“Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted―” E.M. Forster
I was recently asked how I would categorize my novel, Vindictive. The options presented to me were Thriller/Suspense, Mystery/Crime, and Action/Adventure. To me, however, something key was missing. So, I answered it my way.
The truth is, I never have to think about my answer; it’s always on the tip of my tongue. Whenever someone asks me to classify either Vindictive or Vindictive Too, I describe them as Queer Suspense/Thrillers set in Canada with an element of campy, soapy drama.
The response I received to this was, “Why do I not remember them being queer?”
I must confess that this response upset me, even though I recognize that it was given without any intention of malice. What troubled me most was the realization that while the statement caught me off guard, it didn’t exactly surprise me. My reviews for Vindictive and Vindictive Too have primarily focused on the “thriller” and “mystery” aspects with no nod to anything queer, aside from the “Camp” element. Yes, it’s something that’s preyed on my mind as I consciously envisioned a queer audience as one of my primary target readers while crafting my Canadian saga.
Defining “queer fiction” can be a complex and nuanced endeavour, as there’s no singular, universally recognized definition that captures its essence. Instead, the landscape of queer fiction is rich and diverse, encompassing a wide array of themes, styles, and voices.
While it may be impossible to pinpoint one definitive meaning, there are
numerous specific factors to explore that can help illuminate the core attributes and significance of queer narratives. These elements often reflect a tapestry of identities, experiences, and emotions, all woven together to create a vibrant literary genre that challenges conventions and expands the boundaries of storytelling.
LGBTQ+/Queer is not a distinct genre. Traditionally, a genre refers to the particular style or category of literature an author engages with, defining the nature of the narrative they craft. This encompasses various forms, such as romance, horror, fantasy, or mystery, each with its own conventions and familiar tropes.
Suppose an individual desires the inclusion of queer characters and content within their fiction, say a horror novel. In that case, it may reflect particular facets of their identity or personal experiences and show that they actively search for LGBTQ+ inclusion within these parent genres.
So, what makes a narrative “queer” within a conventional literary genre? Is it the author’s sexuality? Is it the number of queer characters within the story? Does the main protagonist and/or antagonist at least have to be queer?
In LGBTQ+ romance-themed narratives, the queer context is patently forthright. However, must the storyline within other genres revolve around some form of queer issue, like a built-in LGBTQ+ romance, oppression or political circumstances, whether historically or contemporarily contextualized? Narratives focussing on topics such as AIDS, transitioning, liberties issues, or chosen family drama come to mind.
Must these stories contain gay/queer sex? If so, how much sex? Do the main characters have to be engaging in it to make the narrative “queer” or considered LGBTQ+ fiction?
Does a reader’s sexuality or personal exposure to “queerness”—which I broadly define as anything under the LGBTQ+ umbrella—impact their ability to recognize and understand queer content and context? In the past, gay/queer stories often used coded language and required readers to “queer between the lines,” meaning that the queerness had to be inferred, interpreted, or decoded.
However, today it seems that portrayals of gay/queer sex and sexuality need to be explicit or at least apparent to resonate. Have we reached a point where contemporary readers, particularly queer people, prefer not to search for reflections of themselves in a story or characters; do we now only want to see ourselves represented clearly and directly?
What if the reader doesn’t identify under the “rainbow umbrella?” Should we, as writers—especially those who are LGBTQ+—ignore the lack of awareness or consideration for the significance of queer elements in the overall narrative? Alternatively, does this dismissal or “over-looking” undermine the richness of gay and queer storytelling and the authenticity of the characters, particularly when these characters are crafted to distinctly represent non-heterosexual identities?
Such omissions risk erasing the depth of their stories and the unique experiences they embody, especially concerning their queerness. This is particularly important when LGBTQ+ characters are engaging in narratives (and their tropes) that are often written for or about straight characters.
So, what is it about my Vindictive novels that potentially obfuscate the “gay” or
sublimate the “queerness” to the point that it’s overlooked or less impactful than the thriller and dramatic elements?
As I said, I see my Vindictive series as LGBTQ+ or “Queer” Thrillers and don’t regard them as general suspense thrillers. I have multiple queer characters, including gay, lesbian, bi, pan, and gender non-defining ones. I have queer characters that are married, widowed, in clandestine relationships, child adopters, part of the Deaf Community, and so on; often, their sexuality directly impacts various aspects of the main plot, particularly the main character in Vindictive, Jules Cartell.
Vindictive Too has a particularly erotic scene between two men, both gay, and one is a main protagonist: Police Detective Declan James.
And in case anyone wasn’t aware (though I think I’m pretty transparent!), I’m a gay author. I often place my own experiences and opinions within my narrative; yes, I’m guilty of subliminal and intentional “author slippage.” And I’m perfectly fine with it.
So, while the main thrust of Vindictive is a married woman’s revenge against her husband and his wicked family, don’t all or any of these added elements queer my novel?
Now, I appreciate that readers enjoy the soapy drama and Camp components, both intentionally inserted in the narrative. Camp is an artistic aesthetic and sensibility that finds charm and amusement in the extravagant and exaggerated. It celebrates a heightened artifice and affectation, often interwoven with a playful or ironic twist. Historically, camp is closely linked to LGBTQ+ culture, particularly among gay men, where it serves as a vibrant expression of identity and creativity.
By defying modernist conventions of high art, camp challenges traditional notions of beauty, value, and taste, inviting audiences to engage with art and literature in unexpected and imaginative ways. This unique approach subverts established aesthetic judgments and encourages a broader exploration of what is considered appealing or meaningful; it fosters a diverse range of emotional and cultural expressions, particularly when exploring and emphasizing femininity in men, free from derisive connotations.
I think of camp as akin to how Sharon Stone laughs. Those who know—know!
When I began writing my Vindictive novels, I wanted a more structured and descriptive style of prose reminiscent of the authors I enjoy, but I didn’t want them to read too cerebral—too dry. My inspirations are authors like Anne Rice, Matthew Pearl, Dan Simmons, and Edith Wharton, as well as specific works of theirs like Interview With the Vampire, The Witching Hour, The Last Dickens, Drood, and The Age of Innocence. Elevated but accessible text—and that’s not always easy to accomplish.
I think of another favourite author of mine, E.M. Forster, a gay man who wrote with quite a florid style but was still accessible to the everyday reader of his time and on through to today’s modern bibliophile. It’s a fine line between emotive text within a narrative and its general accessibility.
It’s a desire and fearlessness to explore language, sentence structure, and expressiveness in penning detail while thinking about maintaining a level of readability but not being afraid of risking the approachability of one’s work, which might colour the writing one way or another.
The delivery method of a work is often just as crucial to an author’s expression as the creative content itself, and I believe I have achieved this symbiosis successfully. However, the distinct queerness entrenched in my novels and the profound way it resonates with readers from all walks of life is still something that remains enigmatic. I can only write from the heart, using all my skills, and strive to learn and grow from each published book experience.
So, have I written an LGBTQ+ novel series? Yes, I have. Are my books “queer enough?” I guess it depends on the reader, and though the above reviewer was the first and only (to my knowledge) to openly praise the queerness of Vindictive, the answer for me is a resounding “YES!”
0 comments