBO’s House of the Dragon. Both shows cast actors of color into roles wherein the networks, as well as actors themselves, received criticisms, not for their performances, but simply for the color of their skin.

Commenting upon reactions to Stephen Toussaint, who portrays Corlys Velaryon in House of the Dragon the LA Times reported

“Toussaint is just the latest actor of color to address the racism he faced just for being cast in a major property. Others include Moses Ingram of Disney+ series “Obi-Wan,” and Kelly Marie Tran and John Boyega who dealt with similar online abuse over their roles in the newer “Star Wars” films.”

The vitriol has extended beyond just message board gripes, with actors and fans of color alike receiving flooded inbox messages and even in-person harassment over their simple existence in various fandoms as people of color. 

There is something of an irony here. For fantasy, which is rooted mostly in imagination (with some inspiration from real-life events) seemingly has set up a world where all manner of monsters, magic, and scenarios can be envisioned: and yet a black elf, a brown knight, or an Asian queen magician cannot. Whereas sci-fi, often depicted within the confines of near-future scenarios, has historically been more flexible, even to the point of breaking immense taboos like The Kiss Seen Around the World on Star Trek, only a year after interracial marriage became legal in the United States. 

This emphasis on multiculturalism, combined with the glory of high-stakes drama, the exploration of the final frontier, and the imaginings of what technology still can be creates a formula that appeals across multiple generations still today, a tapestry of impossibility, variability, and sensibility. 

Over the course of six seasons, what begins as a hard-boiled detective seeking to return a trillionaire’s daughter who has joined up with a group of anarchists in the far-flung reaches of the solar system unfolds into a whirlwind of high-stakes political machinations, doomsday scenarios, and interpersonal drama. 

Keeping in touch with an examination of what upward trends of the future tell us, the lives of those depicted onscreen are flush with different types of diversity. Multiracialism is prominent in certain parts of the solar system, Creole dialects are a natural development. Polyamory, new ways of eating, body types,  and religious ideologies emerge. Unlike other media which often falls out of date quickly when looking at the way trends have aligned with the passage of time, The Expanse follows what thus-far seems to be a natural trajectory of what our path looks like (assuming we are still alive by then). Its actors range from Caucasian-American to Iranian, Samoan, Ojibwe, Cambodian, Black, multiracial, Jamaican, and ethnicities far and wide. 

The show is heavily rooted (and its source material, by extension) in the very definition of what multiculturalism is and can be, and a prime example of a thoughtful and true representation of all television sci-fi has given us and shows us is possible: a world in living color in which reality is possible, and no one can tell us otherwise. 

You can find hard copies of seasons 1-4 of The Expanse at major retailers, your local library,  some copies of seasons 5 and 6 via online sellers like eBay and stream it on its home, Amazon Prime here.

Citations:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kirk_and_Uhura%27s_kiss

https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/tv/story/2022-08-22/dragons-being-more-plausible-than-a-rich-black-guy-irks-house-of-the-dragon-star

https://www.history.com/topics/black-history/loving-v-virginia