Tag Archives: sff

Jane’s Cowboy’s Father’s Secret Space Ranch

{Olivia never met a fake romance title she didn’t immediately want to write. This story title was found during a magnificent workshop given by Courtney Milan and Alisha Rai during RWA 2016. Enjoy!}

Something was wrong with the cows.

Jane glared at the GPS monitor, which showed the location of every animal the Bar Sinister Ranch owned on the plateau. Normally the herd moved as an amorphous, amoeba-like blob within the boundary fences, drifting to and fro in search of water and good grazing.

Today, they were making patterns. Human patterns. Clear, recognizable shapes no cow should know anything about. It was, to Jane’s mind, odd.

She crested the final rise and brought the Jeep to a skidding stop. Sure enough, there they were. Three hundred head of Flying Guernsey, standing precisely in the outline of a giant cartoon heart.

One thing the GPS hadn’t been able to show her: they were glowing. Continue reading Jane’s Cowboy’s Father’s Secret Space Ranch

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Q is for Queer Vampires

{Click here for the full alphabet of intersectional feminism and romance.}

There’s really no point in my rehashing how vampires have been associated with sexuality (especially forms of sexuality coded as deviant) since long before Bram Stoker. Anne Rice, Stephenie Meyer, and Charlaine Harris did not invent the metaphor: they simply developed the nuances of the theme in different ways, and Rebekah Weatherspoon’s Better Off Red: Vampire Sorority Sisters is part of this tradition. (Side note: I love a book that does what it says on the tin.) No surprise then that this book also dabbles with many of the ancillary themes of the vampire-sex association: belonging, bodily autonomy and consent, sexual identity, and predation.

Cover image for Rebekah Weatherspoon's Better Off Red. Black background with a red swirl on the left-hand spine. One pale-skinned woman with long red hair sits on a bed far away with her nude back to us; she has her head turned slightly as if about to look over her shoulder. Closer to the viewer, a pale-skinned woman with short dark hair, who is also nude, stands facing away from us, looking at the redhead.It all starts when our heroine Ginger meets the girls of the ABO sorority (I see what you did there!). She connects with one of them at once, a black girl with “a beautiful, full afro” (Kindle location 148):

“Ginger?” Cleo asked, taking in my long red hair. “I thought my parents were cruel. Tsk, tsk, naming a ginger kid ‘Ginger?'”

“Yeah, it could be worse,” I said with a shrug. “At least it doesn’t rhyme with anything.”

“True. It could be worse. My last name is Jones.” I couldn’t say what sucked more, a name tag mocking your hair and your God-given beauty marks or being named after a blaxploitation character. (166)

Cleo becomes a lodestar and a mirror for Ginger over the course of the plot: both girls are humans living among vampires, they’re both gay but unsure about coming out to their families, they’re both certain they don’t want to be turned. Cleo is a locus of comfort and safety in Ginger’s new vampire-oriented lifestyle — a comfort she desperately needs, since even through her overwhelming attraction to vampire queen Camila, Ginger is starkly aware that she is at an enormous physical and sexual disadvantage. Camila is gorgeous, Camila is experienced and dominating in bed, and Camila is deadly: “Were amazingly good looks reason enough to trust your blood lusting captor?” (754). It’s a question many women and girls will find familiar. Rich, beautiful, great in bed, a little frightening — Camila is the standard alpha romance fantasy, complete with tragic backstory, emotional distance, and a few too many abusive red flags for my personal comfort.

Ginger’s phrase ‘blood lusting’ is spot-on — a vampire’s bite is orgasmic for both the vampire feeding and the human feeder. We haven’t only linked sex with violence: we’ve linked sex with violence and food. Camila explains:

“Well, you eat meat, right? Imagine if you had to chase the cows. You don’t have a gun, so you have to use your fists and you can only chase those cows at night … Wouldn’t it be easier if the cow showed up at your door and let you take all you needed? … We live off what humans give us. Humans were beginning to suspect our existence. When we are starving, our kind can drain a human in a matter of minutes. That sort of feeding leaves bodies, and they began to hunt us. A few vampires realized if they could just find humans to volunteer to feed them on a regular basis, no humans would have to die and there would be no trace of a monster to hunt. Our master finally settled on this sorority as a guise and many of us have become accustomed to finding our feeders this way. It’s about convenience, comfort, and routine.” (901)

