Virtue and virtue-signaling in science fiction & fantasy, Part II: Definitions and the good stuff
OK, time to pick up where I left off last week. Vaguely.
In Part I of Virtue and virtue-signaling, I argued that the politics of the science fiction and fantasy community is far more complex than either the reactionary "sad puppies" or the dominant left-wing fan base would care to admit. Time to push further on this.
I posed the question of what would happen if an author like Orson Scott Card published a book as good as Ender's Game in today's political climate, and the Hugo Awards had a choice between that book and Mary Robinette Kowal's The Calculating Stars. Kowal won in 2019, but her competition was nowhere near the level of Ender's Game. In a contest of literary merit alone, Kowal should not win that contest. But, I suggested that Kowal probably would win this hypothetical, alternate universe Hugo for her hypothetical, alternate history book. Card, or his reactionary successor, would face personal political backlash, whereas Kowal wrote a book that caters to a current moment in the politics of sex.
Voters would signal virtue by voting for Kowal, and all of this puts pressure on authors to signal virtue, through their writing and social media engagement.
So, that was Part I.
I wrote all of that, though, without ever defining "virtue-signaling," as I meant it. Oops! Bad me.
"Virtue-signaling." The act of demonstrating one's political or social purity through performative acts. I distinguish this from actual virtue, e.g. behaving with honor, integrity, empathy, compassion and so forth because virtue-signaling is all about the symbolism and the face that is presented rather than the substance underneath. Call-out culture is virtue-signaling. Donating your time or money, without expectation of praise, or sacrificing something tangible for the sake of a value or principle is actual virtue.
Wait a minute, you're thinking! Isn't literature all symbolic anyway? How can we distinguish real virtue from virtue-signaling in an endeavor that is purely symbolic? Let me explain the premise of my perspective. Good art must make a statement. Not always a political or economic statement, but some kind of a statement. Of course, given my proclivities, a disproportionate share of my reading leans towards the political and economic, because all of my feints towards escapism are nothing but empty bluster, but while statement-free books can be fun, they can't be art, in my opinion. And I'll call that "opinion."
So can the statement of a book ever be anything more than virtue-signaling? Yes, and here is what I mean. A statement within a book is nothing but virtue-signaling if it exists either for the purpose of, or constrained by a desire to signal a degree of purity.
Hence, an author can avoid the virtue-signaling trap by avoiding the pitfalls of either a) bending backwards to signal his or her own purity, or b) presenting a pure, black-and-white view of the world that matches with the social views of those to whom one must often signal virtue.
Because the world is not pure. The world is messy, and complicated, and tangled, and difficult to parse. And to quote Wesley/The Man In Black from The Princess Bride, "anyone who says differently is selling something." Two things, actually. A book, and the image of their own virtue. Either way, I ain't buyin'. (Unless I've already paid, in which case, well... sucks for me.)
With that in mind, let's have an example of someone doing it right. How do you write without just engaging in virtue-signaling? By having something real to say, beyond just, hey! Get a load of my virtues! Nobody's going to throw you any beads for showing them, and that's not how Mardi Gras works. Please, just don't drink and drive.
Anyway, as I wrote in Part I, there is a strong tradition in science fiction from Ursula Le Guin and Octavia Butler through N.K. Jemisin writing from the non-white guy perspective. It isn't just that they aren't (or weren't) white guys. It is that being who they are and were can provide a perspective to tell stories that even their white-guy fanboys in the industry would just never think to tell. Perspective. But, I've raved enough about Jemisin before, and Le Guin and Butler? They're legends at this point. So, I'll start with another name I mentioned in Part I-- Nnedi Okorafor.
She became one of the big names in genre literature with the first novella in the Binti series, which is actually accessible to the YA audience. That's not my usual thing, but it was actually good! Here's the first Binti story, in brief. Kid runs off to college, which requires hopping on a space ship to get to another planet. The ship is attacked by aliens, who hijack the ship to get to the University's planet, with the goal of recovering an artifact. Binti survives the attack, and convinces them to let her negotiate. Artifact gets handed back to the aliens.
OK, let me just say that the idea of a University doing the right thing, voluntarily, because someone appeals to their conscience... that is the single most unrealistic thing I have ever read in my life.
Ever.
I can suspend disbelief on aliens, faster-than-light travel, time travel, magic... you name it. But... a University owning up to their own unethical behavior and deciding to do the right thing? Nope. You lost me there. Have I mentioned lately that the denizens of my administrative building are actual, literal cockroaches?
Anyway, that said, Okorafor writes from a different perspective than, say, Orson Scott Card. The main character is Himba-- a desert culture from Namibia. They don't have water to spare for bathing. So, they rub a concoction of oils and stuff into their hair. This leads to some interesting variations on touching-black-women's-hair. That's a real thing, and there is value not just to having that written into science fiction, but to having it written into the story for a character like Binti, accessible to a younger audience. I never had strangers come up to me to touch my hair, and neither have the "sad puppies" had that happen to them. But it's a thing that happens. Okorafor goes interesting, science fiction-y places with it. And as an African-American woman, she can bring her experience to her writing.
