I’ve been getting some interesting questions while on book tour.
1 – Do you plan on all on your novels being so political?
And
2 – How come your novel doesn’t get more political?
The funny thing is, these questions actually don’t contradict one another other. In fact, they reveal a lot about how we think of art and politics. They are what happen when we think of art and politics as being two wholly separate things. Rather than seeing them as being organically intertwined, we like to think one can be applied to another in increments or measurements, as if making a novel political is as simple as baking: mix in X or Y amount of Issue A to a plot and you get a novel that is either somewhat or very political.
My life experience does not allow me to see—or even experience—things quite so simply. As an immigrant and a Latina whose recent novel deals with family sacrifice, love, generational trauma, secrets, marriage, adolescence, borders, and immigration, I’m often told things like my novel is very timely, or that the topic of immigration is very relevant right now. I’ve lived my whole life as an immigrant; to me and millions like me, immigration is not a “topic” but a lived experience. We cannot separate politics from our lives because our whole lives there have been policies in place that affect us.
Which is why question #1 (do you plan on all your novels being political?) so often creeps up. What a question like this fails to acknowledge is that all stories are political—the only difference among them is the role those politics play. If they are unperceived in a story, it is only because the people in it are lucky enough to have politics working in their favor: unfelt and unintrusive.
In stories like mine, in a time and setting where the current (and historical) politics obstruct and oppress the lives of the Latinx immigrant communities I’m writing about, the political becomes more visible. It is a force that we do not have the privilege, as much as we’d want to, of ignoring. Even if I were to write a fun, “non-political” story that makes for an escapist read, it’d be difficult to do so authentically because my existence as a woman of color and immigrant is politicized in the world we live in. The example I often give is this:
Imagine I want to write about a Latina woman who just moved into her dream home and wants to remodel her kitchen. She lives a happy life as a writer and is happily married to her husband and best friend of 6 years. I would draw from personal experience here because that woman was me 4 years ago, when we moved into our first home. Back then, I scoured the internet, got referrals off of Angies List, and set up appointments with contractors to get a quote. I love these kinds of projects and my husband is more of the tech guy in our relationship.
Still, without fail, even though I was the one who contacted and emailed them, each contractor that came into our home walked in, ignored me, addressed mainly my husband, assumed he was the decision-maker and the one who’d be paying for his services, and put his name on the quote. They wrote me off because I was a woman and deferred to my husband as an authority figure. One contractor, after I expressed that we’d be looking at other quotes because his was above our budget, commented that sure, I would probably find cheaper labor because there are “a bunch of illegals who’ll do it for less.” Standing inside my home, he used slurs against Mexicans and immigrants.
I’m sure this may be uncomfortable for some to read. I know because it is uncomfortable for me to have lived it, and it’s minor compared to so many far harsher realities. I also know that many may wonder: where is the writing advice in all this, where is the craft, where is the publishing industry know-how in this post?
It’s in all of it, because again, these things do not exist separately.
Politics, power, and identity dynamics are always present in life as they are in stories. Some people and characters feel them more than others. Some are lucky enough to not perceive them at all. Do you know what role these things play in your characters’ stories?
Which brings me to question #2 (how come your novel doesn’t get more political?). My novel does not actually get very political at all, if by “political” you mean the way many perceive politics today: through headlines, think-pieces, pundits from opposite ends of the political spectrum shouting at one another, and conflicting opinions that we end up agreeing to disagree on.
It is not a reaction to any one political moment; it is simply an honest retelling of whole lives. There’s a lot of joy in it, a lot of triumph and love, amidst the hardships my characters go through. There is so much more to their stories than their suffering. There is so much more worth knowing about them than only the ways that policy hurts them. I choose not to allow my acknowledgment of their struggles to erase the beauty of their lives.
Consider the ways we view the news, the photos of children and parents being separated at the border. Why must we only care when they are in tears? What if we’d cared starting before then, in their daily lives? What if we knew the story of the drawing a little girl made for her mother at school one day, or the words to the song they sing together as she’s tucked into bed at night? What if we were as invested in their joy as we are in their pain? What if the fullness of their narratives were being told and amplified all along? What if the craft of storytelling were more humane?
