Third Draft Struggles
So you may, if you've been following this blog for any length of time, be wondering what happened to The Unravelling, formerly known as Resilience, the novel I finished the first draft of in May 2011, and workshopped the second draft of at Wiscon in May 2012 (after rashly remarking to an agent or two, in my whirlwind tour of NYC en route to that Wiscon, that I'd most likely have it done by this fall...)
Well, the spring round of feedback (at Wiscon and by email) was mixed. Happily, while mixed in degree (from "even if published as is it would be my favorite book of the year" to "I'm sorry, I just honestly couldn't get through it"), it was actually remarkably consistent in direction: a clear consensus picture emerged. The first seventy pages were a slog, infodumpy and contrived; after that, the plot got going and was exciting and involving for a few hundred pages, before falling apart into flail at the end. Much of the general worldbuilding was daring and fun and almost-worked... with a few glaring errors of consistency. The main character and secondary-romantic-interest were pretty relatable. The primary-romantic-interest suffered from a serious case of Manic Pixie Dreamgirl. Some of the extrapolative sfnal tweaks I was going for -- the panoptic social control, the many-parent family structures, the social centrality of birth order, the polysomatic thing -- delivered. Others -- the economic system in general -- were vague and handwavy. And one, upon which I had loaded much of the thematic energy of the book -- the handling of gender -- was, while intriguing in places, ultimately a faily mess (as was, separately, the evocation of transgender experience).
To paraphrase one particularly perceptive, insightful and ruthless critiquer1: "you've basically taken all the things you don't like about being a man and moved them to the female gender."
I left this process with a mix of feelings: profoundly grateful for the kind of allies who would let me fall on my face with them, instead of in front of the world, and tell me so. Excited about the new depth that would be available to the book if I followed the paths that the critique opened up. Exhausted. Demoralized. Fascinated by what I'd learned about the book and myself. Petulant that it wasn't just freaking done already.
I spent our summer in America somewhat in shock (and not just about the book; a high school friend I loved a lot, and didn't always keep as close as I wanted to, died in June) -- and mostly nestling in with old friends. But I also did, I think -- as regards the book -- two smart things. First, I gave myself a short remedial survey course in trans* issues by reading Bornstein, Califia, Kennedy, and Serano. Second, I had a series of story conferences with my friend Jamey, who combines a) a great deal of native talent as a writer and editor, b) a similar esthetic groove to mine, c) an abundance of possibly unwarranted confidence in me, and d) a distance from, and indifference to, the fiction publishing industry, which allows him an enviable unjadedness none of us beaten-down pros and almost-pros can approach. Just what I needed, in other words.
When I got back to Switzerland, Civ IV ate, to be completely honest, another month; I guess that was healing?
Now the new year has begun, and since we welcomed in 5773, I am more or less back on the horse, clocking words-per-day.
The first practical thing I did, revision-wise, was flip the pronouns.
See, I figured I'd created wholly new genders for this future society. Bail and Pale; extravert and introvert; a Kirk gender and a Spock gender, if you will. I'd divided up the pie of gender anew, replaced our gender ideology of "hard" and "soft" with a different one of "fast" and "slow".
I made the Bails "she" and the Pales "he" (mostly because invented pronouns are hard to pull off, on a line level, at novel length) -- but this was, I thought, a relatively arbitrary assignment. It could be inverted just as easily. The point was partly to destabilize the reader, to make them aware of their assumptions, of how they inevitably read "she" and "he" through a certain filter -- and then to keep upending that. And this part of the experiment did, I think, have some moderate success.
But. As noted -- there was also a good deal of fail.
When I began revisions for the third draft, I tried flipping the genders, making Pales "she" and Bails "he". (It's actually not as trivial to implement this as you might think; it's not just a search-and-replace. This is because, annoyingly, "her" maps to both "him" and "his" -- you have to decide, on a case-by-case basis, which one you mean. Similarly, "his" maps to both "her" and "hers". It took a day of fiddling, but finally I had everyone's gender swapped).
I suggest you do the experiment sometime, with something you've written. It's mind-blowing. Maybe particularly because I'd set myself up for a fall, by imagining I'd written Pale and Bail outside our associations of gender.
The same characters, with the same in-world genders, taking the same in-world actions, read totally differently in terms of reader sympathy. I'm hard put to say more without spoilers, but actions which, when Fift was a "he", seemed rash but self-evidently necessary, somehow suddenly, now that Fift is a "she", seem bizarre and selfish. Shria's Bailish sexual forwardness, when she was a "she", seemed provocative but also stimulating, attractive; how that he's a "he", it seems predatory and gross2. Switch the pronouns on "proud, rebellious teenage male" and you get "mentally ill teenage girl"; switch the pronouns on "manic pixie dreamgirl" and you get "asshole".
What's distinct about this experiment -- compared to, say, running a different story through the filter at regender.com -- is that in this case, nothing at all changed in-world. The Bails are still Bails, the Pales are still Pales3, and the expressed gender norms of their society, and their own conformance or non-conformance therewith, remain identical. The hypothetical manuscript in its "original language" -- the story were it written in the language of the world it takes place in -- is unchanged; all that I've done is changed the rules for translating it into English.
The immediate pull I felt, when beginning to revise on the line level, was to deal with these sudden problems of sympathy and identification by subtly shaping the characters back into different stereotypical modes of their new (pronomial) genders. Line edits to Shria's dialogue suddenly conspire to shift him from "asshole" into "Bad Boy" -- to put him into the traditional dangerous-but-redeemable-and-secretly-vulnerable, Heathcliff/Darcy/Rochester/sparkly-vampire territory. I have to yank my fingers back from the keyboard just in time, because that's not who Shria ever was.
To correct for this, I am now, honest to Moses, writing the book in "pxe/pxir/pxim/pxims" and "bxe/bxir/bxim/bxims"; I have set up Scrivener filters to compile it into she/he and he/she versions, and am reading each scene each way with each step of revision.
The result of this whole literary experiment may end up being a complete mess, but at least it has given me this sharp and disturbing glimpse of the Patriarchy, dybbuk-like, controlling my fingers at the keyboard.
2. This is because we read sex -- at least sex between women and men, and I expect the reading distorts our understanding of same-sex sex too? -- as something of value which is either given by woman to a man, or taken by a man from a woman.
3. Though I think I'm actually going to rename the "Pale" gender, as readers had trouble telling the words "Bail" and "Pale" apart -- they are too similar phonetically. I tried a made-up word ("Evvail") but I hated it; it needs to be a real, simple, basic, Anglo-Saxon word in English, in order to feel like such a core part of linguistic experience as gender. Current front-runner is "Staid".