Do they have any?
With Pride month upon us, it is perhaps no surprise that the question of social activism is on my mind. And since I am in the midst of writing my doctorate thesis, the question of social activism and writing has occupied my thoughts. Particularly the wonder of whether or not writers have a social responsibility to be activists, especially if they are writing about social issues?
I am unashamed to admit that social activism plays a large role in my life: I am an openly feminist person of colour, an advocate for LGBTQ+ rights, and ardently anti-war. Much of my day-to-day preoccupations with world affairs tend to include some aspect of these issues. And as a writer (albeit non-fiction) I am do not hide away from including social commentaries in my works. Many of the posts here on the blog can attest to that, where issues of mental health, for example, are frequently talked about in an attempt to combat the stigma around it (you can find these posts under the Mental Health tag).
Looking at examples of novels that include social commentary, famous and well known names such as Charles Dickens (Hard Times, Great Expectations, Oliver Twist all examples of novels that included social issues used as major plot points) and Jane Austen (who’s writing often advocated for the rights of women) immediately come to mind. However, as literature finds its place for many as social escapism, I wonder just where contemporary literature and authors sat on this issue. Many of my favourite writers have spoken about and written essays on social issues of import, including the likes of Zadie Smith, George Saunders or Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, who’s 2014 short essay We Should All be Feminists is wildly popular.
In a 2016 article for The Atlantic, Megan Garber wrote of Smith’s opinion on the politicisation of writers due to the tense social climate of today:
[The writers of today are] offering not just escapism from the world’s realities, but immersion within them. And some of them are doing that not necessarily by being activists or commentators, but by also by doing something both simpler and more complicated. They’re acting, sometimes, as journalists. They, too, are recognizing how thin the line can be: the politics, and the everything else.
Zadie Smith on the Politics of Fiction
Whether or not the events of a novel prove to be one hundred percent factually accurate is then rather besides the point, as long as the representation of a situation or political issue demonstrates more than a small modicum of ‘Truth’; truth that is based not in factual events, but in feelings, impressions and moral response.
The implication of this question comes down to the connection between literature and the world and whether or not one can influence the other. It is quite clear that events of the world frequently find themselves reflected in literature. From World War II fiction and stories about the experience in concentration camps (The Tattooist of Auschwitz by Heather Morris) , to Post-Brexit fiction (Autumn by Ali Smith), world events find a way into the author’s mind quite regularly, and are similarly quite popular with readers. So, does this influence work both ways?
Pulling on the theme of Pride month, I turn to the example of novels with LGBTQ+ themes, or featuring characters of diverse to answer this question. In 1928, Radclyffe Hall’s sapphic lesbian novel, The Well of Loneliness, representing early twentieth-century “inverts” (a medicalised term that was used to describe women with same-sex desires), was called to trial under the Obscene Publications Act of 1857. The novel tells the story of the life and loves of Stephen Gordon, a “mannish woman” seemingly born out of her time.
The same year as its initial publication, James Douglas called for a ban of The Well of Loneliness, stating he “would rather give a healthy boy or girl a phial of prussic acid than this novel”. This notorious comment was not incited by any obvious crudity in the novel, but more so regarding the subject matter which that suggests the invert’s right to exist. Moreover, the novelist blurs the, then distinct, boundary between man and woman through the protagonist, inspiring a lot of anxiety in the conservative British population.
The attempt at censorship of the novel caused many in the literary community of the time to protest, with Vita Sackville-West (the poet and famous lover of Virginia Woolf) claiming, in a letter to Woolf:
I feel very violently about The Well of Loneliness. Not on account of what you call my proclivities [Sackville-West was openly known for her interest in women]; not because I think it is a good book; but really on principle… Because, you see, even if the W. of L. had been a good book, – even if it had been a great book, a real masterpiece, – the result would have been the same. And that is intolerable. I really have no words to say how indignant I am.
Even when people could not read the book, as it was censored and banned even prior to the obscenity trial, the book had an influence the world. Maybe it is more accurate to say that people feared the influence it could have in the world. Gay and lesbian literature has often been censored in fear of what it promotes. Indeed Douglas’ cry of indignation in the name of children is further proof of that. With this in mind it is difficult to argue that literature does not have an influence.
But, going back to the topic of today’s post, does this then suggest that writers have an obligation to, at the very least, be aware of this potential influence in their writing? Today The Well of Loneliness is considered a brave and important piece of lesbian fiction, greatly due to its unapologetic representation of an identity different from the accepted. Though the result of the trial was to call for the destruction of all copies of The Well of Loneliness, Hall’s novel opened a loud conversation about the existence and perception of “inverts” that led to lesbianism becoming widely recognised as a cultural concept and the dissolution of stable gender norms.
In matters of identity and representation, the media is often where both praise and criticism fall upon. And prior to the popularity of films and movies as a conduit for identity representation, literature held that role, and in my opinion it continues to. The representation of diverse identities in literature make an argument for the importance of acknowledging unique experiences and against generalisation that perpetuate damaging stereotypes. If literature is a part of the world then the implication is that the world is similarly a part of literature, reciprocal relationship. I would suggest that such a relationship opens the door for the potential of social change.
While it is not imperative that every author capitalise on this potential, it does leave the question of what story writers deem important in the world. Even the absence of social commentary is then in its own way a political commentary. That is to say, that maybe there is no way to escape the social responsibility that comes with narrative writing.
This is not something that is in any way black and white. The answer to such a question (if there even is one) would undoubtedly be nuanced and complex, and that is perhaps why such a conversation is needed.
Let us know in the comments what your opinions on the social role of authors is!
~S~