The sister-queens’ “convenience, comfort, and routine” requires that the human sorority pledges essentially restructure their entire lives around keeping vampires’ existence secret and being fed upon; it’s posited as a volunteer relationship, but it’s also cloaked by the usual rituals of sorority pledging and maintained in strictest secrecy from the wider human world. I have to wonder: does this cloaking undermine the ability of pledges to give meaningful consent to this arrangement? Especially since the sister-queens use mind control to remove the girls’ fear during the first feeding: isn’t that a little bit, well, squicky, from a consent standpoint? The reason I was willing to trust that the narrative wouldn’t just brush this under the rug was because of Ginger, who clearly sees the creepiness here and isn’t afraid to call it out, even in her own head. I can stomach a great deal more consent iffiness when it’s labeled openly as such.*

Ginger is an exception even in the vampire sorority: she has a small amount of demon blood from her birth mother, which means her blood isn’t nourishing to vampires (though Camila still bites her frequently — she likes the taste, and the orgasms). Alone among the new ABO pledges, Ginger is not food. Nor is she a feeder, and this combined with her intense romance with the Queen leaves her a little apart from the other girls.

Now that they’re bonded to the sister-queens, the new pledges have their freedoms strictly curtailed: a curfew, required escort after dark, and although the girls can date whom they want they will be ejected from the sorority if they contract an STI: “As of last night, we know you’re all clean,” Cleo says (1343), which is a hell of a thing to announce so casually in a group setting. Medical privacy rights be damned! And the reason for this rule is not to protect the vampires, who are immune to human diseases — it’s because the group feeding almost always involves group sex, “and we play together too much to give each other the clap.” Sexual orientation and personal boundaries don’t matter in the face of the vampires’ sexualized hunger, and over the course of the book we see some characters couple up while other characters sleep around — but all of them except Ginger are participants in frequent multi-partner orgies where intense orgasms are a shorthand for consent with a partner someone may or may not desire outside of the feedings. Again: a little squicky. (Though it must be admitted, these scenes are hot as hell — Ms. Weatherspoon writes an excellent sex scene.) The emphasis on secrecy and all the lesbian loving parallel the narratives of the closet, of being on the down-low, of all the times where being LGBTQA has been scorned or outlawed or forbidden and must be hidden from mainstream ‘normal’ society. While it’s become much easier in the past decades for queer people to come out in American culture, for Ms. Weatherspoon’s vampires that moment will never come. Revelation, as it appears in the Sookie Stackhouse novels or the True Blood tv show, is not an option for these sorority girls: their closet is for life.

New ABO members are given teardrop rubies they are required to wear at all times, so they might be recognized in case of emergencies: “If you get hurt, hit by a car, fall down some stairs, drink yourself half to death at Chi Nu house, you’ll be taken to a hospital that is bound to our sister-queens … If you know your turn to feed is coming up, do not drink or take any illegal substances. Our sister-queens can taste it in our system and I’ve been told it makes our blood taste like piss” (1363). Again, the girls’ physical independence and choice is restricted for the vampires’ convenience. While gathering this quote from my notes I had to do a double-take, because it’s a rather spooky little piece of text that — spoilers coming up! — foreshadows the fate of first Cleo, then Ginger.

Cleo is in a terrible car crash and suffers horrible burns. (Car accidents: Olivia’s Least Favorite Plot Point Ever.) She’s in a lot of pain and isn’t expected to last the night. Camila makes it plain that she intends to turn Cleo to save her life. Ginger objects, on the very relevant grounds that Cleo “doesn’t want this” (4751). Cleo has explicitly said as much, because becoming a vampire would mean severing ties with her human family. But Cleo’s decision not to become an immortal demon (vampires and demons are roughly equivalent, or at least related, in this mythology) does not, in the Queen’s eyes, take precedence over Camila’s own wishes: “‘She’s mine. I can’t let her suffer in pain any longer. She’ll be upset for a while, but in the end she will have wanted me to help her.'” Ginger is forced to wait in the corner while Camila and the other sister-queens perform the unwanted ritual on the unconscious, dying black girl in the hospital bed. There is a terribly unsettling echo in this of the way black people’s consent has been routinely discounted in the course of American medical history: TuskeegeeOak RidgeHenrietta Lacks.

