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aro_gant_aro) wrote2021-02-01 09:37 pm
aro_gant_aro) wrote2021-02-01 09:37 pm
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Alloaro Reviews Loveless + My Extremely Messy Thoughts on Labels in Fiction
This piece was written for the Carnival of Aros topic: Stories.
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Alloaro Reviews Loveless + My Extremely Messy Thoughts on Labels in Fiction
Warning: 1600+ words
A little while ago on the Arocalypse forum I was recommending some aro books and I found myself writing:
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Alloaro Reviews Loveless + My Extremely Messy Thoughts on Labels in Fiction
Warning: 1600+ words
A little while ago on the Arocalypse forum I was recommending some aro books and I found myself writing:
“I’m not sure if you care about whether the character says aromantic in the text, but.”
The thing is those books are fantastic. Here: Dread Nation, The Last 8, The Murderbot Diaries. I adore them but I have to mention this disclaimer. None of them said they were aromantic in the text. They say romance isn’t for them. They say they don’t do relationships. They say they don’t feel those feelings. They say, perhaps, everything but.
And I don’t mind. Why is that though?
Loveless
For someone who wants to read more aro stories I took a while to get around to this one. I think I felt warned off it in some ways. There are the reasons that many people discussed: the use of the word ‘loveless’ in conjunction to it’s story being one of ‘friendship is love and is equally fulfilling as romance’. A message that is important, and one I loved, but lacked recognition in some ways. Loveless aros don’t feel love and this was a book about being aromantic. And that’s the other topic that floated around the aro spaces I frequent, aro in what way. This book was being touted, by some, as The Aro Book.
My other reasons for not wanting so much to read this book are personal preferences. I don’t want to read stories set in University. I don’t want books that centre kids, even ones just out of high school. I want sci-fi, fantasy on occasion, and lately I want space horror. They really fuck me up good.
Loveless really isn’t for me. Which is ironic considering Georgia - the main character - is white and aromantic. I did schooling in England. My friends from high school all went to the same University. You could argue that the book is about me, or was, or close enough. And I didn’t like it.
Except, I did also like it. I read the book in one sitting and went to bed immediately after shutting it which was at 3am. The friendships are fantastic and deep and messy. It’s funny. The characters talk like people I know. I’ll try not to spoil too much but every single important person gets a big ‘I’m telling you and the world I love you’ dramatic confession scene the likes of which you usually only see in romances. ‘We’re running to one another and kissing in the rain’ levels of passion but in friendship form. And they were all perfectly tailored to their characters, it’s really well done narratively. If you want to read a book about friendship, then I absolutely recommend this.
We’ll get the obvious answer out of the way first: Georgia is so asexual. And I am absolutely not. Every time Georgia was in a situation where she could or thought she should be kissing someone all I wanted was for her to do it. And she wouldn’t, with great relief on her part, or she would and she’d hate it. Can’t relate, to the point I was disinterested and tempted to skip those scenes.
In terms of being aromantic, Georgia is desperate for romance. To the point that it’s her main goal despite just starting Uni. To the point that she’ll fuck up her friendships for a chance at it. Again, I can’t relate. That’s never been me.
This book is important. I also think it’s for people who know nothing about aromanticism and asexuality, or are young and new to the concept. It’s a coming of age story. I borrowed it from my local, medium-sized town library and Alice Oseman put aro and ace resources in the back of the thing. It’s going to reach the people that need it.
What it did for me, instead, is showed me what I like in representation.
Dread Nation is a series of two novels about the 1800s U.S. if zombies turned up on the scene. It’s about two black girls, navigating relationships and racism and morality and survival.
The Last 8 is about the last remaining survivors of an alien attack. It’s about a group of strangers, facing existentialism and the end of everything they know and what it means to be human.
The Murderbot Diaries are about an android fighting capitalism in search of a home. It’s about a human/construct, exploring self and family and trust and boundaries.
In all of these books the main character is extremely adamant about not feeling romantic feelings. That is a facet of their personalities. It is not what the book is about. Not at all. The book says ‘this person doesn’t care about romance, now onto what they do care about’. It feels like romance is swept under the rug for once. There’s no amatonormativity here!
And I think that’s why I like stories and media that don’t use labels. If a story mentions an identity then the story must discuss the identity. And I fucking hate how they do it.
Stories about coming to terms with your identity are important. People need examples and guides and representation. We discover ourselves through comparison. That’s how aromantics figure out we’re aromantic. People go on and on and on about romance and the majority of us are like why? And then why don’t I go on and on like that?
In Loveless Georgia is extremely into romance. She reads it all, she studies it, she dreams about it, and she has her wedding planned. And then the doubts set in. She’s 18 with no experience, no one interests her, she’s not feeling the right feelings. Things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be.
