Rachael Eyre's Blog - Posts Tagged "lesbian"

The original plan for this week's blog was an overview of Margaret Atwood, my favourite author. While that's still going ahead, either this week or next, I really must get something off my chest.

Blue is the Warmest Colour.

In case you've been vacationing on Pluto, it's a French debut graphic novel, recently made into a critically acclaimed film. The author's disdain for the project, plus the director's dubious methods, has meant that it has never been far from the headlines. Normally I'd've snapped it straight up - I'm suffering from Strangers in Paradise withdrawal symptoms- but somehow I was wary. My instinct proved right: it contains virtually every coming of age/coming out cliche written.

I shan't spoil it for you in case you want to read it. Instead, let's consider the five most overused gay fiction cliches ...

1) The Unhappy Ending

Even in this comparatively enlightened age, a gay couple rarely rides into the sunset. If they don't commit suicide in the most angst ridden way possible, they're murdered by bigots, die from Ambiguous Soap Opera Disease (AIDS is viewed as offensive and passé) or struck down by a random act of God. In notorious film The Fox a butch is killed by a tree falling between her legs!

Writers may argue that this is a completely arbitrary decision bearing no relation to the character's sexuality. Riddle me this: in Lilian Hellman's play The Children's Hour, the heroine kills herself after realising she's in love with her best friend. The Hays Code decreed this was unacceptable, and in the first film adaptation, renamed These Three, have her love Karen's fiancé. Does she kill herself in this version? No, sir. Whatever Hellman may have intended, Martha's suicide was seen as just deserts for her "unnatural" tendencies.

2) The Unattainable Bestie

Speaking of Martha and Karen, this is another trope beloved of LGBT writers: the astonishingly gorgeous but unfortunately totally straight best friend. They're often aware of their friend's tender feelings, and if they're nice, say something along the lines of "I love you but I can't LOVE you." If they're nasty, they lead them on shamelessly, confident their besotted disciple will do whatever they want. It seems Dumbledore and his erstwhile pal Grindelwald had this sort of relationship.

Sometimes they cave in to pity and sleep with their mate, but insist it's a "one off" or "just experimenting" if they're girls (men will never mention it again). Either way, they're weak, self absorbed wastes of space who need to be buoyed up by constant admiration. In the better stories, the hero/ine will realise this and move on, but they're equally likely to trail around after them forever.

3) Homophobes Inc

There's nothing like learning a friend is gay to turn a previously warm, open minded person into a ranting, bile spewing monster. Expect cries of: "It's not normal!" and "I let you sleep over!" and severing the friendship so nobody thinks they're gay too. Sometimes they're too cowardly to extend even this courtesy - the first our luckless hero knows is when his buddy blanks him.

If you believe the stories, coming out has a ruinous effect on your social life. Bringing us neatly to ...

4) Mummy and Daddy Hate You Now

It's every questioning teen's worst fear - that their parents will be unable to accept their sexuality and reject them. The pressure is ramped up still further if they've married or had children. For some reason many parents are fine with gay people in theory, but when it occurs under their very own roof, they're horrified.

Although judgmental Bible quotes are (thankfully) going out of fashion, you're still likely to have one parent who can't stomach the news (typically the same gender as the hero/ine). Cue "Have you tried not being gay?" and "I love you, but I hate what you are" and other sensitive remarks. In such cases they're only reunited on the parent's death bed, and sometimes not even then. If the son or daughter has a lover, expect them to be blamed for initiating their precious darling into a depraved "lifestyle."

5) Stereotypes Galore

Gay people come in all ages, races, religions and backgrounds. Yet you'd never guess that looking at Fictionland: your typical gay man or woman is depicted as white, middle class, atheist and liberal, with disposable income. Although this makes sense on the surface (why belong to a movement that discriminates against you?), it's an idyll that doesn't reflect real people's lives.

