Genderesque

I have no idea what it is about art that makes us feel we need to label it.

Well, that’s not entirely true.  I have some idea.  I acknowledge, certainly, our need to understand and discuss art and, certainly, were we to simply look at a book or a painting and go “yeah, that’s art, all right” and say nothing more about it, then the only reason to take art history courses would be to see naked cherubs.  Heck, I can even acknowledge the benefit of genre labels as a useful direction (though I maintain that you’d be foolish to use one as a template).

What I don’t get, really, is an obsession with the implications behind the labels.

I happened to be listening to NPR on my way home from a workout and happened to listen to a book review on my way there.  I was only half-listening at that point, mind, since I find that NPR’s critics tend to speak in a way that inspires a flight-or-fight type response that usually translates to sleep-or-brick response (and as such, I can’t quite remember the name of the book, apologies to the author and to NPR), and since I didn’t happen to have a brick on hand, I was far more attentive to the sweat-laden need to consume poultry.  I only really started paying attention when the phrase “this is such a boy book” was uttered.

That gave me pause for a number of reasons.

Of course, it instantly seized my attention as a man who has, occasionally, been suggested to be a writer of “boy books.”  I don’t take this as a criticism, of course; I’m perfectly happy if men enjoy reading my books.  Many of my favorite books have also been written by men.  Many by women, as well.  Which brings me to the second reason I paused: what, exactly, is a boy book?

I mean, I can certainly infer the definition.  A boy book is a book that deals with habits or subjects that would appeal to boys.  Violence, action, bloodshed, bodily functions or, in the case of this book, thinking about thinking.  These are things that appeal to many young men, of course, they could rightly be considered to be subjects that would attract the attention of boys.

The thing is, I don’t know if those subjects are as solidly embroiled in testosterone as they once were, especially when one writes genre.  And I don’t think it’s just boys that consider them worthwhile.

If you pay attention to book discussions at all, you’re probably aware of how much emphasis is put on appealing to women readers.  It’s apparently a tremendous shock to a lot of publishers that many women are given to intellectual pursuits and in possession of their own income.  Regardless, a great deal of fuss is made over the necessity of appealing to women, presumably by writing “girl books” or subjects that appeal to girls.  Which are…what?  Love?  Kittens?  Relationships?  Character interactions?  Rainbows?

The reason I used so many question marks is because, frankly, I’m not sure what appeals to women.  And the reason I’m not sure is because I don’t think there is a set list of items emblazoned in bold lettering hanging on the wall in the halls of some cold authority on what art touches with the header: “THINGS APPRECIATED BY THE HUMAN FEMALE.”  Admittedly, I’m certain that character relationships, interactions (and possibly kittens) are important to women.  As I’m certain that bloodshed, action and farts are also important to women.

And this is kind of my point.

Whenever I get a message of praise, it’s only very rarely along the lines of “I LIKE THAT THERE BLOOD SPATTER WHAT YE DID ON PAGE 25” or “I LOVED THAT JOKE ABOUT NEEDING PANTS” (though, for the sake of intrigue, it’s worth noting that both the times I’ve gotten those, they’ve been from very lovely ladies) and more often along the lines of appreciation for the character interactions, love for the relationships and a desperate hope that Lenk and Kataria end up together (again, for the sake of intrigue, a good number of those requests have been from gentlemen).

“Boy book” and “girl book” are, in my mind, slightly less than relevant terms.  Not because boys and girls aren’t different and we’re all just secretly some gray, androgynous people sans genitals known as “The Muppatos” (I’m pretty sure I only dreamed that), but because it’s getting harder and harder to define exactly what a boy will like that a girl won’t and what a girl will like that a boy won’t.  This goes double for writing in genre, since geek culture tends to be fairly egalitarian and has heroes and heroines in plenty.  But more than that, we’re slowly inching to the point where genre lines–and indeed, most qualifiers–have ceased to become merely blurry and are now becoming as indistinct and intangible as the border between Muppattonia and Badgerville.  And those places don’t even exist.

It’s worth praising George R.R. Martin for pushing fantasy away from exercises in world-building and myth-making and into character-driven stories.  But no one seems to acknowledge the worth that urban fantasists put forth in doing the same.  It’s far too easy to say that urban fantasy exploded because women suddenly found a lot of money and time.  The fact is that it’s not at all a coincidence that stories focusing primarily on character interactions, development, conflict and relationships tended to be what people in general wanted to read.

And yet, I’m not saying a lot of new stuff here, am I?  Yes, gender stereotyping is bad.  Yes, they’re harder to define.  No, you shouldn’t write a book that completely alienates women or men.  This is all rather rehashed stuff and truthfully, the primary concern doesn’t have a lot to do with women or their purchasing power.  Rather, I think the problem lies a lot with how boys are portrayed in the eyes of media.

My good friends at the Book Smugglers once brought up a very good point about how a lot of boys are taught to “fear the feminine.”  That liking character development or wondering if two people are going to get together somehow makes you less worthy as a male than, say, enjoying blood and guts.  It’s not an unworthy theory, really.  I’m not of the opinion that a lot of the books being written today are specifically for women so much as I think that there’s a lot of discouragement for men to read them.

I can’t quite say who pushes this (it is, after all, a combination of a lot of things from culture to media to your cousin who calls you a tool for watching Thundercats even though it’s totally unique and fresh and Panthro now has very real human and emotional problems so you can just SHUT UP, STEPHEN).  Maybe it’s a failing of those who advertise such things as to suggest that there are boy books and there are girl books and never the two shall meet.  Maybe it’s that people prefer the gender lines to be clear cut and in the sand.  Or maybe I’m totally wrong and boys really don’t read as much.

But I don’t think we do ourselves a tremendous amount of good by so easily labeling ourselves to the exclusion of the other gender.  Nor do I think we give ourselves a good reason to read something that puts us outside our comfort zone if we so easily brand it as “not for you, boy/girl, go read something girl/boy.”  What I do think is we should be as daring in our encouragement of others’ reading as we are in our own.

I also think Thundercats is awesome.