Musings on Martians and Minority Membership (in the Lit Mag Context)

Writer examines some lit mags' #OwnVoices policy and other editorial practices

Welcome to our weekly column offering perspectives on lit mag publishing, with contributions from readers, writers and editors around the world.

---

Introduction

There is, to my knowledge, no litmus test for who is qualified to write about Martians. This is because Martians are entirely fictional, and therefore, we are all on equal footing when waxing poetic about those who hail from the Red Planet. Moreover, because Martians do not actually exist, there are no limitations on what constitutes the authentic Martian experience. (As for those of you vehemently shaking your heads because you have in fact encountered Martians, please just work with me here.)

Now let’s imagine that the fictional character centering a story is not a Martian, but an Earthling who is a member of an underrecognized group (e.g., ethnic minority, disabled, LGBTQ+). Guess what? Things are about to get messy.

The objective of this piece is to highlight two major issues that can arise when a fiction submission about an underrecognized group member hits the desk (or more likely, computer screen) of a literary journal editor. The first section raises concerns about who has “authority” to write about underrecognized group members. The second section addresses perceptions of what constitutes “authentic” experiences of fictional underrecognized group members. 

Authority

Some literary journals have made it clear that with respect to a fiction submission centered around a character belonging to an underrecognized group, the story should be written by a person who has the same background as the character. The policy may be stated explicitly on the journal’s website, sometimes with links to #ownvoices articles. Alternatively, the policy may be obvious based on comments made by a journal’s editorial staff during interviews or panel sessions. 

The purpose of this section is not to call out specific journals or to embarrass editors. I believe that the policy stems from a well-intentioned place. Sometimes, although certainly not always, when an author writes about a character who does not share any background characteristics with the author, the finished product is lazy, stereotypical, sometimes unintentionally hilarious, and frequently offensive. (For a satirical take on this problem, I highly recommend “A Northern Writer Writes a Southern Story,” by Daniel Galef.) Moreover, I sympathize with editors who, usually without pay, are constantly trying to navigate land mines. There has been a complete breakdown of civility on social media platforms, and editors are always at risk of being vilified for publishing a piece by the “wrong” person containing the “wrong” message. I also think that if an editor’s name is on a journal’s masthead, it is that editor’s prerogative to create whatever aesthetic that editor desires, and it is up to writers to determine whether they want to see their work within that journal’s pages.

That said, I have some questions.

Here are some facts. I am a Black woman born, raised, and currently living in the United States.

Let’s assume that the only biographical information I provide to literary journals with #ownvoices policies is as follows: “Vivianne S. Alleyne (she/her) is a U.S.-born Black writer with work in [insert the names of four or five literary journals] and elsewhere.” Unless the journal has theme restrictions, I suspect that no one would bat an eye if I submitted stories about a) a Mississippi-based Black woman’s fraught relationship with a male White slave owner in 1858, b) a Black couple combating racism in present-day Alabama, c) a single Black mother dealing with financial setbacks while living in government housing in the Bronx, or d) a married Black mother’s stress over raising a Black son in Oregon.

Time for some additional facts and one “Captain Obvious” reminder. Over 90% of my life thus far has been spent in the Northeast. None of my ancestors were raised in the South. My direct encounters with the South are limited. I attended a wedding in Charleston over a decade ago, I went to Disney World twice in my youth, and I once visited the Coca Cola museum in Atlanta. I was raised in a two-parent household, lived in single-family houses with large backyards, and have never experienced financial insecurity. I have no sons, and have never set foot in Oregon. I was not alive during America’s slavery era, and neither were you.  

Now for some additional additional facts. Before entering a private university, I attended ethnically and socioeconomically diverse public schools. I was present when close friends were dealing with financial uncertainty. Some of my Black friends now have sons and have expressed their concerns about raising them in today’s climate. My history teachers never whitewashed or skipped over the slavery era. As for Alabama and Oregon, I know and talk to people who live there. I am constantly reading work (micros, flash, novels, memoirs) on a variety of topics by people who do not share my background. Lastly, I have a very vivid imagination.