Sadly, fiction is often too lazy to establish well rounded characters who also happen to be gay. If they're not the lead, or created by a gay author, they'll be drawn with the crudest strokes. Men are camp, clothes conscious and wannabe Wildes; women are terrifying Lotharios with mohawks and dog collars. While there's been a backlash with the girls - the twenty first century lesbian has been reimagined as a classy, glamorous vixen - portrayals of gay men are stuck in the Seventies.

More than any other genre, LGBT fiction suffers from the "It happened to me!" principle. Yes, you might have caught your step dad lip syncing to Judy Garland or been in love with your PE teacher, but do we really need to know about it? Unless it's played for laughs, angst belongs in the past. Don't perpetuate all the mindless self loathing and violence - do something all your own!

Coming out is the fun that never starts. Since you can't go around with a PowerPoint entitled "I Like Muff", you have to do it with every new acquaintance, employer, doctor ... Maybe you should have a card engraved.

In an ideal world the standard reaction would be "Okay" and carrying on as though nothing had happened. Alas, there will always be dingbats who come out with howlers. The following are all bona fide comments made to me or my friends ...

* "I'd've never guessed / You don't look gay" - What is this? White noise? They behave as though it's a compliment and you'd be mortified if anyone knew - despite the fact you just told them.

* "Who's the man in your relationship?" - Meaning what, exactly? If you mean logistics, that's none of your business. If you mean who's the bread winner or who's the handy one, congratulations. You've committed a double whammy of sexism and homophobia. Lesbian relationships aren't pallid imitations of straight ones.

* "It's a choice / selfish etc." - Are you seriously proposing I hook up with some poor man, never mind I won't find him in the slightest bit attractive, and breed despite having the maternal instincts of Atilla the Hun? Spend my life seething with resentment and having affairs? I'm sure that'll be hunky dory for everyone concerned.

* "You're the first gay person I've met" - You meet thousands of people a lifetime. How do you quantify your data?

* "I never thought I'd be friends with a gay person" - You're not now, either.

* "Don't you have any straight friends?" - Said by parents etc. when you're regaling them with your friends' wacky antics. Short answer: yes. Long answer: my best friends tend to be gay or bi because we have more in common. Like, duh.

* "Why do you write so many gay characters?" - Does anybody ask a straight author why they write so many straight characters? Double standards aside: it's what I know, what interests me and I'm offended by the two dimensional stereotypes in popular culture. There's no gay equivalent to Mulder and Scully, Claire and Jamie - and unless LGBT folk get scribbling, it'll stay that way.

* "I'll never read / watch anything with gay characters" - You've just locked yourself out of some of the best works of modern times. More fool you.

*On seeing two women holding hands: "LESBIANS!" - No shit, Sherlock.

* "Marriage is between a man and a woman" - Sorry, chuck, it's legal now. Whinging won't make it go away.

* "My sister in law / best friend / yoga teacher is gay" - Yes, all lesbians belong to the Grand Order of the Big Pink Dragon and know each other. Bonus points if they try and set you up.

* "When are you getting married / having kids?" - Bless, they're really trying. Now that the laws have changed they fondly imagine we're all sprinting to the nearest registry office and/or fertility clinic. The ultimate equality is allowing us to be as indecisive and apathetic as everyone else!

I'm delighted to announce that my new novel The Artificial Wife has been published on Amazon! A sci fi lesbian romance, it's set in the same world as Love and Robotics.

Summer has been coached to be the perfect wife. When she is sold to the self centred, bullying Robert, she thinks her life is over.

Former prostitute Elle has lost everything in a short space of time. Robert seems to offer her a way out.

Two robot women from drastically different worlds, brought together by the same man. In these unlikely circumstances, true love can grow.

I'm delighted to report that my new novel, Diary of a Teenage Lesbian, will be available on Amazon soon. It's a lesbian coming of age story set at the turn of this century - nearly twenty years ago but thankfully far, far away.

What do you do if you're in love with your best friend? Or when your mum is dating your creepy teacher? Will life always be this turbulent and embarrassing?

