It 
still astounds me sometimes that the literary world is not equal, that people are necessarily inclined to undertake a specific effort in reading more books by female authors, that women in the genre are still treated as though they don’t belong. Somewhere along the line, it became a bad thing to be a female writer—and woe betide the “lady writer” at the convention talking about her “lady books” with her “lady agent” in earshot of a real (read as: manly) writer and his armful of real books.
People throw out honeyed barbs at women who write SFF under the heading of Paranormal Romance, as though the genre is somehow lesser than their mighty fantasy epics and sweeping space operas; as if writing about vampires and werewolves is somehow a second place ranking of being an author, behind the big boys and their serious toys. Never mind the fact that guys write romance, too, only supposedly we wrap it up in layers of sword and sorcery and saving the damsel in distress; never mind the fact that guy writers present the dreaded and feared “insta love” with a heroine falling haplessly in love with the budding hero farm-boy within seconds of being rescued by him. Surely nobody’s ego needs fluffing up that much? And any woman who dares to write science fiction is clearly going to absolutely shatter the foundations of the genre, polluting it with womanly things such as emotion, romance and internal conflict.
Funny, then, that the majority of books I read are actually by women. Are my foundations being shaken? Should I stand inside the nearest door threshold in preparation for the coming womapocalypse and the devastating earthquakes it will bring? All I’m feeling from here are the pleasant waves of a genre expanding in all the right directions; towards SFF that is forced away from the gratuitous violence and non-consensual sex permeating some offshoots of the genre, towards depictions of women that are clad in the same protective armour as the men they fight alongside when toddling off to save the world.
I’ve said so many times before that society affects the literature of the time—of course it does—and if you look at the current social and political climates, with all the impossibly dense and unbelievable opinions regarding women sprouting up like mouldy mushrooms here and there, it’s not really difficult to see how some of that has stained the genre. Maybe much of it is lack of education—maybe much of it isn’t. It’s silly really, that say, ten years ago (I can’t go much further back than that, I’m afraid!), there didn’t seem to be as much of an Attitude towards women as there is now (yep, that’s getting capitalised: it deserves it): at least, how I grew up, how my school and my peers acted towards women and women in media—it wasn’t like this. But then maybe I got the good crowd.
My favourite writer is actually a woman. I’m sure that is the same for many geek guys who read SFF. What about Robin Hobb and her loyal fanbase? People are crazy about Robin Hobb. It seems to me that some writers escape the maelstrom of negativity by virtue only of when they were published. Hobb’s been around a while—she predates my reading of fantasy, in fact. Ten or so years ago, perhaps there were not as many female writers, but the ones who were producing excellent genre literature were not attacked for a lack of something down below. After all, novels aren’t written with a you-know-what (I don’t write with mine, in any case!), so what bearing should it have on the treatment or reception of the novel or its writer?
It is, of course, entirely possible that the readers who might take issue with an author’s gender might not have realised that Robin Hobb is a Robin with female attributes instead of male. An easy mistake…Until you read the author’s “about” of course.
I have read stories about the treatment of women at conventions and even their own readings (whether at conventions or otherwise), where their validity as an author is questioned. Sometimes, whilst their nicely printed published novel is sitting on the table next to them, witnessing the odd exchange of man assuring an author that she isn’t a real writer. One might assume that the bookstore hosting the signing or the lanyard stating “guest” might be enough to prove otherwise. But, no.
Women still get boatloads of flack and harassment and flat-out hate for so much as daring to put pen to paper and produce brilliant and saleable novels. Never mind the treatment of female characters by men. When non-consensual sex is used in place of real development and women are constantly saved, directed and led by men, we’ve got to the stage, again—much like the treatment of LGBT issues previously covered—where people need a reality check. Just take a look at the world—filter out anything religion, politics or social stereotypes tell you—and just look at the people, at the women, around you. You’ll find women who do, naturally, fit in with the traditionally presented idea of a woman staying at home whilst the man goes off to save the world—but you’ll find a guy who’s quite content to bake bread whilst his leather-armour clad (boiled cuirass, if you’re wondering, actually) wife is polishing her not insubstantial armoury.
I have seen a lot of people tweeting and blogging about endeavouring to read an equal balance of books, specifically being mindful of the name on the book. I think this is at once admirable—and a little sad. It’s sad because it’s a shame it’s necessary at all. Kudos to those who have looked at their reading habits and realised that the scales are weighted one way instead of being somewhat balanced. Ironically, mine tip the other way. If I list the authors I’ve read this year, my scales tell a different story. I read 25 female authors (authors, not books) and 9 male authors. That’s a definite tip of the scales!
I think as people are considering what reading challenges to set themselves for 2014, they might, too, be mindful of the gender of the writers they’re looking to add to those shopping lists, wishlists or library loan requests. You don’t have to set out to read fifty-fifty (heck, mine is nowhere near that!), but maybe, if you realise you don’t read many books by female authors (and sometimes even women are unaware of this, too, reading what is popular and recommended without even considering gender), try and read more. It’s just like trying to eat more veggies: it’s easy and definitely good for you. Same old, same old is boring. Don’t be boring this year. Have at it, and see if you can’t even out those scales.
Furthermore, with 2013 having been a bit of a terrible year for feminism and the treatment of women in the real world (I know I couldn’t even keep up, some countries suggest policy so fast!), and some of those attitudes and perceptions having spilled through into how we read and receive fictional women and settings, a great way to combat that and plant some good seeds in all that bad soil is to go the other way. The other way is so much more fun, trust me.
It’s an embarrassing time to be a guy in the genre community, with so much appalling behaviour having gone down, on a fairly frequent/large scale, this year. But as I can’t knock some sense into the dullards who still insist on calling female authors “lady writers”, I’ll just read their incredible books, instead. At the end of the day, a book is a book is a book, regardless of who wrote it—and damn but I love books.
We all do.
