Out of some sort of perverse masochism, I want to read that book so I, too, can hurl it across the room. (Also, sadly, beyond the disability fail, it looks rather engrossing...)
Thank you for writing this. I'm an avid reader and reasonable scholar, but reading a published author's take on disabled kidlit was fascinating. I haven't read Faery Rebels yet (is it Knife in Australia?) but, after reading this, your comments on my post, and recalling your fanfic from years back (I think you managed to write the only Snape/OC fic I could stand, even with Maude's magical restoration. *grin*)
Forgive this aside, but I've realised something over the course of this whole BADD venture. I have, actually, found myself avoiding disabled characters in my own writing, fanfic or original, for fear of committing any of the fail I have so often seen. I have disabilities. I react to them, work with them (pre-empt them, sometimes) in a very personal way, and I'm always worried that if I listened to any of the disabled characters in my head I would, a. Be Writing What I Know far too literally, and, b. I would be too close, and anything I produced would be obscure and self-indulgent. I think, however, that not writing for fear of being too close is just as bad as not writing for fear of being too distant. There is a dearth of disability representation (and other areas of representation!) in kidlit, and posts such as this truly point that out.
I've never been of the opinion that non-disabled writers should not write about disability (or that male writers cannot write fully fledged female characters, or any of those corollaries) and this is my incredibly rambling way of saying that I'm glad Paul, or even Eon/Eona exist, because that indicates an awareness of other people that is essential in all fiction, and life. And if the characters are flawed in unintentional/institutionalised ways, then I am g;ad there are authors like you who can be aware of that, too, so that eventually the...er...shape of disabled characters in fiction can also change. Not into something 'normal', but something real.
*rueful* now that I've finished ranting (you called me eloquent before--there are less kind words), I can tell you one book that has a pretty fabulous representation of apparent quadriplegia. (Also, synaesthesia, which while not a disability as such, is certainly disabling to the protagonist for a time, until she learns to work with it.) The book is by Isobelle Carmody and is a standalone (very rare for her!) called Alyzon Whitestarr. The good and evil is rather stark, but the writing is often quite beautiful, particularly with the synaesthsic element (I'll never be able to forget one character's money worries smelling of ammonia, or his excitement and pride taking on the scent of pine needles and new rope), and the quadriplegic man, Raoul, is a love interest, fully equipped with tertiary degrees, and, in our protagonist's much younger and utterly unapologetic eyes, absolutely dashing.
Thank you for reading my post in the first place. It was my first sustained piece of writing after a very long, spoonless period, and it was rewarding both in and of itself, and also for the comments it has provoked.
no subject
Thank you for writing this. I'm an avid reader and reasonable scholar, but reading a published author's take on disabled kidlit was fascinating. I haven't read Faery Rebels yet (is it Knife in Australia?) but, after reading this, your comments on my post, and recalling your fanfic from years back (I think you managed to write the only Snape/OC fic I could stand, even with Maude's magical restoration. *grin*)
Forgive this aside, but I've realised something over the course of this whole BADD venture. I have, actually, found myself avoiding disabled characters in my own writing, fanfic or original, for fear of committing any of the fail I have so often seen. I have disabilities. I react to them, work with them (pre-empt them, sometimes) in a very personal way, and I'm always worried that if I listened to any of the disabled characters in my head I would, a. Be Writing What I Know far too literally, and, b. I would be too close, and anything I produced would be obscure and self-indulgent. I think, however, that not writing for fear of being too close is just as bad as not writing for fear of being too distant. There is a dearth of disability representation (and other areas of representation!) in kidlit, and posts such as this truly point that out.
I've never been of the opinion that non-disabled writers should not write about disability (or that male writers cannot write fully fledged female characters, or any of those corollaries) and this is my incredibly rambling way of saying that I'm glad Paul, or even Eon/Eona exist, because that indicates an awareness of other people that is essential in all fiction, and life. And if the characters are flawed in unintentional/institutionalised ways, then I am g;ad there are authors like you who can be aware of that, too, so that eventually the...er...shape of disabled characters in fiction can also change. Not into something 'normal', but something real.
*rueful* now that I've finished ranting (you called me eloquent before--there are less kind words), I can tell you one book that has a pretty fabulous representation of apparent quadriplegia. (Also, synaesthesia, which while not a disability as such, is certainly disabling to the protagonist for a time, until she learns to work with it.) The book is by Isobelle Carmody and is a standalone (very rare for her!) called Alyzon Whitestarr. The good and evil is rather stark, but the writing is often quite beautiful, particularly with the synaesthsic element (I'll never be able to forget one character's money worries smelling of ammonia, or his excitement and pride taking on the scent of pine needles and new rope), and the quadriplegic man, Raoul, is a love interest, fully equipped with tertiary degrees, and, in our protagonist's much younger and utterly unapologetic eyes, absolutely dashing.
Thank you for reading my post in the first place. It was my first sustained piece of writing after a very long, spoonless period, and it was rewarding both in and of itself, and also for the comments it has provoked.
Cheers,
Kit.
(missingovid)