So when she writes about Binti, she's not just doing something performative. She is showing some part of the audience themselves in books where they often don't see themselves, or their experiences, and she is actually writing about the Himba. There is a lot of interesting stuff going on there.
Is Binti perfect? No. Of course not. But it is good. And it is very much not just virtue-signaling. Everything in it serves a purpose beyond just genuflecting to cultural expectations placed upon an author by current norms. Instead, she was setting the norm, as one of the new authors creating a sub-genre.
In fact, when I get to Seth Dickinson next week, I'm going to come back to Binti as a point of reference for things that would seem silly to point out except in the context of an author who screws it up. Like Seth Dickinson. (Oh, Seth. The first Baru Cormorant book was so good! How did you go so wrong?)
When I use the term, "virtue-signaling," I use it as a pejorative. I use it to denote actions that are merely performative, empty of real value, and intended as nothing more than theater. Theater to convince the audience of one's own virtue for the sake of ego, or theater for the sake of placation.
Literature that is not virtue-signaling is literature that is not merely theater for the sake of demonstrating one's own virtue, or to placate the audience's demands. Nnedi Okorafor passes that test, as of course, do Ursula Le Guin, Octavia Butler, Nora Jemisin... (An astute reader would notice that I am omitting Mary Robinette Kowal...)
So, while literature is intrinsically symbolic, I don't think I am setting up an impossible test by the definitions I am using. Le Guin, Butler, Jemisin, Okorafor... they don't need praise from irrelevant, little me. (Oh, how cute! He published books too!) With respect to the sex/gender issue, I wrote that Jacqueline Carey's Starless was quite successful, and more so than Ann Leckie's Ancillary Justice. (Although, Ancillary Justice was a better book overall.) Nevertheless, I wouldn't say that Leckie fails my test, so much as uses an unsuccessful literary gimmick.
There are, however, authors who do fail the virtue-signaling test. As I have alluded, Seth Dickinson fails the test in the second Baru Cormorant book, and I think Ada Palmer fails with Too Like The Lightning. I have also implied that Mary Robinette Kowal fails, somewhat, with what is otherwise a good book-- The Calculating Stars.
It's not an impossible test. Granted, Le Guin, Butler and their literary descendants are rather heady company, and as I wrote last week, it is easy to brush off the "sad puppies" when they are whining about N.K. Jemisin, who is probably the best author around these days.
Virtue-signaling is a thing, though, and with Okorafor as a backdrop, I'll get into the authors who do it badly next Sunday. Barring distractions. 'Cuz... politics, stuff... and me.
In Part I of Virtue and virtue-signaling, I argued that the politics of the science fiction and fantasy community is far more complex than either the reactionary "sad puppies" or the dominant left-wing fan base would care to admit. Time to push further on this.
I posed the question of what would happen if an author like Orson Scott Card published a book as good as Ender's Game in today's political climate, and the Hugo Awards had a choice between that book and Mary Robinette Kowal's The Calculating Stars. Kowal won in 2019, but her competition was nowhere near the level of Ender's Game. In a contest of literary merit alone, Kowal should not win that contest. But, I suggested that Kowal probably would win this hypothetical, alternate universe Hugo for her hypothetical, alternate history book. Card, or his reactionary successor, would face personal political backlash, whereas Kowal wrote a book that caters to a current moment in the politics of sex.
Voters would signal virtue by voting for Kowal, and all of this puts pressure on authors to signal virtue, through their writing and social media engagement.
So, that was Part I.
I wrote all of that, though, without ever defining "virtue-signaling," as I meant it. Oops! Bad me.
"Virtue-signaling." The act of demonstrating one's political or social purity through performative acts. I distinguish this from actual virtue, e.g. behaving with honor, integrity, empathy, compassion and so forth because virtue-signaling is all about the symbolism and the face that is presented rather than the substance underneath. Call-out culture is virtue-signaling. Donating your time or money, without expectation of praise, or sacrificing something tangible for the sake of a value or principle is actual virtue.
Wait a minute, you're thinking! Isn't literature all symbolic anyway? How can we distinguish real virtue from virtue-signaling in an endeavor that is purely symbolic? Let me explain the premise of my perspective. Good art must make a statement. Not always a political or economic statement, but some kind of a statement. Of course, given my proclivities, a disproportionate share of my reading leans towards the political and economic, because all of my feints towards escapism are nothing but empty bluster, but while statement-free books can be fun, they can't be art, in my opinion. And I'll call that "opinion."
So can the statement of a book ever be anything more than virtue-signaling? Yes, and here is what I mean. A statement within a book is nothing but virtue-signaling if it exists either for the purpose of, or constrained by a desire to signal a degree of purity.
Hence, an author can avoid the virtue-signaling trap by avoiding the pitfalls of either a) bending backwards to signal his or her own purity, or b) presenting a pure, black-and-white view of the world that matches with the social views of those to whom one must often signal virtue.
