Most of my childhood I read about white men. In part there was a degree of boys don’t read about girls (even when they’re not boys). In part that was because what was published while I was growing up, particularly in the genres I liked to read, was heavily skewed towards male writers with male leads. In part it’s because – being seen as a boy – people bought me books about boys.
It wasn’t that it was all I read; I avariciously devoured a copy of Nancy Drew that I found in our attic. I absolutely sprinted through every V.I. Warhsawksi book. She’s the first book character I really remember seeing myself in. I absolutely wanted to be her. That possibly should have been a hint. Funny that my dad introduced me to Sara Paretsky’s writing. And there were a number of other books with iffier representation of women, often written by men, but mostly, mostly it was men.
And when I started to work out I was trans, before even, when I was desperately seeking something that reflected me; that said I wasn’t alone; there was (sotto voice) Fictionmania. For those lucky folks who’re unfamiliar, uneven doesn’t adequately describe the nature of the content. There were (and actually, are) some diamonds in there, but there were a lot of brainworms written by probably closeted or repressing trans women who’d sucked down a diet of relentless societal transphobia, or they were written by cis-men with – usually subjugation fetish – and who saw femininity as shameful.
It was a rough time to want trans fiction, and I kinda left that world during and after I transitioned. There weren’t a lot of trans voices in the mainstream – and some of the voices that there were tended to repeat the cis view of what transition is, and what our experiences are, and… the bits I occasionally found lacked diversity or often lacked joy.
And then there was a little trickle. It happened about the time I was starting to want to read again. It’s not that I exactly stopped. I’d just not read near as much. I was very burned out, I’d been working a ton – in a job where I had to read a lot for work – and I’d internet’d my brain so my concentration span wasn’t great.
And I can’t remember which book it was that started me really reading again. I’d already made the decision I was broadly done reading men. Like I will, if there’s a really good reason. But it has to be a damn good reason. And male leads written by men? Eh. You’re really going to have to come up with a fucking spectacular reason for me to read that.
But reading was still sporadic. I missed it, but also just felt kind of disconnected from a lot of it. And then I hit Welcome to Dorley Hall by Alyson Greaves. It more devoured me than I devoured it. I’d been super cautious about it because my experience of forcefem was, well, uneven also doesn’t really cover that. As a genre it brought forth those memories of old stories from Fictionmania and I was wary. I actually read her unfinished work, Glow, Worm, first. And then I was like: Fuck, she really can write. I must have more. And I got sucked into Dorley Hall. I don’t remember exactly when, but I do remember it was early enough that I had to *wait* between chapter 24 and chapter 25. If you’ve not read it, then, uh, imagine that if you ever do. Because 24 is rough, and 25 is some catharsis and fuck do you need it.
Anyhow, seeing myself reflected. Really reflected – not just “oh there’s a woman who’s a lead” or “oh a lesbian who’s a lead” or very excitedly, “gosh, there’s a brown lesbian side character!” but fully reflecting the trans part of my identity. Of my experience? That did things. It prompted me to seek out more – Zoe Storm’s wonderful series’, a delightful novella called Waystop of the Lost, by K.S. Sharron. It led me to finding more queer works, like Harrow/Gideon/Nona. It led me to finally actually sort out the problems in the novel I was writing at the time (which is now slowly being edited by my ever patient and wonderful wife).
And the reason this comes up to me today is that I’ve been reading a bunch of queer and trans fiction – there’s actually so much great trans fiction out there now. Some of it professionally published. Some of it on Scribblehub or AO3. And I was reading a mainstream novel that – well, it’s woman led – and I’ve been struggling to get into it. Which is funny, because it’s been recommended by a bunch of people I like and respect. But eh, sometimes a work doesn’t click. And it has a lot of cis-hetness in it, which eh, fine, I suppose.
And then a queer character is introduced and I’m suddenly way more invested in finishing it.
So uh, apparently that’s the way to get me to read again. See the diversity of the world and reflect it.