At first Cleo seems fine but things soon turn sour, especially with her maybe-girlfriend-maybe-not Benny. Benny has been raised in vampire culture and wanted Cleo to turn so Benny could feed her; her happiness that she can now do what she wants royally pisses Cleo off: “‘She’s fucking happy I died just so she could have me the way she wanted me'” (4980). Cleo begins arguing with Camila, acting out in ways that are completely psychologically understandable but which the vampire queen describes as troublesome. She’s also feeding too much from one human, which is dangerous. The other girls have to meet Cleo’s grieving family and not let on that Cleo’s still alive at the ABO house; it does not help at all that Cleo’s family is a mirror-version of Ginger’s mom, dad, and brother: “I made it to the hall of Camila’s quarters before I leaned against the wall and sobbed. Cleo’s poor family. And I thought of my parents, what Dad and Mom would do if they lost me too soon and what Todd would have to say to the girls if he was in Maxwell’s shoes” (5181).

Ginger becomes immensely frustrated with the situation and with Camila — but she gets distracted by the approaching exams and then — oh, look, more spoilers — her lab partner and OBA frat pledge Greg sexually assaults her and pushes her down a flight of stairs. (Remember that prophetic quote? Yeah.) Our heroine suffers a massive head injury and Camila is there instantly to dispatch Greg — and to turn our heroine, again with the justification of saving her life, again without proper consent: “Her blood was flowing into my mouth before I even thought to stop her” (5365). We learn from master vampire-demon Dalhem shortly after that unlike Cleo, who really was dying, Ginger could have been saved without being turned: “‘Your sister-queens could have healed you and left you human, but our Camila let her emotions for you get in the way. She let her emotions overrule what she truly knew to be just” (5574).

This is a major, major failing. Even Dalhem thinks so, for he strips Camlia of her royal rank and gives the queenship to Ginger. I must admit I was a little frustrated at this point: new black vampire Cleo is unwillingly turned, loses her girlfriend, and turns a little bit feral — but new white vampire Ginger is given control of the sorority, gets to keep Camila despite the gross breach of trust, and is praised for having more restraint than her years suggest. Not that Ginger feels all that liberated by the change: “There was nowhere for me to go. I couldn’t hide in my dorm room. I couldn’t go home. The ABO house was my home now. Even if I escaped to another sister-queen’s room, Camila was a part of me now … Making things right with Camila was something I had to do, though at the moment I wanted something different” (5790). Camila as Queen was a power fantasy; Ginger as Queen now feels limited, constrained — imprisoned. Lost to the world she’s grown up in and the family who adopted her and loved her and supported her when she finally got up the courage to come out to them. It highlights the fact that the vampires, like their human feeders, are not entirely free of important constraints: they must avoid daylight, they must live in secrecy, they are surrounded by a web of blood-bonds and hierarchy and rules laid down by God hisownself. The more I think about it, the less certain I am that anyone in this text is ever allowed to make a truly free and unconstrained choice. This feels both frustrating and realistic, an unresolvable tension.

Fortunately for my poor aching heart, Ginger gets to keep contact with her family, who are welcomed into the vampire culture as feeders in the area around their home. (PFLAG for vampires?) We learn that Cleo would have lost her family anyways if she’d told them she was gay: her mom would have cast her out due to church pressure. Tolerance for lesbianism is equated with tolerance for vampirism, and I just don’t have an extra thousand words to use to unpack that right now. Ginger and Camila enact a vampire marriage that makes them truly — finally — equals, which is pretty good as far as happy endings go. I was still troubled by Cleo’s plotline, by what had happened to her and between her and Benny and how they both had been betrayed by Camila’s thoughtlessness — until I learned she was the heroine of the second book in the series. That’s a pretty great hook, actually. Well played, Ms. Weatherspoon.

Looking over this post, it sounds grumpy and unsatisfied and as though I did not enjoy the book. I did, very much — especially once some of my worries about Cleo’s storyline were soothed, or at least postponed. There’s a lot of ambiguity about identity and consent in here — taking apart the dynamics of animalistic vampires and humans who are compared to food animals could keep me busy for another week at least. At lot of these ambiguities strike me as important, and they’re ones we’ve yet to really decode — I’m not sure this book is perfectly suited to my tastes, but it’s a hell of a set of questions.

