How Authentic is too Authentic?
By Jo Eberhardt | December 2, 2017 |
Image by Flickr user Queen Acid
A couple of weeks ago, a friend sent me a message about a book he’d just finished reading. “This book was terrible,” he said. “It was an urban fantasy novel, and the story was good, but the protagonist was just awful. The author’s name was female, but it was clearly written by a man. No woman would ever talk about themselves like that.”
“Like what?” I asked.
His complaint was that the female protagonist called herself a bitch on every other page, referred to herself as a slut a couple of dozen times throughout the book, and regularly described and critiqued her breasts and… ahem… more private areas. Despite the magic, mystery, and action that should have been the focus of the story, the protagonist spent more time objectifying herself than actually engaging with the plot.
For my friend, the lowest moment came after the protagonist had a one-night-stand with a male love interest. While the man was still asleep in bed the next morning, the protagonist sneaked off to the shower and harangued herself: “Why am I always such a dumb slut when I’m drunk?”
As it turns out, my friend was wrong: the author is a woman. Plus, of course, in real life, women–especially young women–talk about themselves like that quite frequently. “You’re a 40-something man,” I said. “You’re not really the author’s target audience.”
But then I got to thinking. Who is the target audience for this book? And how does it affect them?
Changing the World
At the Writer Unboxed Unconference last year, Donald Maass finished his workshop with a question.
How do you want your novel to change the world?
“The purpose of writing a novel is not to get published,” he said. “Every person has a story and purpose, a powerful message. How do you want your novel to change the world?”
Julia Munroe Martin wrote about her reaction to the question here. It was an incredibly moment at the end of an incredible week, and it’s a question that I come back to time and time again when I’m writing.
It’s a question that came back to me anew after talking to my friend about his reading experience.
How does that novel–a novel that has the protagonist regularly calling herself a dumb slut–change the world?
Words and Authenticity
I don’t really believe in demonising words just for existing. The word ‘slut’ is a word that exist; it gets used; it gets used by young women to refer to themselves. There are entire organisations devoted to the idea of “taking back” the word slut. While I don’t necessarily agree with their methodology, I get it. Women want to take the sting away from the word.
But that protagonist, crying in the shower that she’s a “dumb slut when she’s drunk”, she’s not feeling empowered. She’s not taking back the right to be and act and dress as she chooses.
She’s perpetuating and internalising the patriarchal idea that a man who has a one-night-stand is a legend, but a women who has a one-night-stand is a dumb slut.
And the worst part is, it’s completely authentic.
Where is the line?
Where is the line between writing an authentic character who represents reality for so many young women, and writing a positive representation of young women that will, as Donald Maass says, change the world?
Where is our responsibility, as writers, in writing characters who represent a better word? Should we follow the advice of the poets Salt N Pepa?
Let’s tell it how it is, and how it could be,
How it was, and of course how it should be.
Or should we stick to creating authentic characters who actually exist in this world?
I don’t have an answer for you. Perhaps you have one for me.
But I can’t help thinking that, somewhere out there, that book my friend disliked so much found someone in its target audience. A nineteen-year-old woman, looking for a pleasant escape into magic and mystery, stumbled across a book where the protagonist–a capable, confident, butt-kicking hero of her own age–had sex with someone, and then described herself as a “dumb slut”.
How will that change the world for her?
Where do you draw the line between authenticity and positive change? Do you think about these issues as you’re writing? What do you think about representations of women that reinforce patriarchal models of thought?
[coffee]
Jo Eberhardt is a writer of speculative fiction, mother to two adorable boys, and lover of words and stories. She lives in rural Queensland, Australia, and spends her non-writing time worrying that the neighbor’s cows will one day succeed in sneaking into her yard and eating everything in her veggie garden.