I'm thrilled to announce that Diary of a Teenage Lesbian is now available on Amazon! So if you've ever been young, gay and in love with absolutely the wrong person, give it a read!

Laura is a fourteen year old girl growing up in the West Midlands. Her brother Ben is acting like a condescending knob and her mum is dating her creepy teacher. If that isn't stressful enough, she's secretly in love with her best friend Christina.

It's the year 2000. Section 28 is in force, preventing schools from even mentioning homosexuality, and she's scared. She doesn't want to be a lesbian. And what if Christina finds out?

Being a demon is no picnic. Especially when your full time job is trying to Tempt a nine year old who thinks unicorns are the coolest thing ever. Oh, and you’re expected to send your evil uncle regular updates. No pressure.

But when Meg Wormwood falls in love with Selina, the Guardian Angel at her posting, all hell breaks loose. In fact, it may even mean the end of humanity as we know it ...

#Book666 will be released in 2020. Nothing short of an act of God will stop it.

I’ve been writing this story in one form or another for over half of my life. I’m not exaggerating.

Growing up, the Devil was a constant presence. Here he was on a page of the Children’s Bible, tempting Jesus in the desert; there he was again, challenging Christ to a game of poker in Spanish Train. These two always seemed to be locking horns, like the Joker and Batman. Not to mention all the Devil’s Chairs and Devil’s Bridges dotted around the British landscape. (He visits us *a lot*).

Since I was “bad,” irreligious and had zero willpower, I was convinced as a kid that I’d end up in Hell. Realising I liked girls only reinforced this impression. Wilde’s “I can resist everything except temptation” could have been written for me.

I discovered two seminal books around the same time: Paradise Lost and The Screwtape Letters. Milton’s epic dominated my thought for the next couple of years; it was the subject of my GCSE art project. I still recite passages of it when I’m really drunk, to everyone’s chagrin.

The Screwtape Letters was something else. It’s possibly one of the most ingenious ideas an author has had. Wormwood has recently graduated and is on his first assignment; Screwtape, his decidedly unavuncular uncle, writes to advise him. These aren’t your standard pantomime devils in red tights. They’re deadly serious and dangerous.

Aged twelve, I was dying to write something set in my new favourite genre. So I composed what any Milton obsessed, Queen loving kid would: a heaven and hell themed rock opera called Out of Place. Damian Devil had somehow wound up in Heaven, but needed to solve the mystery of Desdemona, the Head Angel’s daughter who had vanished years ago ... Sophomoric in the extreme. Even worse, I can still remember the songs. Gah!

Realising Out of Place appealed to exactly one person, i.e. me, I shelved it. I couldn’t write music or sing anyway. What on earth had I been thinking? Perhaps it would fare better in another form. A book, maybe. I’d just have to come up with a story, at a time where people were prepared to listen.

I grew up and wrote a bunch of other books. Paranormal fiction came and went - I’d missed the boat *again.* Though I’d read Good Omens by this point, enjoyed its wry humour. The years passed; my idea seemed destined to remain an outline in a notebook somewhere, until ...

Thanks to Twitter, I know the date and time inspiration struck. 16/04/2019, 10:34am: “Good Omens is what happens if the angel and devil on your shoulder fell in love,” complete with GIF of Kronk and his conscience.

This throwaway tweet prompted a set up, a story. In a nod to Screwtape, Meg Wormwood is on her first mission and sending dispatches to her scary uncle. She finds herself falling for Selina, her target’s Guardian Angel. This is naturally taboo, so they’re forced to choose between love and centuries of tradition.

It’s been twenty two years in the making. I hope my readers enjoy it. I’ve liked writing it.

Thanks to last night’s Vigil, I witnessed something extraordinary. Its lead, Amy Silva, danced with her subordinate, Kirsten Longacre, moving in for a kiss. Startled, the younger detective said, “I thought you weren’t interested in women.” The response? “I like you.” This misunderstanding cleared up, they shared one of the sweetest embraces I’ve seen on television.

Why is this so groundbreaking?