*This is one the reasons I actually love the terms dubcon and noncon — they mark a recognition that consent is questionable or absent, and I can read on or avoid it as I choose. Sometimes I read it, though usually in erotica rather than romance. My biggest problem with the use of dubious consent or even rape in romance is that it’s so often excused as ‘close enough’ to meaningful, unconstrained consent. I see this elision as a symptom of rape culture.)

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I am quite picky about my vampire fiction, but here are some gems I’ve discovered over the years. Dracula’s Guest is an anthology of pre-Stoker vampire stories and legends, edited by Michael Sims. It is highly recommended for alternative visions of vampire mythology, some of which are still unexplored in fiction (a goldmine for authors!). For a different exploration of vampires-thinking-of-people-as-cattle and issues of autonomy and consent, Terry Pratchett’s Carpe Jugulum is a perennial personal favorite, and quite funny to boot. Gail Carriger’s Parasol Protectorate series also features homosocial/homosexual vampires, many of whom are adorably dandyish and playful and fun, and some of whom are masterminds of espionage and politicking.

Rebecca Skloot’s The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is a book thoroughly worth the reading: deeply researched, empathetic, and significant. It is still, however, a black woman’s story filtered through a white woman’s voice. This piece at the Grio by Ronda Racha Price gives a solid overview of events since the book’s publication and asks important questions about the financial agendas at stake with Henrietta Lacks’ legacy and the use and abuse of black bodies in medical science.

Favorite website The Toast’s series of Femslash Fridays features great snippets of imagined lesbian couples from pop culture: this one on Bend It Like Beckham is chock-full of insight into representation in media, self-awareness, and the full spectrum of queerness beyond the binary and the stereotypes.

I became aware of this book because of Rebekah Weatherspoon’s Tumblr, which is delightful and sexy and smart. 

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Weatherspoon, Rebekah. Better Off Red: Vampire Sorority Sisters Book 1. Bold Strokes Books: November 15, 2011. Ebook.

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A is for Ash

{Welcome to the first post of my April A-Z challenge! For the full alphabet of intersectional feminism in romance, click here.}

This is my second time reading Ash, Malinda Lo’s lyrical lesbian Cinderella YA romance. The first time I found our heroine a little bit too reactive for my tastes, though I liked the book’s style and setting a great deal. I also liked the presence of queer relationships in a fairy-tale context, and thought it was a step forward for LGBTQ representation in young adult fiction. Upon the re-read, I started to qualify and modify this second conclusion. It now seems to me that the specter of compulsory heterosexuality is very present in Ash, and even helps drive the mechanics of the plot.

Cover for Ash by Malinda Lo. A black background with the image of a black-haired, pale-skinned girl in a white diaphanous dress. She is on her side, curled up with her arms around her knees. Cursive script reads ASH.The main action is interspersed with fairy stories, many of which feature some element of romance. Some of these romances involve two women, such as the sweetly charming story of Niamh and the Fairy Queen. Throughout the book, women are shown falling in love with one another, sneaking away from dances with one another, all the usual motions of romance. But we never see two men together—and we never see two women getting married or raising children. We have queer relationships, but no queer families.

In fact, marriage in Ash is very classically heteronormative, particularly among the upper classes on whose borders our heroine exists. Her stepsister Ana is “well ready to find a husband” (Kindle location 970); her fellow maid Gwen “can’t wait to find a husband” (1191); and the kingdom is all a-twitter about Prince Aidan choosing “a bride … a lady worthy of becoming his wife” (1957). As for the prince’s thoughts on his upcoming nuptials, Ash “did not think he seemed particularly thrilled by his parents’ announcement” (1963). Just as in the default medieval fantasy-Europe, marriage is for legitimizing children, for inheriting power, and for merging property.

And in this world, despite all the lesbian love, ladies cannot earn their own living, as stepsister Clara makes clear: “I am a gentlewoman’s daughter. I have no trade” (Kindle location 2120). Which means upper-class manners are heavily gendered in a way readers are likely recognize from their own lives:

“One must be properly respectful and yet give a hint of playfulness,” Lady Isobel instructed … “One cannot diminish the importance of this — you must always show that you admire his wealth and stature, but at the same time you must not be in too much awe of it.”