Jo–thanks for this. I write a suspense series featuring a woman protagonist, so what you take up involves matters I try to stay mindful of. As for choosing between “authenticity” (I take this to mean strict realism or naturalism) and “positive change” (being guided by a moral or ethical message), I think something the novelist John Gardner said is worth remembering: Anyone who thinks s/he can write a value-free novel is delusional. You can’t write a long narrative without revealing–intentionally or otherwise–your own moral and ethical self. So, it’s best to know this up front, and write accordingly.
Just now, it takes added courage to take up the highly charged subject of your post. It provokes a question of my own for you:
Where do you draw the line, not in terms of choosing between authenticity and positive change, but in regard to the prerogatives and taboos related to an author’s gender? In other words, if the book in question had been written by a man, would your point of view toward it be any different? Would that fact disqualify it as potentially valuable to the nineteen-year-old woman reader?
Thanks again for guiding us into, if not through a corner of the political-correctness minefield.
Indeed, this is a tricky one, Jo. I’m as conflicted as you are. And I feel pretty strongly about Don’s parting call, as well.
I clicked back through and reread Julia’s post and the comments. In mine, I wrote: “I believe each of us finds the stories that resonate with us for a reason.” Which made me wonder. Could it be that this “authentic” voice is exactly what someone needs? Is that sort of self-degradation the thing that makes someone say about this protagonist, “Finally, a realistic portrayal!”? I haven’t read the book but art there proactive steps taken–perhaps even steps we wouldn’t recognize as difficult ones? Is the change produced in this protagonist by the story’s resolution–however incremental–the very thing someone needs to see a way of moving forward?
I’m with you. I don’t know. But I do know that I believe in the power of story in creating positive change. I also know I don’t care for sermonizing in storytelling, and feel like most readers can smell it from a mile away. And I don’t think every story is going to make an obvious impact. But even if a story makes someone into a more ardent reader, isn’t that a good thing?
Thanks for a thought-provoking post, Jo.
I am on the side for creating authentic characters who exist in the world, complete with all their messy traits that make us uncomfortable. Of course, there is the risk that you turn readers off, such is the case as your friend; but finding that balance of writing a riveting story with flawed characters is the author’s challenge, isn’t it? REaching readers who can relate to characters IS changing the world
Good morning, Jo. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought as part of my revision process. In short, my protagonist has survived a lot but mid story, after she has detoxed and should be at her most powerful, she wimps out and instead of driving the story she just reacts to what is going on. It dawned on me her character was more authentic to her core values while she remained in an opium-induced haze. What tripped me up, I think, were the cultural constraints of a female in Afghanistan, yet she’d managed to work around them through the first half of the story. Finding the truth of each character, even when flawed or unlovely, is part of our own truth and I think that is what resonates for a reader.
Maybe it’s finding the right audience, but possibly in the example cited, it’s because the protagonist repeatedly calling herself names didn’t have an arc of change that felt authentic to that reader. I agree that women do often condemn rather than accept their mistakes, but possibly the constancy of it was where it lost touch with the reader.
For me, it’s the confidence of a storyteller that draws me in, and what keeps me there is the emotional journey. I want to hate reading the last line and closing the cover because the story is over, yet my absolute favorites stay with me for far longer.
Loved this post, Jo. Thank you.
Perhaps the need, the call, the change is authenticity itself, as Ellen suggests, not judgment. As the poet Muriel Rukeyser wrote, “What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.”
I don’t often comment on blog posts I read. So many come to my inbox on a daily basis there simply isn’t the time (of course, most are too banal to merit anything more than a cursory glance anyway). However, there is something intrinsically dysfunctional about the discourse we’re having, specifically as it relates to the definition of “authentic” when it comes to character development and portrayal.
Authenticity should only relate to people in the real world if you are writing biography. Otherwise, we should be identifying authenticity based on the world of the story. Is it authentic for a character to react a certain way based on our knowledge of her past and the world in which she lives?
I’m not suggesting our characters can’t ever live in Fairbanks, Alaska or Witcheta Falls, Kansas or Des Moines, Iowa. Those are locations and will have some effect on a character’s personality, but Des Moines isn’t her world. Her world is the people around her and how she’s been treated and how she’s seen others treated and how it has affected her.