Speaking as a lesbian in my mid thirties, I’ve watched a lot of pink TV. To say most of it was lipservice was an understatement. Good grief, one show - about the gloomy mésalliances of Glaswegian sapphics - was even *called* Lip Service.

The medium doesn’t know what to do with us. Either we’re the subject of dramas specifically about (though not necessarily *for*) us, in which case it’s strap ons and scissoring ahoy, or we’re an absent minded subplot in a soap or indie show. We’re always the bridesmaid, never the bride: best friends, siblings or children, never the main protagonist. Since that would make it a Gay Show, and capsize the ratings forever.

More often than not we’re an object lesson, teaching Middle England that LGBT People Are Just Like You! Unless it’s cull season, of course. Then we’re sitting ducks, ready to get blown up, run over or buried alive on our wedding days. Since we can’t be shown living happily or even miserably ever after like our hetero counterparts.

Vigil is a milestone because it’s a mainstream programme in the coveted 9pm spot, made by the same folks who created Line of Duty. It isn’t ‘about’ lesbians, it’s a murder mystery. Yes, Suranne Jones has previous form playing Regency rake Anne Lister in Gentleman Jack, but which actress hasn’t a gay notch to her belt? It’s the one way to guarantee meaty roles once you enter your thirties.

It didn’t have to be gay. Amy could have just as easily fallen for a male colleague and have him working on the case back on land. But in their wisdom, the BBC has made a wlw love story the heart of their show. The use of flashbacks has given them a unique opportunity to explore Amy and Kirsten’s relationship. They clearly regret their breakup and want to get back together. I only hope one or both of them don’t fall victim to the Plot Reaper.

Of course there have been grumbles from the usual quarters, mithering it’s too “woke,” it’s “virtue signalling,” “has nothing to do with anything.” They were noticeably quiet during the earlier episodes, which dealt with the death of Amy’s (male) partner and the loss of her stepdaughter. Bizarrely, many viewers confused the kid with Kirsten, seemingly oblivious to lesbian subtext, or that there’s only a nine year age difference between our leads. There were even suggestions that it was the same person, but she’d hooked up with her stepmother when she was an adult. And they call *us* perverted.

I freely admit: I only tuned in because the publicity referred to a ‘past relationship’ between our leads. I thought it’d be mentioned in passing at best, because that’s what I’ve come to expect. It doesn’t matter we have the right to marry and adopt, and ostensibly equal rights; we’re still only extras or Very Special Episodes in the year 2021.

Until now.

They’ve given us an age gap wlw romance - a classic ice queen meets kooky girl. A woman who can be kissed by another woman and doesn’t react as though a slug has been slingshotted into her mouth - and indeed, likes it. No tedious angst about being gay, no soul searching. Just two people who obviously still love each other. Two flawed, relatable women, rather than the questioning teens or designer dolls we’re used to seeing. Queer characters who feel like actual people.

And it’s about time.

Earlier this week I woke to devastating news. Streaming giant HBO announced they were cancelling Gentleman Jack after two seasons.

Based on the diaries of lesbian trailblazer Anne Lister, it followed our unconventional heroine as she wooed Ann Walker, a haunted heiress who could be out of a Wilkie Collins novel; it also chronicled her business ventures and travels abroad. It was a period drama like no other, swapping the usual comedy of manners with sapphic love triangles.

The best part? Lister wasn’t the invention of a modern author reimagining history with a queer slant, but a real woman who lived in Halifax in the nineteenth century. Her meticulously kept diaries were discovered by one of her descendants, John Lister. Gay himself, he was scandalised by their content, and advised to destroy them. Luckily he was a historian and recognised their worth. They were ignored for years until twentieth century historians deciphered them and were shocked. They straightwashed Lister by claiming the coded entries were so dull, no one would wish to read them.

