Have you watched Shadow and Bone on Netflix? When the book series was purchased, there was a lot of talk about how white the books were. This is a common conversation. Writers are generally encouraged to “write what we know,” which adds to authenticity of voice, place, etc. Unfortunately, that absolutely leads white authors to write books that are predominantly white.
When white writers want to include non-white characters, we are cautioned by BIPOC to GET HELP with the character development and writing. (There are literally sensitivity BETA readers who will read your book draft for bias, problematic representation, etc.) White people know much less about BIPOC than we think we do. How many times have you read a book written by a white author who describes their Black character as a type of food — chocolate eyes, caramel skin? Can you imagine reading a book with white characters described similarly — “skin the color of strawberry frosting”?
Okay, that made me laugh so much that I have to describe myself in food terms. Here goes: Her deep-set blue raspberry kool-aid eyes were the only color in a cream cheese face dotted with raisins. NAILED IT. Get the point? It’s hurtful and wrong to write about people and cultures without doing the work to make that inclusion authentic.
So, Shadow and Bone needed to become less white. How did the development team do that? Did they put in the necessary work to add cultures authentically? No. No, they did not. Instead, they added racism to the story, Asian racism, with deeply troubling racist tropes that I’m not going to repeat here.
That’s more than disappointing. It’s anti-anti-racism. Nothing says white privilege like adding a big heaping spoonful of racism to make a story less white. It’s ridiculously tone deaf in the current environment; and Netflix, in their sprint to Oscar relevancy (as awards continue their slide to obscurity), should have considered that there are many obvious and effective ways to make the series less white without racism.
Early in my writing journey, I started writing a fictionalization of a sweet story a teacher told me about a Black child who took a tomato home to share with his family. I got a solid 15,000 words into it before I had traveled far enough on MY journey to realize that it was not my story to tell.
It is essential that white writers make space at the table — build a new table if the one you’re at isn’t big enough — for BIPOC writers. That’s one reason why, for those of you who are uninitiated in the publishing controversies of the moment, there has been much criticism of Simon & Schuster for agreeing to publish books written by famous people who are racist. There is no need to amplify racist views and doing so tells BIPOC that there isn’t really a place at the table for them.
Since publishers are, frankly, in it for the money, an excellent way for us to support and promote inclusion is to amplify books by non-white authors. Check them out. Literally. Go to your local library and check them out. Or buy them. Or listen to the audio books. Add them to your Goodreads “want to read” list. Show publishers that you are interested in stories told by people who don’t look like you. Here are three (of many) kidlit books by BIPOC authors coming out this month:
- Counting Down With You by Tashie Bhuiyan
- Last Gate of the Emperor by Kwame Mbalia & Prince Joel Makonnen
- The Ones We’re Meant to Find by Joan He
Not interested in these? Try something by Angeline Boulley or Cherie Dimaline.
In additional writing news, my story has taken a turn. I can’t discuss it because that would give away important plot details but even I was surprised. It seems likely that there are more twists coming. I can say that my protagonist’s best friend, who is chaotic neutral, is going to play a much more significant role than I initially thought and, honestly, I’m here for that.
My virus poem did not get into the anthology. As promised, I’ll share it in a separate post soon. Actually, given the very large number of entries, I’m surprised that the Public Poetry team chose a small number of poems for their collection. I think I would have published a longer chapbook (even without my entry!) because pandemic art and literature will be a piece of our history, like our vaccine cards and our masks.
LeVar Burton coined a term that I hope will catch on: community immunity. He suggests, and I agree, that language matters in the effort to get people vaccinated. We’re not cows; we’re people. Working together, we can give community immunity to those who cannot be vaccinated.
Get your shot or shots. Wear your mask. Help get us to community immunity.
Much love.