“Why not? Clara asked. “Do men not enjoy it when a woman is in awe of them?”

“Of course they do,” Ana put in, “but you must avoid appearing as though you are interested only in his wealth.” (Kindle location 2110)

Ambitious Ana is angling for the prince, and Clara merely hopes to be comfortably well-off, but Ash explicitly rejects marriage as a means of self-support. She argues with Clara and says that such an arrangement would “be false” (2127), emphasis original, and she “deliberately” devours an egg on a night when girls who fast are promised dreams of their future husband (1265).

It seems fairly obvious in this context that Sidhean the fairy represents Ash’s putative husband. He is aloof and cruel yet protective in the manner of alpha heroes from time immemorial: he jealously rescues her from an interested female fairy (1333) and his gifts are magically binding and symbolically loaded — a fur cloak, a medallion, and a moonstone ring. Each gift is a debt: along with the material gifts, he grants Ash’s wishes and helps her attend the Royal Hunt and the subsequent masquerade, Ash‘s stand-ins for the single ball of the original tale. So again, heterosexual relationships are transactional and commodified. SIdhean’s ability to grant Ash’s wishes places him in the fairy godmother role, but unlike the original story it is made abundantly clear that his gifts come with price tags attached.

The hunters, including Ash’s love interest Kaisa, exist somewhat outside this patriarchal framework: “hunts had always been led by women.”

When she saw the hunters in the village, Ash was transfixed by the sight of them. The women, especially, with their casual camaraderie and easy grace, seemed like entirely different creatures than her stepmother and stepsisters. (493)

As the King’s Huntress, Kaisa can earn wages. She is a member of the royal household in a way that is more than mere servitude: she has a certain independence, and she is invited to high-class events like the masquerade, which a true servant would never be permitted to attend as a guest. Her romance with Ash is secret and sweet and happens in the forest and in back hallways of the palace — on the fringes of the world of straight marriage and patriarchal monarchy. In one of these stolen moments, we learn Ash has internalized the rules of straight romance:

“I am no one — a servant in a poor household. What could I give you?”

Kaisa seemed taken aback. “You don’t need to give me anything,” she said. “I offer because I care for you.” (2412)

At this point, Ash is still in debt to Sidhean, still bound to him by gifts and promises and the full weight of his love and expectation. There appears to be no way for Ash to be with Kaisa; she is owned by someone else, not free to make her own choices. Later, once she realizes the depths of her love for Kaisa (and vice versa), she has a deeper realization:

The knowledge of love had changed her. It focused what had once been a blur; it turned her world around and presented her with a new landscape. Now, she would do anything to bring Kaisa happiness. And if the knowledge of love could change her, would it not also change Sidhean? (2795)

The world of transactional (straight) romance is mutable, escapable: true love has a power that mere marriage can only envy, even as the fairies envy mortals and copy the forms but not the substance of their customs:

As the people swayed and stamped and sung their way around the bonfire, Ash knew that this was what the fairies were always hunting for: a circle of joy, hot and brilliant, the scent of love in the deepest winter. But all they could do was create a pale, crystalline imitation, perfect and cold. (2720)

Ash goes to Sidhean and does something that surprised and puzzled me on my first read: she asks him to let her free, in return for one night together. I’d been thinking of the fairy as something of a villain, or at least an antagonist: that Ash could simply ask to be released and get it seemed to cheapen the climax of the novel. It’s that easy? I wondered. Just like that?

Well, yes, just like that — because Ash’s request preserves for Sidhean the form of the transactional, heterosexual marriage, an exchange rather than a true gift. There is a risk: “One night in my world is not the same as one night in yours,” he tells her (2812). But Ash has the advantage of knowing that the fairy world is not quite real — she has had this thought many times over the course of the book — and she is willing to take a chance. And indeed, upon waking, only one mortal night has passed (though there’s an argument to be made that something like a lifetime has passed in the fairy realm). Ash is able to accept Kaisa’s love and to offer her own, freed now from the bonds of debt.

