So as you know, I went to WisCon last week, and found it to be a very m/m friendly place. Had some wonderful conversations about Why We Like It, and got some new insights, particularly from the Wish Fulfillment in Fiction panel, and from my buddy, Jennifer Stevenson. Hugs all around to Jen and my fellow panelists.
As Caroline Stevermer and P.C. Hodgell
talked about how their wishes to be strong and safe as women have
informed their fiction, it got me thinking. That used to be my
wish-fulfillment scenario too. Magnolia, the main character in my
first novel, is the embodiment of my desire to be able to face down all
obstacles and kick ill-intentioned men in the nuts (or stab them in the
back.) She was an unusual
heroine back when I wrote her in the early-nineties, but now, the kick-ass bitch is a stock character in every
action film going. For a number of years now, I've found myself
frustrated with the need for this wish. I'm annoyed with the fact that
women still have to fight so hard just to get along. My fantasy has
changed. Now, I want to imagine a world in which I don't have to
fight. In which my safety and my freedom are a given, in which my
competence is a given, and does not need to be proven with black
leather and a submachine gun.
This brings me to baseline assumptions about male characters and female characters in fiction, and about writing in opposition to those baseline assumptions. For me, as a forty-five year old woman raised in a not particularly enlightened environment, the baseline assumption about a female character has always and on some level continues to be that she is not capable. Unless otherwise marked (with black leather and submachine guns, for example) she is in the story in order to be rescued by the male character. Conversely, the baseline assumption about a male character in a story is that he is capable.
When I write female characters, I feel obligated to write against this assumption and make them strong, capable and confident, with or without black leather. Who wants to read about a woman who doubts herself, who is weak and afraid? I don't. That's a message about myself that I grew up with and that I abhor, and one of the reasons I detest the kind of romance novel in which the heroine must be dominated by the hero before their relationship can really get off the ground.
And yet, and yet, to be weak is to be human, and to be forever strong is to be something less than that. It is a kind of amputation, this insistence on super-competence in female characters which has become the current fashion in fiction. I find I'm bored with it, while at the same time, the patriarchy is still out there, churning out plenty of sincere messages about women's appropriate role being submissive. To be blunt, I don't feel safe doing it.
Now, I happen to be fascinated by characters who are afraid they
can't cut it. My favorite kind of hero is someone who is certain of
failing, but who tries anyway. This, as was pointed out by one of the audience members at the panel (thank you, whoever you are) is the drama of imposter syndrome.
What is wonderful to me about writing men is that everyone expects them to be capable, which means I can go right ahead and make them incapable, weak, fallible, flailing. I can have all of the angst, with none of the nasty patriarchal aftertaste.
I'm not suggesting any of this is ideal, or universal to everyone, or even a prominent draw of m/m to anyone but myself, but it is a brand new lens through which to look at m/m romance. And it provides at long last an answer to a question that has long troubled me. Why do my male characters always feel more heroic than my female characters? Because with the men, I am free to play out my own worst fears, and conquer them. It's not because I don't think women are heroic, its that male characters are better positioned in the overal social context to enact my particular wish-fulfillment fantasy.