It wasn’t until an English writer called Helena Whitbread decrypted the diaries in the 80s that their true nature was discovered. It became her passion project; she was motivated partly because her own daughter had recently come out. Critics at the time insisted they must be a hoax by a lesbian feminist, but when the diaries were examined, they were forced to conclude they were genuine. Ann Walker’s own diary was discovered in 2020.

This is more engrossing than yet another Austen adaptation could be. There was an earlier show starring Maxine Peake, The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister, but it disappeared without a trace. Fortunately Sally Wainwright - creator of Last Tango in Halifax and Happy Valley - had long been fascinated by Lister, and had wanted to dramatise her remarkable life for years. The time had never been quite right; executives were convinced no one would want to watch the adventures of a Regency butch lesbian.

With Wainwright they had the right writer; in Suranne Jones, one of the UK’s finest actresses, they had the ideal Lister. With a single tip of her top hat and wiggle of her eyebrows, she won the hearts of women loving women across the globe. Its impact was so significant, it’s been given its own name: the Gentleman Jack Effect. Women have formed fan clubs, climbed the same mountains as Anne (she was the first person in recorded history to ascend Mont Vingemale), created hilarious memes and written novels based on the characters. Shibden Hall, her ancestral home, has become a tourist hotspot; a statue of her in pensive mode has been installed in Halifax. She has gone from obscure historical figure to gay icon.

It’s difficult to articulate how meaningful this show has been. It puts paid to the myth that homosexuality in general and lesbianism in particular is a modern identity; Anne knew exactly what she was and found many other women like her. Butch women are almost never portrayed on television and wrongly regarded as an offensive stereotype. Anne proves that not only were butches alive and well in the 1800s, they could be sexy, charismatic and smooth with the ladies - almost like a Georgian lesbian James Bond. But the show doesn’t sanitise her; she could be snobby, controlling and selfish, and her true blue politics are distasteful to today’s audience.

Above all, her relationships with Ann and other women are achingly real and all too relevant to today. They are faced by obstacles from every side, whether it’s interfering relatives, society’s homophobia, or old flames. Mariana, Anne’s ex who married a considerably older man, is a nasty piece of work - a manipulative, negging, histrionic hot mess. Their relationship hit the rocks because of her embarrassment at Anne’s butchness - a situation relatable to anyone who has dated a closeted woman who suffers from internalised homophobia.

Ann herself struggles with mental health issues, which are sympathetically depicted. Again, many queer women suffer from depression and anxiety, frequently because of the conflict between their sexual orientation and society.

The show charts how these two very different women met, fell in love and forged a same sex marriage in a time where that was unthinkable (the recent Great Drumsheugh Case had ruled that lesbianism was an imaginary crime on par with witchcraft). It captivated audiences who would never have watched period dramas, or found themselves rooting for a lesbian relationship. Many women have been emboldened to come out due to Gentleman Jack; numerous fans have met and fallen in love.

Now HBO has decreed it must come to an end. It acknowledged the series during Pride Month, but otherwise it’s virtually ignored it - a tactic it employs with other queer themed shows, like the gay pirate comedy Our Flag Means Death. The message seems clear: queer viewers are a mere gimmick at best, a nuisance at worst. Wainwright and the BBC have expressed a desire to carry on, but realistically speaking, this has sounded a death knell for the show.

It’s not enough. Not any more. Women loving women are sick of being treated like a novelty act whose feelings don’t matter. We hate that sapphic characters are disproportionately killed off (the dreaded Bury Your Gays trope), often oversexualised and their relationships viewed as lesser. The disastrous Killing Eve finale highlighted how straight writers take us for granted and regurgitate these insulting cliches, not realising how hurtful they are. If there had been even one queer woman in that writing room, there’s no way that ending would have made the final cut - not least because they have a happy one in the novels.

In the old days we snatched at any form of representation, no matter how dubious. We grinned and bore it when lesbian shows were cancelled for “lack of interest” - believe me, we would watch golf if there was the promise of girl on girl action. We endured our secondary status as the heroine’s best friend or little sister because we thought that was as good as it was going to get.