Georgia’s introduction to aromantic and asexual is when she overhears a fight between the Pride club president and the ex-Pride club president. The current person - whom I love and can relate to - running the show is asexual and inclusive and the ex-president is an exclusionist. So on one hand, the proper first time Georgia hears these terms it is out loud and she’s already got a whole community of people ready to welcome her. That’s beautiful and how we want life to be in the future. And on the other hand, she’s immediately told ‘hey, people don’t like this’. It’s: “acceptable people don’t accept you.” I think this is a really interesting way to introduce these concepts, this blend of reality and dream. And this sets us up for what I don’t like.
Georgia describes aromanticism and asexuality as ‘long words’ and makes them sound bulky, like they’re something that you don’t want in your mouth. Bisexuality and pansexuality don’t get the same treatment. In fact she already knows all about them to the point that they don’t get their definitions written in the text for the reader to potentially learn. Her words however, they’re uncomfortable and foreign and not for her. She still wants romance at that point so fine, she’s chafing at the realisation. We all question ourselves.
All of this would be fine to me if the rest of the story were told differently. I’d prefer it if the book actually showed her getting comfortable with the words. Instead she sort of gets comfortable with the idea of not wanting sex and then not wanting romance and then her social life goes to shit so she has to fix that bc Plot and at some point during that she slaps the words on herself. It’s almost like the words are separate from her until she accepts herself. It’s not wrong per se because she accepts herself through her relationships and denial lives in us all. I just feel like something is missing. Her worry is that she doesn’t like her true self, in the meantime she has to fix all her relationships, and then she does and suddenly she’s got everything she wants so she does like her true self after all.
Somehow in a story about figuring out identity, the actual figuring out the identity part feels shoehorned in to me. And that’s how it feels in most media. People aren’t used to announcing their identity, most people are straight. It’s a nonentity to them so queer characters disrupt the flow of a story. And that's assuming they're accepted by the writers/audiences and also aren't just written in th show the harsh realities of being queer.
So I don’t like “the word” being said (for now). I’ve moved beyond my need for coming out and questioning stories. I want adults who already know about their queer identity and their likes and dislikes. If the character gets with multiple people of multiple genders, then I love it. And if the character says ‘nah’ when faced with a relationship, I love it. And one day I’ll see a character that does both and doesn’t get “““fixed””” by falling head over heels in love with some monogamous person, and I’ll love it.
Loveless is a romance about friendship with an aroace main character. That’s extremely cool concept. Unfortunately what I want is a pride flag visible somewhere or an offhand comment like "I'm so aro" while the characters go off to do something extremely cool. And yeah this only works on the assumption that people already know a lot of queer identities, which smacks of inaccessibility. Right now what we have is too much discussion of identity written in such a way that makes the plot feel like it stops for it. That conversely is poor writing. And I think that’s why there are also so many queer romances that are written without an “are you gay?” asked, or a label said. Either you get coming out stories, hate - of the self or from the outside - or you get no acknowledgement. And, personally for fiction, I prefer the silence.
My other reasons for not wanting so much to read this book are personal preferences. I don’t want to read stories set in University. I don’t want books that centre kids, even ones just out of high school. I want sci-fi, fantasy on occasion, and lately I want space horror. They really fuck me up good.
To put it simply: I don’t want to read anything that I can do myself and I want to relate to the characters.
Loveless really isn’t for me. Which is ironic considering Georgia - the main character - is white and aromantic. I did schooling in England. My friends from high school all went to the same University. You could argue that the book is about me, or was, or close enough. And I didn’t like it.
Except, I did also like it. I read the book in one sitting and went to bed immediately after shutting it which was at 3am. The friendships are fantastic and deep and messy. It’s funny. The characters talk like people I know. I’ll try not to spoil too much but every single important person gets a big ‘I’m telling you and the world I love you’ dramatic confession scene the likes of which you usually only see in romances. ‘We’re running to one another and kissing in the rain’ levels of passion but in friendship form. And they were all perfectly tailored to their characters, it’s really well done narratively. If you want to read a book about friendship, then I absolutely recommend this.
What I didn’t like was all the talk of identity.
We’ll get the obvious answer out of the way first: Georgia is so asexual. And I am absolutely not. Every time Georgia was in a situation where she could or thought she should be kissing someone all I wanted was for her to do it. And she wouldn’t, with great relief on her part, or she would and she’d hate it. Can’t relate, to the point I was disinterested and tempted to skip those scenes.
In terms of being aromantic, Georgia is desperate for romance. To the point that it’s her main goal despite just starting Uni. To the point that she’ll fuck up her friendships for a chance at it. Again, I can’t relate. That’s never been me.
