That’s a sigh of relief. One less thing to feel conflicted about. One more thing I can celebrate freely, easily, and without reservation.
I’m talking about the World Fantasy Award, which will now no longer be represented by the head of H. P. Lovecraft. My feeling re the whole thing is a) ’bout time, and b) whew. Because while I have no idea if I’ll ever win a WFA myself — I’ve been nominated twice and that’s awesome — I have watched other anti-racist friends and fellow writers of color win the award. It’s impossible not to feel that visceral clench of empathy when they speak of the awkwardness of Lovecraft, of all people, as the representation of their honor. I’ve heard a number of winners talk about the ways they plan to hide or disguise or otherwise disrespect their own award so that they can reach a place of comfort with it. I’ve contemplated what I would do if I won, myself. (Was planning to put it on full display atop my cat’s litterbox.) I never show off my nomination pins, because I don’t feel like explaining when people ask, “Who’s that supposed to be?”
It’s not right, that so many of us should have a sour taste in our mouths when we speak of triumph and achievement. And yet that’s the position we get put into by the SFF genre again and again, because so many of its honors are… tainted. The Campbell is named after a man who rejected stories featuring black protagonists on principle. The Hugo’s namesake was not without his questionable ideas about black people. The Nebula was twice awarded by a jury that included Vox Day — and yeah, people knew exactly what kind of person he was when they put him on that jury. They did it anyway, because “back then” (as recently as ten years ago) the decision-makers in this genre just didn’t think hating black people or women or Jews or queer people was all that big a deal. A lot of people in this genre still don’t. (We’re so open minded, we dreamers and futurists.) But now here we are, and there’s hardly an honor in SFFdom that I can win without adding a rueful twist to my smile, or a sigh to the end of my cheer.
It wears on the soul, having to think about this.
(And I do have to. A good writer understands how the world works, and doesn’t flinch away from acknowledging what’s wrong with it.)
I’m not calling for the overhaul of all SFF awards — though if the various folks involved decided to consider making changes on their own, great. I get that other people don’t want to taste this sourness when they talk about our genre’s best and brightest. I don’t want to. Which is why it’s such a relief that I no longer have to re the WFA (provided they don’t replace it with something just as problematic). Whether I win or someone whose writing I love wins, I can now whoop and clap and stomp my feet with the same abandon as everyone else. This seems like such a small thing to be glad for… but some of us have to take our small pleasures where we can get them.
Thanks for that, Nnedi and Sofia and Daniel and all the other folks who named the elephant in the room, and pushed this conversation. Thanks to the World Fantasy decision-makers who finally realized you can celebrate an author’s work and still acknowledge that hating black people is a big deal to some of us. Thanks also to the fans, who’ve endured endless circular trollacious contributions to the conversation (e.g. “if we ban the imperfect we’ll have nothing left to read!” even tho nobody was talking about banning and “how much BLOOD on the FLOOR do you WANT, SJWs?!” oh ffs really and “but he was so polite” and so on), and kept it focused on what matters.
Whew. Gonna get back to revisions, now, with a little lighter heart.