If you were gay, you’d realize that 99.99% of life is compulsory heterosexuality. By this I mean the art is straight, the stores are straight, the conversation in the supermarket is straight, the books on the shelves are straight, and straight people are everywhere you look. Everywhere you look, involved with themselves and not even noticing all the people they leave out. I don’t think straight people have a clue how exhausting their heterosexuality pressing, pressing, pressing against us is.
Next week is Pride week in the pokey little town where I live, and for a few days this year, not everything will be straight. People on the island will see gay people and gay symbols first, almost everywhere they go. We will even, finally, have our first, albeit temporary, pride crosswalk! (HUGE VOTE FOR A PERMANENT ONE. KEEP OUR QUEER CHILDREN SAFE!) Some will be revolted. Some will want to gawk. Some will be loud and proud allies. Loads will ignore the festivities altogether. But there you are. It’s a week of largely volunteer-run activities put on by DAISSI (Diverse and Inclusive Salt Spring Island … more details on FB), and if you live near Salt Spring Island you can join in the fun. We have a queer art show, the launch of a new play, karaoke, a poetry open mic, some religious services, a parade, a party in the park, a dance starring Queer as Funk, a brunch, a hike, a reading by famous author Anne Fleming.
Sept 3-Sept 14, 2019. The parade and dance are Sept 7. Full information on DAISSI’s FB page.
Toni Morrison towered over literature. Though older than me by a generation, her early novels became my lodestones, magnets pointing me toward a new kind of literature. Her writing cracked open a world I hadn’t read on the page before, a vibrant world where Black women were accorded center stage, absent “the white gaze.” I knew how corrosive the white gaze could be from going to school in the Bahamas, and how complete, complex and nuanced were the worlds beyond its acid brow.
“Beloved” eventually became my most cherished title.
I started writing in about 1985 as an out lesbian, using mostly male protagonists. I snuck one story with lesbians into my first collection, a story about two women and their adopted autistic child. My second story collection had lots of queer protagonists, and my second poetry collection was all queer. By the time I wrote those books, I was done pretending just to get published. I understood that I’d been pandering (to use Claire Vaye Watkins’ word), though all the while I had been reaching for something else, the bravery to make up tales my way, from a queer gaze, a non-binary gaze, a disabled gaze, and to insist that mainstream Canada hear me. I honed my skills so that they would have to listen. When they wouldn’t, I submitted to literary awards, and I won contests.
That never translated, for me, into publishing contracts, and so, broken-hearted, I distanced myself. I’m sorry to have to say that we have a long way to go in Canada before parity for queers is reached.
I loved Toni Morrison, and I loved her writing, and the lessons of her writing resound with me even today. I’m grateful her literature is available to us all, and particularly grateful it and she stood as beacon and exemplar for generations of Black womxn. I’m going to be doing what many people around the world are doing now, reading her novels again, reading The Bluest Eye, Jazz, Song of Soloman, letting her literature soak back into me with all its strength and wisdom.
A white person, even one marginalized, cannot begin to understand the meaning of Toni Morrison to Black womxn. Here is a link to a touching and important eulogy by Dr Roxane Gay, NY Times. The Legacy of Toni Morrison.
At Medium, the Zora team has re-printed Toni Morrison: In Her Own Words; Cinderella’s Stepsisters, her commencement address to the Barnard graduating class of ’79.
I’m moving some of my essays onto Medium for your reading pleasure! Here’s what’s there so far:
The Pleasure Scale, Gay Magazine, about how, as a near shut-in, I find pleasure
The Preludes to Assault, about a short encounter with Jian Ghomeshi, and sexual violence
The Nothing Between Your Legs, about my non-binary life as a girl in the 1950s; first published in Autostraddle
A Night of Art and Anti-Art, about a walk on beach one evening with Liz
Imagine my good luck to appear in the Bad Behaviour series at Autrostraddle, and in Canada’s oldest feminist journal, Room, in their queer issue, all in one month, alongside the grooviest writers (people I’ve admired far and near for years), and, might I add, the most amazing visual artist, Ness Lee. (Their cover is above.) The former magazine is online, and the latter is available at your favorite independent bookstore or from Room, link below.
And a link to my short story, ‘Phosphorescence,’ in Room.