Because the world is not pure. The world is messy, and complicated, and tangled, and difficult to parse. And to quote Wesley/The Man In Black from The Princess Bride, "anyone who says differently is selling something." Two things, actually. A book, and the image of their own virtue. Either way, I ain't buyin'. (Unless I've already paid, in which case, well... sucks for me.)
With that in mind, let's have an example of someone doing it right. How do you write without just engaging in virtue-signaling? By having something real to say, beyond just, hey! Get a load of my virtues! Nobody's going to throw you any beads for showing them, and that's not how Mardi Gras works. Please, just don't drink and drive.
Anyway, as I wrote in Part I, there is a strong tradition in science fiction from Ursula Le Guin and Octavia Butler through N.K. Jemisin writing from the non-white guy perspective. It isn't just that they aren't (or weren't) white guys. It is that being who they are and were can provide a perspective to tell stories that even their white-guy fanboys in the industry would just never think to tell. Perspective. But, I've raved enough about Jemisin before, and Le Guin and Butler? They're legends at this point. So, I'll start with another name I mentioned in Part I-- Nnedi Okorafor.
She became one of the big names in genre literature with the first novella in the Binti series, which is actually accessible to the YA audience. That's not my usual thing, but it was actually good! Here's the first Binti story, in brief. Kid runs off to college, which requires hopping on a space ship to get to another planet. The ship is attacked by aliens, who hijack the ship to get to the University's planet, with the goal of recovering an artifact. Binti survives the attack, and convinces them to let her negotiate. Artifact gets handed back to the aliens.
OK, let me just say that the idea of a University doing the right thing, voluntarily, because someone appeals to their conscience... that is the single most unrealistic thing I have ever read in my life.
Ever.
I can suspend disbelief on aliens, faster-than-light travel, time travel, magic... you name it. But... a University owning up to their own unethical behavior and deciding to do the right thing? Nope. You lost me there. Have I mentioned lately that the denizens of my administrative building are actual, literal cockroaches?
Anyway, that said, Okorafor writes from a different perspective than, say, Orson Scott Card. The main character is Himba-- a desert culture from Namibia. They don't have water to spare for bathing. So, they rub a concoction of oils and stuff into their hair. This leads to some interesting variations on touching-black-women's-hair. That's a real thing, and there is value not just to having that written into science fiction, but to having it written into the story for a character like Binti, accessible to a younger audience. I never had strangers come up to me to touch my hair, and neither have the "sad puppies" had that happen to them. But it's a thing that happens. Okorafor goes interesting, science fiction-y places with it. And as an African-American woman, she can bring her experience to her writing.
So when she writes about Binti, she's not just doing something performative. She is showing some part of the audience themselves in books where they often don't see themselves, or their experiences, and she is actually writing about the Himba. There is a lot of interesting stuff going on there.
Is Binti perfect? No. Of course not. But it is good. And it is very much not just virtue-signaling. Everything in it serves a purpose beyond just genuflecting to cultural expectations placed upon an author by current norms. Instead, she was setting the norm, as one of the new authors creating a sub-genre.
In fact, when I get to Seth Dickinson next week, I'm going to come back to Binti as a point of reference for things that would seem silly to point out except in the context of an author who screws it up. Like Seth Dickinson. (Oh, Seth. The first Baru Cormorant book was so good! How did you go so wrong?)
When I use the term, "virtue-signaling," I use it as a pejorative. I use it to denote actions that are merely performative, empty of real value, and intended as nothing more than theater. Theater to convince the audience of one's own virtue for the sake of ego, or theater for the sake of placation.
Literature that is not virtue-signaling is literature that is not merely theater for the sake of demonstrating one's own virtue, or to placate the audience's demands. Nnedi Okorafor passes that test, as of course, do Ursula Le Guin, Octavia Butler, Nora Jemisin... (An astute reader would notice that I am omitting Mary Robinette Kowal...)
So, while literature is intrinsically symbolic, I don't think I am setting up an impossible test by the definitions I am using. Le Guin, Butler, Jemisin, Okorafor... they don't need praise from irrelevant, little me. (Oh, how cute! He published books too!) With respect to the sex/gender issue, I wrote that Jacqueline Carey's Starless was quite successful, and more so than Ann Leckie's Ancillary Justice. (Although, Ancillary Justice was a better book overall.) Nevertheless, I wouldn't say that Leckie fails my test, so much as uses an unsuccessful literary gimmick.
There are, however, authors who do fail the virtue-signaling test. As I have alluded, Seth Dickinson fails the test in the second Baru Cormorant book, and I think Ada Palmer fails with Too Like The Lightning. I have also implied that Mary Robinette Kowal fails, somewhat, with what is otherwise a good book-- The Calculating Stars.
It's not an impossible test. Granted, Le Guin, Butler and their literary descendants are rather heady company, and as I wrote last week, it is easy to brush off the "sad puppies" when they are whining about N.K. Jemisin, who is probably the best author around these days.
Virtue-signaling is a thing, though, and with Okorafor as a backdrop, I'll get into the authors who do it badly next Sunday. Barring distractions. 'Cuz... politics, stuff... and me.
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