Occasionally, when I’m perusing modern fiction, I start to wonder if I have deeply embedded bigotries that predispose me to dislike the subject matter rather than the writing, which happens a lot when I’m reading about nonbinary people.
It reminds me of this lesbian I used to work with, who was telling me I was supposed to like some dreary little art film about people who sit and talk about sex to each other, and when I hated it, she sneered that I probably would prefer to see some blockbuster. And I was like … well, yeah. Blockbusters are at least popular. You can zone out for the dull bits and drop back in for the precisely timed exciting parts. They’re made by people who know how to operate a camera and do all that fancy stuff, like key grips and best boys and whoever patches in the Wilhelm Scream. Little verite art documentaries are unpopular for a reason, and their fans would immediately drop them if they ever caught on in a big way.
She tried to frame it like I was homophobic though, and it was one of the very earliest dishonest arguments framed as bigotry that I ever encountered. There have been a few since then, and it makes me self-conscious whenever I read anything with rainbow characters. Am I allowed to not like this? Are people going to give me shit for saying I was bored? Does my dislike for a boring story that happens to touch upon some facet of representation constitute some kind of unfairness to those represented?
I’m pleased to inform you all that it’s the writing, and not
me, because I thoroughly enjoyed T. Kingfisher’s What Stalks The Deep, and I
want to read the whole brilliant trilogy, and I don’t even care if there’s a
swashbuckling nonbinary hero who uses nonstandard pronouns, I want more! This
has both gender bending energy and blockbuster energy! Plus it’s a smart
examination of the horror genre itself! Winner winner Nyarlathotep dinner!
Except not literally, because that would be unpleasant.
This mininovel did not keep me up until 2am like Carl did, but that’s only because it is short. If it had been longer, it would have kept me up later.
T. Kingfisher is an author who has never disappointed me. I’ve been angsting over whether to attend the Hugos or whether to skip them and go to Disneyland, and the possibility of seeing her make an acceptance speech is one of the few things tempting me to do that instead of go stand in line for that Star Wars ride again and maybe get some Dole Whip. I seriously love Dole Whip. I also loved T. Kingfisher’s amazing whale fall speech, and I really hope she wins and does something similar so I can watch it on video. Because the combination of longwinded speeches and potentially watching KPop Demon Hunters fail to win is something I just don’t need in my life right now.
This leaves only one more novella standing between me and a brand new book I haven't read yet by Matt “Dungeon Crawler Carl” Dinniman, but I can’t see myself voting for anyone other than Kingfisher. Hope it’s not too disappointing!
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