Gentleman Jack has given us a glimpse of a brave new world where lesbian characters can be flawed heroes and their romances the primary focus of the show. Once you’ve had a banquet, why would you go back to a grubby little takeaway?

Cancelling the series when there’s still so much material left to adapt is a grave mistake. It will break the hearts of countless lesbians.

It’s one disappointment too many.

I’m a sucker for lesbian vampires. When they announced First Kill, I was thrilled; never mind I wasn’t the target demographic.

Touted as “Buffy meets Killing Eve,” the Netflix series is the story of Juliette Fairmont, an adorkable lesbian vampire. She falls hard and fast for Calliope Burns, the new girl in school. Alas, Cal belongs to a family of monster hunters, trained from birth to take creatures like Jules and her family down. A heated encounter in a pantry and attempted staking later, the attraction is mutual and undeniable. Will our heroines be able to defy centuries of enmity and be together?

Cal and Jules’ relationship isn’t an easily ignored subplot but the raison d’etre of the show. Both girls have always known they are queer, meaning the tedious teenage coming out plotline can be dispensed with. They are an interracial couple, with the Burns family receiving as much focus as the waspy Fairmonts. They do what young lesbians in love and lust actually do: kiss and have sex. Which hasn’t been missed by critics, who moan the show “oversexualises” the pair. Would they say this if they were a straight, white couple?

One of the most important relationships in the show is that of Jules and Ben, her best friend since childhood. Most media portrays lesbians and gay men as separate species who loathe one another; these two are a mutual adoration society, giving advice and support where their families can’t. He’s a sobering reminder homophobia still exists in this universe: his on-off boyfriend Noah is closeted and refuses to dump his girlfriend, leaving Ben heartbroken.

Other than the queerness, I love that the central relationship is age appropriate. One of the cornerstones of vampire romances seems to be a staggering age gap, which translates as a hundred years plus year old man grooming a teenage girl, however you look at it. In the case of American stories, it frequently entails characters having Confederacy pasts (True Blood, Twilight) - roughly equivalent to a European author romanticising Nazis. Best of all, Jules is alive, waving aside the spectre of necrophilia that haunts most vampire yarns. Win-win!

The innovation doesn’t end there. Vampires are reimagined as a matriarchal society, with ‘Legacy’ vampires - the rarest kind, practically impossible to kill - descended from Lilith. Jules’ parents Margot and Sebastian face discrimination from other vampires because he is a human she fell in love with and turned. Their glamorous grandma Davina embodies all the pride and prejudice of their heritage, but if the show has a villain, it’s Elinor, Jules’ Machiavellian bombshell of a big sister. A power hungry serial killer, she has managed to ostracise her twin Oliver from the family, making out he’s the evil one. Understandably, he wants payback.

Critics have been quick to pillory the show with the sneering they reserve for teenage girls and queer properties. A sniffy Variety review claimed it was a “tired take on teenage lesbian vampires” - trust me, it’s hardly a populous field, with only the Carmilla webseries and the dismal film of The Moth Diaries in the past few decades. The CGI has come in for some flak, which is forgivable - the last shot of the show is endearingly naff - but we endured fake fangs and moth eaten dog costumes in other series and nobody complained then.

It looks as though Netflix won’t renew First Kill, continuing their marked disdain towards wlw series. They didn’t promote it until the very last minute, raising questions. Previously they’ve argued cancellations were due to “the pandemic” or “low ratings,” but that excuse won’t wash here. The show was a word of mouth hit on Twitter, with sapphics the world over urging each other to watch. They’ve renewed Heartstopper when its ratings are considerably lower; you can’t help suspecting lesbophobia and other prejudices are at play.

The wider world betrays its complacency every time a queer franchise is cancelled or ends badly. “It’s only a TV show,” they shrug, “there are plenty of others.” Not for us. With its queer heroines, one of whom is Black, and message of love overcoming all, First Kill is unique and has the potential to be a life affirming, empowering show for millions of young women around the globe. It deserves another chance #RenewFirstKill