I’m short, what we’re missing is context. Not knowing the book your friend read, my hypothesis would be that the author didn’t build enough reason for the character to refer to herself as a slut within the narrative. This is the reason it rang as false, because of the lack of context.
Now, I also don’t want to suggest that the words, actions, and behavior of characters in a novel can’t affect readers in serious ways. (Just watch John Oliver’s segment on the Trump presidency for an example of how words affect lives.)
Since the heart of this post is about whether author’s should be cognizant of how their words and characters affect their readers, I think it’s important to, again, reference context.
Yes, a teenage adult woman referring to herself as a slut could reinforce patriarchal dichotomies, but, with the right context (taking the word back, as part of a character arc learning to adjust one’s mindset, or [terribly] as a source of magical power … “I have to call myself a slut and feel bad about myself to use the magic that will save the world), authors can show readers a better way.
The bottom line is, authenticity should come from within the context of the story, not from the world outside, and it is from that point we should start the discussion on how authenticity affects readers.
Authenticity for verisimilitude; except when mundane or boring.
Discuss!
I have a problem with this in my novel I am writing. In it an older man jokes around with a younger female. Some of the jokes are sexual in nature. The man means no harm, that is just how he talks to everybody, even his male friends and co-workers. (I will give you a discount on repair charges if you blow me.) the guy is a mechanic and a lot of them are foul mouthed. The girl works as a secretary at the mechanics shop. The two eventually end up having a relationship.
I stopped writing the novel because of the recent sexual harassment and misconduct that has been happening in Hollywood. I felt like I was opening a huge can of worms. I did not want to make it sound like all women enjoy that kind of talk. I did not want to marginalize what many women go through- unwanted sexual advances from their employers.
I have worked in mechanic shops and I had experiences where people talk foul mouthed to each other. That is just my experience. I put my “authentic” experience into the novel. I realized that a lot of women have had awful experiences with men who harassed them. I could not finish writing my book.
To my mind, while a degree of authenticity is needed to avoid the cloying taste of wish fulfillment, authenticity alone is not enough.
We don’t need books just to tell us how things are – that’s what we have reality for. A book needs to bring something more to the table – to question, overturn, show a possibility – more than just “this is how it is. the end.”
Imagine being a young woman reading that book and getting the message that drunken poor choices and ensuing self-hate are normal, just “how things are”, end of story. No arc, no growth, no change – no point.
As any good feminist would, I too struggled with my main character being defined by her body and her self-image. When I began the book, the female protagonist’s ambitions, decisions and skills were all defined by late-1950s, Betty Crocker America. I became so irritated with her “truth” though, that I ended up extending the timeline into the 1960s, and introducing another character to reflect the changing times and more modern values. This character, whom the reader can contrast with the protagonist, is a much more independent woman who is testing traditional boundaries and expectations, and refusing to conform to the 1950s feminine ideal. So my characters exist within the same external reality (i.e., mid-century, middle America), but each within their own personal truth. By giving them equal space to breathe and live out their values (and writing from different POVs), I have resolved some of my guilt about initially crafting a likable, if unenlightened protagonist.
Nicole: have you considered how you might have your character(s) fight the mechanic stereotypes? Without knowing anything about your plot, maybe there’s opportunity to push back against expectations re “how things are”, either implicitly, through characters’ actions, or explicitly, through the dialogue?
I empathize with your sensitivity about the current climate of sexual harassment in the workplace. It’s hard to know when to try to add your voice to the dialogue, and risk alienating readers, and when to take a step back. I’ve found this to be especially tricky in my WIP, which also features quite a few inter-racial issues. But I try to address this by being as nuanced, thoughtful, and historically accurate as possible in my writing, and remembering that no matter what I do, I will be offending someone with anything I write, regardless of topic. Good luck!