Something's Missing in Fantasy Fiction: We Want More Gay Characters!

Seriously.  A while ago, I read a somewhat defensive explanation of the “Slash” genre, which is, as best I understand it, fantasy that involves gay characters.  The author mainly wanted to explain what Slash was not—and it struck me, who cares?  I mean, isn’t this focus on what can and cannot qualify as Slash sort of self defeating?  What, certain books aren’t gay enough, while other books are too gay?  Apparently, even in a genre where wizards, warriors, shapechangers, kings in disguise and even walking and talking trees are equally welcome, “gay” still means outsider and, therefore, requires a separate designation…
lynnflewelling_thebonedollstwin.jpgPerhaps it’s our puritanical concept of sex, perhaps it’s our reliance on the cliché memes that form the basis of most fantasy, but we can’t deal with “gay.”  For example, when it comes to The Lord of the Rings, the big topic of discussion is often the relationship between Frodo and Sam.  A piece of jewelry can corrupt a man’s soul, but gay sex?  That’s just weird.  The really sad thing is, Tolkien, whether intentionally or not, left us a book that addresses some of our most important social issues: the vulnerability inherent in political power, the danger of the “wrong deeds for the right result” approach to war, the environment, interracial relationships…and so on.  But hey, who cares—Frodo and Sam seem entirely too close.

This attitude is, I’m guessing, a product of the lack of gay role models in fantasy.  Before I wrote this post, I discussed the idea with a few people and they generally referred me to Harry Potter fan fiction where Harry and Ron explore their latent sexuality.  That’s not what I meant.  By gay role models, I mean, role models who just happen to be gay—in the same way that Aragorn just happens to be straight.  His sexuality is occasionally relevant to the story, yes, but it doesn’t define who he is.  Aragorn isn’t a “straight” hero, he’s a hero.  His relationship with Arwen is important to the story, but not because Arwen is a woman.  Likewise, I’d like to see some heroes who just happen to be gay—but who exist entirely apart from their sexuality.  I really don’t see why being gay is any more farfetched than being an Elf.  One of the great things about fantasy is that it has the power to liberate us from conventional mores, values and ideas.  The “normal” of most fantasy worlds is not the “normal” of ours, whether it be the Live Ships of Robin Hobb’s Liveship Trilogy, or the Aiel of Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time saga.  The Live Ships are living, breathing creatures, used as slaves by human masters who fail to recognize them as equals because they look different.  The Aiel have a system of family relationships that’s all but incomprehensible.  And yet, in context, both Hobb’s and Jordan’s worlds seem totally legitimate. 

Slash separates out what shouldn’t be separate.  We don’t cultivate a “Slavery” genre for books that involve slavery, or a “Polygamy” genre for books that involve polygamy.  In fact, how can you separate the two?  Should we group the Liveship Trilogy with Roots because it discusses the morality of slavery?  Should we discount the Wheel of Time saga as nothing but a book about polygamy?  No, of course not.  These are themes, which we should understand in context.  The fact of their existence doesn’t a genre create.  Likewise, the fact of a hero who happens to be gay doesn’t a genre make.  And, really, who wants something so black and white?  Good books are rich with all sorts of ideas, themes and conflicts.

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Several writers are, I believe, casualties of this approach.  Lynn Flewelling, for example, is one of the best fantasy writers alive today—and yet no one I know reads her books, or really seems to want to.  Her books burst with Tolkien-esque suspense, her characters leap off the page.  She has that rare gift of being able to pace a series, growing and pruning it over time.  In The Bone Doll's Twin, she introduces Tamir, a compelling heroine who faces a series of thrilling challenges—one of which is her identity as a transsexual.  In Luck in the Shadows, she introduces Alec, a young adventurer just setting out in the world.  Alec, too, faces a series of challenges—and, along the way, discovers that he’s gay.  In LF’s books, sexuality is neither a defining element of the character nor a driving force behind the plot—and yet you’re most likely to find her books within the context of “Slash” or gay interest fantasy.  Honestly, I think it’s a really sad approach, because it’s so limiting. 

If there were more gay heroes, then I think we’d learn it’s no big deal.  Or maybe we need to read what’s out there, first.  After all, it’s not like anyone reads Lynn Flewelling, now.

Why do we care?

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