This book is important. I also think it’s for people who know nothing about aromanticism and asexuality, or are young and new to the concept. It’s a coming of age story. I borrowed it from my local, medium-sized town library and Alice Oseman put aro and ace resources in the back of the thing. It’s going to reach the people that need it.
What it did for me, instead, is showed me what I like in representation.
Word of God
Dread Nation is a series of two novels about the 1800s U.S. if zombies turned up on the scene. It’s about two black girls, navigating relationships and racism and morality and survival.
The Last 8 is about the last remaining survivors of an alien attack. It’s about a group of strangers, facing existentialism and the end of everything they know and what it means to be human.
The Murderbot Diaries are about an android fighting capitalism in search of a home. It’s about a human/construct, exploring self and family and trust and boundaries.
In all of these books the main character is extremely adamant about not feeling romantic feelings. That is a facet of their personalities. It is not what the book is about. Not at all. The book says ‘this person doesn’t care about romance, now onto what they do care about’. It feels like romance is swept under the rug for once. There’s no amatonormativity here!
And I think that’s why I like stories and media that don’t use labels. If a story mentions an identity then the story must discuss the identity. And I fucking hate how they do it.
On the page
Stories about coming to terms with your identity are important. People need examples and guides and representation. We discover ourselves through comparison. That’s how aromantics figure out we’re aromantic. People go on and on and on about romance and the majority of us are like why? And then why don’t I go on and on like that?
In Loveless Georgia is extremely into romance. She reads it all, she studies it, she dreams about it, and she has her wedding planned. And then the doubts set in. She’s 18 with no experience, no one interests her, she’s not feeling the right feelings. Things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be.
Georgia’s introduction to aromantic and asexual is when she overhears a fight between the Pride club president and the ex-Pride club president. The current person - whom I love and can relate to - running the show is asexual and inclusive and the ex-president is an exclusionist. So on one hand, the proper first time Georgia hears these terms it is out loud and she’s already got a whole community of people ready to welcome her. That’s beautiful and how we want life to be in the future. And on the other hand, she’s immediately told ‘hey, people don’t like this’. It’s: “acceptable people don’t accept you.” I think this is a really interesting way to introduce these concepts, this blend of reality and dream. And this sets us up for what I don’t like.
Georgia describes aromanticism and asexuality as ‘long words’ and makes them sound bulky, like they’re something that you don’t want in your mouth. Bisexuality and pansexuality don’t get the same treatment. In fact she already knows all about them to the point that they don’t get their definitions written in the text for the reader to potentially learn. Her words however, they’re uncomfortable and foreign and not for her. She still wants romance at that point so fine, she’s chafing at the realisation. We all question ourselves.
All of this would be fine to me if the rest of the story were told differently. I’d prefer it if the book actually showed her getting comfortable with the words. Instead she sort of gets comfortable with the idea of not wanting sex and then not wanting romance and then her social life goes to shit so she has to fix that bc Plot and at some point during that she slaps the words on herself. It’s almost like the words are separate from her until she accepts herself. It’s not wrong per se because she accepts herself through her relationships and denial lives in us all. I just feel like something is missing. Her worry is that she doesn’t like her true self, in the meantime she has to fix all her relationships, and then she does and suddenly she’s got everything she wants so she does like her true self after all.
Somehow in a story about figuring out identity, the actual figuring out the identity part feels shoehorned in to me. And that’s how it feels in most media. People aren’t used to announcing their identity, most people are straight. It’s a nonentity to them so queer characters disrupt the flow of a story. And that's assuming they're accepted by the writers/audiences and also aren't just written in th show the harsh realities of being queer.
Clarity
So I don’t like “the word” being said (for now). I’ve moved beyond my need for coming out and questioning stories. I want adults who already know about their queer identity and their likes and dislikes. If the character gets with multiple people of multiple genders, then I love it. And if the character says ‘nah’ when faced with a relationship, I love it. And one day I’ll see a character that does both and doesn’t get “““fixed””” by falling head over heels in love with some monogamous person, and I’ll love it.
(Torchwood ffs, I want fucking Torchwood. Love that show, but we can do better.)
Loveless is a romance about friendship with an aroace main character. That’s extremely cool concept. Unfortunately what I want is a pride flag visible somewhere or an offhand comment like "I'm so aro" while the characters go off to do something extremely cool. And yeah this only works on the assumption that people already know a lot of queer identities, which smacks of inaccessibility. Right now what we have is too much discussion of identity written in such a way that makes the plot feel like it stops for it. That conversely is poor writing. And I think that’s why there are also so many queer romances that are written without an “are you gay?” asked, or a label said. Either you get coming out stories, hate - of the self or from the outside - or you get no acknowledgement. And, personally for fiction, I prefer the silence.
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