Abstract

Blacks do not enjoy the same agency in genre fiction as members of other communities do. This fact is confirmed by a review of the body of work completed by Blacks in this space between the 18th-21st centuries as a whole as well as a deeper dive into the perceptions of the quality of the work, and the cultural expectations of the output. Because of that, many Black authors do not claim the genres that their work clearly references, deciding instead to remain more mainstream. This results in an inauthentic approach to their storytelling, which, by extension, limits their readership. Equally as often, Black authors, regardless of the genre within which their work falls, are relegated to a catch-all section designated for any and all fiction created by those in that racial group. For example, Octavia Butler, who was an accomplished science fiction author, experienced limited exposure and, by extension, readership because her books were shelved in the Black section as opposed to the Science Fiction section of bookstores. The creation of the newly minted Afrofuturism movement under the speculative fiction umbrella is a response to the sidelining phenomenon that many Black authors experience, however many titles within this new genre suffer the same fate. The concept of otherness as it pertains to Black speculative fiction writers will be explored, as will the paths that led to the current state. An eye toward diversity will also be reviewed in an effort to support exposure and access to Black creators. This review of the construct that Black authors have been oppressed by has been assessed through personal experience, to wit my novels Crescendo, the award-winning vampire tale The Promise Keeper, and The Realm, as well as my lauded screenplay, Inexorable. These four contributions to the speculative fiction canon represent a Black female author creating relatable characters in a space where diverse voices have been systemically muted, and form the blueprint for the intersection of genre and race.
Black authors have a rich history of writing prose that is moving, challenging, and important to social consciousness, however they have a marked lack of presence in speculative fiction genres—specifically the horror genre. In the same way that women are not immediately thought of as horror fiction authors even though powerhouse female practitioners such as Ann Radcliffe and Mary Shelley were at the forefront of the gothic genre, the predecessor to what we now know as the horror genre, and though the genre still boasts many formidable female authors such as Anne Rice and Tananarive Due, Black authors are not often associated with this style of writing. That is not to say that Black authors are not connected to literature as a whole. Indeed, the perspective that Black authors have enjoyed in publishing is evident and poignant, however restricted and siloed. Black creators in both film and literature have been relegated to producing content that speaks of the race narrative, whether fiction or nonfiction entries. In this commentary I will discuss how that came to be, consider the implication of the practice, and present an argument for a restructuring of the system that has been in place for over a century while connecting my work and effort toward changing ingrained expectations. In doing so I will discuss the pervasive nature of bias and how it has colored expectations in publishing, both from a creator and a consumer’s perspective. It is important to discuss representation in and consumption of media by looking at more than one form. Both visual depictions and written forms have been put into practice to convey messages to audiences and their success is evident when pop culture is analyzed. Access in the form of education and monetary means dictate what form of media one is exposed to and at what prevalence. It is for that reason that films and texts will both be utilized herein to illustrate how comprehensive the approach toward bias has been.
Inasmuch as reflecting on what has occurred is important to understand how we have arrived at this current state, a path forward toward change is necessary to facilitate conversation about the new era in publishing. In my own work there are several examples of the versatility that Black authors bring to the table. While there are several referenceable works that I have penned as L. Marie Wood, my novels Crescendo, The Promise Keeper, and The Realm, as well as my screenplay, Inexorable exemplify the tenets of my thesis most closely. Crescendo is a novel about a man who is unsure if he is losing his mind amidst a host of personal challenges. As he navigates the emotions that surround the disintegration of his marriage, grapples with infidelity, and recognizes slow fracture of mind, he is forced to contend with family history, unearthing ghosts that threaten to ruin him. These characters represent human beings in relatable struggles in a setting that is accessible. That the characters are Black is only a portion of who they are. Not calling their race into the discussion was a deliberate act; it served to present Black men and women, individually and as couples, as people first and foremost. The desire to reflect this reality stemmed from the inherent bias in the publishing world, from agents to publishers, toward identifiably Black characters and the lack of connection some feel toward them.
In The Promise Keeper I took a different approach. Set in what is now Benin, West Africa and traversing the world over centuries to land in modern-day New York City, the characters in this novel are deliberately identified as Black. This vampire tale dives into several concepts that, while stylized and action-focused in the text, touch upon very profound aspects of life, debunking stereotypes and misconceptions related to Black people in the United States. The notion that a majority of young Black women procreate so that they can enjoy the financial support attached to their offspring as allocated by the American Welfare system is dismantled as the care and concern that the unwilling vampire, Angie, demonstrates for her unborn child causes her to flee through centuries and across continents to protect him. The construct that Black love exists predominantly in the carnal sense rather than emotional is challenged by the connection between Angie and her love interest, Jonathan. The archaic assertion of gender hierarchy is felled when Zaji rejects the eternal life that her maker forces upon her and escapes his control. While presented in a fictional setting, these real-world mindsets are addressed and an alternative view presented in support of Black mothers, Black love, and women of all races.
In The Realm, a fantasy/sci-fic/horror novel about life after death, I make use of music references and locales that loosely allude to the racial makeup of the characters, but never confirm. As an author, I believe that the relationship between the reader and myself is give and take; readers approach work that falls in the psychological and mystery categories with an interest in discovery. Indicators of race are sprinkled within the work in the same way that clues to what Patrick, the main character, must do to save his family are and, as a matter of course, some clues are important and others are not. The racial ambiguity employed here is designed to do two things: let the reader use their imagination to flesh out that aspect of the characters and determine whether or not, or more importantly, why they deem it important.
Inexorable is an end of world screenplay that makes clear that for all of our differences, we, as human beings, are the same and will suffer a collective fate. It is a nod toward the melting pot suggestion that is humanity and forces the characters to look bias in the eye as the world collapses around them.