Over the past few days I have encountered several references to the use of trans people in art. Firstly there is this article, referencing the LGBT History exhibition, which appeared on Unmaking Things, a blog that is a joint production of the Royal College of Art and the Victoria & Albert Museum. We’ve also had a request, following on from the exhibition, to find trans people who are willing to be photographed for an art project. And finally, some asked on Twitter if I thought it was reasonable to claim to have gained an understanding of trans people through reading science fiction.
What these all have in common is that they involve the representation of trans people in art, probably by cis people. In her blog post, Lauren Fried notes that in the exhibition, “There is very little imagery which pertains to the (re)design of bodies here; instead, the histories of these bodies are referred to through objects and archival documentary sources.†This was very deliberate on our part and Fried, though her academic interest is in the design of bodies, understands why we did it. (I’ve since corresponded with her on Facebook.)
All too often, images of trans people, both factual and artistic, are intended to other the subjects. We get the notorious “before and after†shots that the newspapers are so fond of running (and that trans celebrities are automatically asked for, even when an article featuring them has nothing to do with their transition or history). And we get gender-bending art displays that either revel in androgyny or present “you can’t tell†images.
Of course there is a place for such things. The exhibition does contain a portrait of a trans woman, local theatre director, Martine Shackerley-Bennett, who allowed her artist friend, Penny Clark, to chronicle her transition. You can learn more about the work Penny did in this YouTube clip.
There is also a long and honorable history of performers such as David Bowie, Boy George, Tilda Swinton and Andrej Pejić who delight in presenting an androgynous appearance. That is their right, and the questioning of gender boundaries that results from their actions is to be welcomed as it has done a great deal to advance public acceptance of trans folk.
Where problems arise is when people start with the gender-bending image and conclude, “this is what trans people are.†As I hope regular readers will be aware by now, the truth is much more complicated. While there are many trans people who would love to be as famous, good-looking and as brain-exploding as Swinton or Pejić, there are many who do not. Very few want to be the subject of “freak show†imagery.
So how does this fit into learning about trans people from SF? Well, if you’ve read my essay on the subject you’ll know that most 20th Century SF featuring trans people was written by cis people who seemed to have very little idea what actual trans people were like. It also tended to make the trans folk “issue charactersâ€, by which I mean that their otherness was the significant thing about them, the reason why they were in the story. Respectful or not, it tended to be the literary equivalent of the freak show image.
The other thing about 20th Century SF is that it often features gender transition as a choice rather than as something the characters need to do in order to be themselves. The assumption is that future technology allows such essentially cosmetic surgery, and so people will opt for it. Iain Banks, to his credit, has always acknowledged that such choices are predicated on a society that has achieved gender equality. Few people would choose to become a member of an oppressed group in society. In our current society, where women are still second class citizens, and trans people are often barely accepted as human, the idea that transition is a lifestyle choice is deeply offensive to many who undergo it.
So does reading 20th Century SF actually help you gain an understanding of trans people? From one point of view, clearly not. I’ve had earnest people tell me that they know all about folk like me because they have read John Varley’s Steel Beach. This makes me want to put my head in my hands and weep. If that’s what you get out of your reading then you are in deep trouble.
On the other hand, what SF has always done is usualize the idea of gender transition. (Yes, “usualize†is a made up word. That’s because the word commonly used in a sentence like that would be “normalizeâ€, and “normal†has all sorts of connotations beyond the mathematical.)
What I mean by this is that if you read SF (and to a lesser extent fantasy) then the idea that someone might change their gender is not strange and frightening. SF readers are accustomed to reading about things that might not (yet) be real, whereas those who do not read SF often excuse themselves by saying that they can’t accept things that are not real, even in a work of fiction (which is, by definition, unreal). If you can’t accept the possibility of a changing world in fiction, the chances are you won’t be too keen on actual changes in the real world.
So I do think there is a way in which reading SF can help people to accept trans people. Of course it isn’t foolproof. While there are some people for who reading SF as made them eager and willing to encounter aliens, there are others who feel it has taught them that the only good alien is a dead alien. I’m also aware that there are SF fans who are perfectly OK reading about people with green skin and tentacles, but can’t cope with ordinary humans who have brown skin, or breasts. Art does not affect all people in the same way. However, I can see how reading SF may have helped people to be more understanding about difference. Whether those people would have been as understanding without it, I can’t say, and neither can they. If they want to credit their reading as being formative, I’m happy to let them.
It’s interesting to read this – very measured – assessment of ‘trans people in SF’.
The interest for me (as one particular cis person) of SF stories in which people are able to switch gender is the quality of androgyny, the idea of an ungendered self in a gendered body. Which is no help at all in understanding a trans person who identifies as a this-gendered self in a that-gendered body.