These same questions must be asked of the book industry as a whole. Until they’re addressed honestly, we’ll continue perpetuating the lie that stories about marginalized people are “issue stories,” only important as tools for understanding our hurt, when the truth is they’re important because we’re human.
I see my characters as real because they represent real people to me. I see fiction as an honest way of telling the truth. By this same token, the way we write is a reflection of how we view the world. The way we write is the way we live.
Have you thought about the role politics, power, and identity play in your characters’ stories?
About Natalia Sylvester
Born in Lima, Peru, Natalia Sylvester came to the U.S. at age four. A former magazine editor, Natalia now works as a freelance writer in Austin, Texas and is a faculty member of the low-res MFA program at Regis University. Her articles have appeared in Latina Magazine, Writer’s Digest, The Writer, and NBCLatino.com. She is the author of Chasing the Sun, named the Best Debut Book of 2014 by Latinidad and chosen as a Book of the Month by the National Latino Book Club. Her second novel, Everyone Knows You Go Home, is forthcoming from Little A in 2018.
Great post! I like what you said, “I’ve lived my whole life as an immigrant; to me and millions like me, immigration is not a “topic” but a lived experience” As a woman of color, certain things just come out in my stories because it’s my life. It just so happens that people consider it political. I am aware of this view people have because it might effect how they see my books. Doesn’t change how I write, though.
Thank you, Auden.
“Doesn’t change how I write, though.”
Yes, this!
“Until they’re addressed honestly, we’ll continue perpetuating the lie that stories about marginalized people are “issue stories,” only important as tools for understanding our hurt, when the truth is they’re important because we’re human.”
This brings to mind one of the things I love about fantasy/scifi – particularly epic fantasy. I think most non-fantasy readers presume they’re just “sword and sorcery” books, or books about dragons and orcs, etcetera. But most fantasy readers (myself included) expect intricate politics that interplay with power and identity. We expect applicability. We expect to be provoked to deeper understanding.
For example, I’m currently reading Jacqueline Carey’s new epic, Starless. The main character Khai happens to be transgender (a female raised by monks as a male who identifies as male). Though the story is about so much more than this, how the fact impacts his life, how he feels about that impact, and how his feelings – and those in his life – transform over time, are part and parcel to the story.
From what I’ve seen, this element doesn’t even play into the promotion of the book. It’s not “what the book is about.” It’s not an “issue story.” It’s a goddam epic. A big, beautiful, intricate epic that happens to have a transgender MC.
Excellent and thought-provoking essay, Natalia. Thanks.
Thanks, Vaughn. Starless sounds like an amazing read. I’ll be looking into it!
Natalia, outstanding post. We are social creatures and therefore political. The stories we tell will always have a political aspect, whether or not readers recognize it. I realized this when I wrote my first novel, a historical set in India, a time that I lived through. That domestic tale has people in it whose lives are directly affected by the draconian social policies at the time. Even the book I’ve just published–BOUND–about a pair of sisters reflects today’s policies and how they affect them and the choices they make. I didn’t set out to examine these policies but there is no fiction without facts.
“I’ve lived my whole life as an immigrant; to me and millions like me, immigration is not a “topic” but a lived experience.”
This.
Thanks again.
Thanks, Vijaya. This is so on point: “We are social creatures and therefore political.”
All stories are political. All stories are moral. The minute you conceive a resolution, you can’t help it. You’ve paid into a value system. You are saying, “this is good” and by implication “that is not”.
You are saying that things should be a certain way. There are rights and rewards. You are showing that people should act a certain way, and if they do or if they don’t there are consequences. That’s politics. That’s morality.
The only differences are how pointedly you make your point, or how unfamiliar or how comfortable your point may be.
I notice that as new story contexts arrive (we currently shorthand this “multi-cultural” storytelling) they may at first portray suffering and injustice. “See me” is the message, but because western readers have not bothered to see before those stories may feel to them “political”. But, really, what is unfamiliar about suffering and injustice?