At the same time, this freedom from the larger patriarchal/transactional system appears to come at a price. Lesbian relationships aren’t at all visible in the larger world of Ash, as straight relationships are. We only see two women living happily ever after together in the tales of fairies and heroes, tales that take place in an implied (and very romanticized) past. The choice between the fairy husband and the huntress lover is a lose-lose, given this structure. Queer love can subvert the larger social system; it cannot participate in it.

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Malinda Lo has talked quite a bit about race in fantasy and race and sexuality in character dialogue. The prequel Huntress makes it more explicit than the text in Ash, but Ms. Lo does say that she pictured both Ash and Kaisa as having Asian features. At the end of last year she also did a post full of YA books featuring LGBT characters of color.

Recently I discovered the existence of The Lesbrarywhich is a fantastic name for a website and a bountiful source of recommendations and reviews of lesbian writing in just about every genre.

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Lo, Malinda. Ash. New York, NY: Little, Brown and Co. 2009. Ebook.

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This Star Trek Post is Brought to You by Not Getting Whooping Cough

So there is a pertussis epidemic afoot in our neck of the woods at present, and after one local news source referred to it as the Hundred Day Cough—the Napoleon of viruses!—I ran out and got myself vaccinated.

At which point my brain fell all to pieces.

It’s not whooping cough, and it’s not an allergic reaction: it’s just my body taking energy to make antibodies, like it’s supposed to. But it has drained all the thinky-juice from my brain-parts, so instead of making headway on any of my works-in-progress I am weeping over episodes of My Little Pony (that poor tortoise just wants to be loved!) and watching a lot of original series Star Trek for the first time ever.

Which is why I want to talk about the Unnamed Female Romulan Commander.

A still shot from 'The Enterprise Incident,' featuring (among other figures) the Unnamed Female Romulan Commander in a long-sleeved, two-tone asymettrical mini-dress with black over-the-knee boots and sheer black hose.

That’s her there, center left, in one of the greatest outfits Star Trek has ever given humanity. She appears in an episode called ‘The Enterprise Incident,’ which is also pretty fantastic. The UFRC is in charge of the Romulan flagship (!) with a cloaking device, and spends most of her on-screen time seducing Spock (!!) using her words, logic, and that incredible minidress-boot combination. (Which is, of course, what any right-thinking dude-inclined woman would do if dropped into a Star Trek episode.) All while trying to also seduce him into defecting, which somehow doesn’t come across as evil so much as it does, well, strategic. Spock is clearly a badass and good to have on your side, plus if he’s fighting with the Romulans then she can keep seducing him, and it feels like everybody wins.

Spock, of course, is there to steal the cloaking device. There’s an elaborate game of espionage being played, though the episode goes to some lengths to keep the reveal from happening too early. It’s one of Star Trek‘s most effectively plotted stories. And though the UFRC doesn’t win, she’s not humiliated, and she’s treated with the respect due to her rank by everyone on the Enterprise, and Spock even privately admits that their brief sexytimes will have a greater impact on him than the theft of the cloaking device.

And then she disappears from the Star Trek universe forever.

This is unacceptable.

I mean, look at her accomplishments!

  • She can command a damn Romulan flagship, which bespeaks a certain amount of ruthless intelligence and political cunning, but she is never vicious or cruel in the use of her power.
  • She can seduce both the human and Vulcan sides of Spock, and very nearly bend him to her will without denting his awesomeness or independence. Not even Kirk can do this—except in the slashier areas of internet fandom (love you, K/S!).
  • She respects the rights and dignity of her prisoners, even those she has condemned to death.
  • She does not lose control when she discovers Spock’s betrayal, and she is as gracious in defeat as she is in victory.
  • She has emotions and expresses them, but they are not her sole motivation.
  • She manages to find two flattering, tasteful outfits in the Star Trek universe—which let me tell you, is no small feat. I expect she has a personal dressmaker on staff, because every other non-Federation lady has the worst outfits.

I don’t really have a larger point here. Just that one of the weaknesses of the original series is a tendency to ignore opportunities for long-form narrative arcs, as well as a distressing amount of sexism for a show that was/is considered a progressive benchmark. Following up on the UFRC would have been an excellent way to address both.

And if anyone knows where I can find a replica of that minidress, please let me know.

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