Having fleshed out my personal history, do I satisfy #ownvoices criteria for any of my proposed story lines? If you conclude that I do, why? Does my status as a Black woman allow me to write about any topic relating to a fictional Black character? If not, is the fact that I have secondhand information (or even thirdhand information) about some of these topics sufficient? If such knowledge is sufficient, is a non-Black writer with the same information also qualified to write about these topics? If you conclude that I am not actually qualified to write about any of my proposed story lines, should my fiction submissions to #ownvoices journals be limited to tales of financially comfortable Black characters living in the Northeast who have no sons?

Plausibility

Now let’s assume that one’s “authority” to write about a fictional character from an underrecognized group has been established, or that the journal at issue never had a litmus test in the first place. Can the author now proceed with abandon, or are there limits to what can be written about this fictional character (assuming the author actually wants to be published)?

Below are some examples of what I’ll call “the plausibility factor.” A Black friend of mine was told by an editor that it was not “realistic” for her adult Black female character to have a graduate degree. To be clear, the story was set in the twenty-first century. It was of no consequence that the Black author herself has a graduate degree. That same friend–who is also a mother–was advised (by a different editor regarding a different story) that no real-life Black mother would share the thoughts of the fictional Black mother. (In case anyone is wondering, that second piece was ultimately published elsewhere and nominated for a prestigious award thereafter.) I also know that editors have questioned the likelihood of a fictional Black child actually living with both parents. I can’t even.

I realize that these are anecdotes, but in the past I’ve seen some amazing Twitter threads indicating that these incidents are not isolated. Simply put, if the social history or behavior of a fictional character belonging to an underrecognized group does not jive with an editor’s understanding of the shared experience of the group members, a rejection letter may follow because the editor finds the story implausible. Note that this can happen even if the editor is a member of the same group as the author.  

What are the ramifications of the plausibility factor? Due to concerns about how their work will be perceived, are the creators of fictional underrecognized group members perhaps writing not the stories they actually want to write, but the stories they believe editors want to read? What amazing stories might currently be shoved into dusty desk drawers because they went against stereotype and were therefore deemed unpublishable by editor after editor? What impact, if any, might it have on a writer when an editor who is a member of the same underrecognized group as the writer questions the likelihood of the thoughts or actions of the writer’s fictional underrecognized group member?                                                               

Conclusion

This piece asks various narrow questions, but I think they can all be collapsed into a single overarching query: At what point, if any, does gatekeeping with respect to stories about fictional underrecognized group members (even as part of an effort to create a more equitable literary world) become problematic? This query generates a second broad question. If gatekeeping in its current forms is indeed troublesome, what’s to be done about it other than eye-rolling or hand-wringing?

A few final thoughts. There is nothing new under the sun, and I know that others have raised similar concerns (see, for example, Yellowface author R.F. Kuang’s May 16, 2023 NPR interview). However, I have not yet seen these topics discussed on this forum. I also know that I’ve barely scratched the surface with respect to the “who should speak about what and what exactly should they say” arguments. Honestly, it’s exhausting to think about these issues, let alone write about them, so this is as far down the rabbit hole as I plan to go...for now. In addition, while all of my examples have centered around Black authors, I am well aware of the fact that members of other groups face similar challenges, and then some. (I vividly recall reading a social media post in which an Asian writer stated that they had been chided for having too many Asian characters in their story...which was set in Japan.) For those of you encountering the word “underrecognized” for the first time, I came across this term in a recent article by N. Chloé Nwangwu and decided that I liked it (slightly) better than the usual suspects (marginalized, underrepresented, etc.). Lastly, I realize that some people may view my use of a pen name with suspicion. No, I am not a White male masquerading as a Black female. If you’re wondering why I feel compelled to use a pen name, please see paragraph five above, wherein I reference the complete breakdown of civility on social media platforms.

Off to finish my Martian story.

---