I have no idea how generally applicable this analysis is, but I offer it up for what it’s worth…
That’s certainly one way of looking at it, though as far as 20th Century material is concerned it is surprising how strongly gendered these characters are (and how easily they switch between the two poles). One has to wonder why gender continues to exist in such worlds.
” ..though as far as 20th Century material is concerned it is surprising how strongly gendered these characters are (and how easily they switch between the two poles). One has to wonder why gender continues to exist in such worlds.”
Maybe because its necessary? That it is the only way that an author can approach the subject in his own place and time?
Consider that I read ..my mother taught me to read when I was somewhere between 4 and 5 years old and I was born in 1949 … Hal Clements ” Cycle Of Fire ” when I was a boy. Cant quite remember precisely when I read that public library book but here is a briefly web searched reference chosen that I chose for its modern science i fiction biology …
” Clement’s novel Cycle of Fire is set on the planet Abyormen, which orbits a dwarf star, which in turn circles a blue giant. The planet’s usual orbit creates two sixty-five-year-long seasons; the “hot season” and the “cold season”. Each season is dominated by a different intelligent species.
Abyormen’s life forms have evolved a unique form of reproduction to account for the widely varying in environmental conditions. All its creatures – including the intelligent ones – lay spores in their alternate season counterparts. Those spores lie dormant until the seasons begin to change.
When the cold season on Abyormen draws to a close, the “cold” Abyormenites die and the “hot” Abyormenites emerge from the spores left in their bodies decades before. Those newly hatched “hot” Abyormenites carry spores for the next generation of “cold” Abyormenites, which in turn lie dormant until the next change of the seasons. Thus each sapient species on the planet absolutely depends on the life and ultimate death of the other for their own survival.”
The thing is that the main protagonist is a boy but could just as easily have been a girl and his friend was an alien .. how to fix the identity of a trans species Alien? .. whose life he was bent on saving whether his friend wanted it to be saved or not .. and that friend was in the process of a transision . The book was what in modern terms would be called a .’Young Adult ‘ book but that depends on how young is Young doesnt it? ..
http://io9.com/5636024/temperate-bacteriophages-and-the-abyormenites
I’m not sure that I even know how to pronounce the word ” abyormenites” and I had to look it up to discover what it means.
At the time way back then I just enjoyed the story because it was a good tale and it was well told rather than because it was – in my own opinion – trans friendly.
” While this story might just be considered merely an interesting writing anecdote, I think it illustrates an important element of science fiction. Clement read an article about cutting edge science, but didn’t just incorporate the scientific observations directly into his story. Instead he built on the science to create something very different from the original inspiration. I think that’s one of the factors that distinguishes science fiction from fiction with science. And that’s one of the reasons why I enjoy reading SF. ”
That seems to be fair enough to me. Is Clement much known in the literary references to gender equality/feminism/trans/gay/lesbian studies?
Sadly you’d have a hard time finding his work amidst the sea of supernatural romance/steam punk/teen vampire stuff that presently rules the genre e book/real book shelves.
http://books.google.co.uk/books/about/Cycle_of_Fire.html?id=G6Iq5zlqsgwC
Grounding the story in biology we know certainly makes it easier to write, and easier to read. On the other hand, if authors are serious about world building, they should ask tough questions, including whether gender would exist in the same way in a world in which body modification is easy and commonplace.
Thanks for the Clement recommendation.
Re art, for me the key thing was your phrase “the use of trans people in art”. “Use” is exactly right in so many (most?) cases.
Can’t add anything to your excellent analysis of the SF issue except to applaud.
Moderately famous counterexample: “They Were Eleven” by Moto Hagio, in which one of the characters comes from a species (or human subspecies, it’s not clear) which is essentially neuter until some kind of deliberate, non-biologically determined change. Their home society is male-dominated, but by custom only the eldest child from each family is permitted to become male, except for rare exceptions. The character, not being a firstborn, is trying to earn one of those exceptions by getting into a prestigious space academy.
It’s a short work, and that isn’t even the main plotline, so a lot of the details are left unexplored, but if you’re interested in reading it, track down a copy of Four ShÅjo Stories.
Other works have picked up the idea of a society where gender is determined by choice at adulthood, but I don’t know enough about them to know if they’ve included the gender privilege dynamic.
Interesting idea, though a species in which gender transition is commonplace and socially acceptable is not really equivalent to humans. The other book that people keep telling me is a “good trans story” is The Left Hand of Darkness. It really isn’t, save possibly because Genly Ai can be read as succumbing to trans panic.