When fiction is dismissed as “political” it bothers me. You could equally say that of the easy-reading cozy mysteries. Fact is, fiction is human. That is harder to dismiss.
So true. I could not agree more that “all stories are moral.” And yet, so many tend to equate this to statement censorship of art. It confounds me. How is it horrible to say that we must live, work, write, do, with morality in mind?
Natalia,
Thank you so much for writing this piece. I needed to read it.
Congratulations on your novels. I just followed your author page on Amazon. I’m telling others about your work.
Take care
Thank you so much, Katheleen. I’m so glad it resonated. All my best,
Natalia
Natalia, such a lovely, truthful post. I am cheering you on with every word. When we write our stories, our novels, we write about the people we know, the joys and sorrows that color our words and ideas. I want to know about your life, the stories you are able to share. If I am published, I would hope you would read how my life filters through my characters and the lives they are leading. We are human beings and our stories speak of struggle that leads to victory or change; sometimes decisions that lead to disappointment. But all stories are presented to our readers in the hope that our words will touch their minds and hearts. EMPATHY. But as you say, we must feel that human bond whether there are tears or many smiles. I write and read fiction to connect with others. It fills me up. Some people? They haven’t opened their eyes yet. They refuse to see. So—we keep writing.
Indeed, Beth. Thank you!
This is one of the most sensible, thought-provoking articles I’ve read in a bit, thank you!!!
Thanks, Greer!
That is such a fantastic article.
I’ve posted on my blog (sorry, not in English) about how there is a ‘default’ figure in movies, books, etc. A white cis straight male. I was surprised to see how underrepresented *white straight women* are, and that’s before I even look at PoC, LGTBQIA+, etc. Yet when someone non-default writes about non-default people, it is perceived as political. ‘Diversity is very fashionable’ – no, humans just are diverse, even if for so many years non-default people were successfully ignored. All-male Ghostbusters is a movie, all-female Ghostbusters is some sort of shocking and disgusting statement that somehow needs to be widely protested.
One of the reasons I emigrated was that in my home country being openly gay (as opposed to, I suppose, openly straight) was considered to be some sort of political statement. Strangers felt the need to come over and tell me what they think about my life. Sometimes it was verbal or physical violence. Sometimes it was ‘you’re so brave by doing what you’re doing’. But I was not making a statement by existing. If anything, I would have made a statement by continuing to live in the closet, and trying to pass for ‘default’.
My second WIP features an ace (asexual) lead. When I was looking for books to read to educate myself better I was surprised to find there are very few of them, most indie. This character is not a statement. It’s a person who is a cis male (not shocking), white (not shocking), a graphic designer (not shocking), ace (OMG SO BRAVE AND POLITICAL), etc. I like to think he’s human.
Off to buy your book.
Thanks so much, Bjorn. You hit the nail on the head that diversity is not a fad or trend; those fade and we have always been here and will continue to do so. We’re in a moment in which we’re chipping away at the illusion of a default identity, and that makes many who have enjoyed this privilege uncomfortable. The upholding of that status quo has always been political, but too often invisibly so. I’m grateful for the writers working to bring it all to light.
Very interesting article, and thank you for pointing out what should be obvious to everyone, but, sadly, is not. Being a writer who has looked at racism from “white eyes,” I must have instinctively known that the stories should be about the joys as well as the pain of being from a different background. In my Season’s Mystery Series, I’ve paired a white detective with a black detective under less than favorable circumstances, and I worked hard to show that Angel is not the angst-ridden black woman out to prove herself. Yes, she wants to prove herself in a profession where women of any color have such a hard time, but her life is about being part of a loving family and having outside interests that bring her joy.
My decision to create Angel with that background came first from my wish not to stereotype her, but the more I “visited” her with her family, the more those interactions became important to the story.
There are a lot of political issues in the stories as the two women struggle with a partnership that neither of them want – for different reasons – but the stories go deeper than just the surface of racism.
Thanks for your comment, Maryann. You reminded me of another excellent point, which is that seeing our characters as fully human is not just about avoiding stereotypes; it’s also good craft & writing.