intended as something of a thesis statement for this year’s event.
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Whether queer fiction ought to depict happiness
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or suffering is a long question,
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and I will not claim it has not touched us here at the fireside as well.
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So it is our hope that the following will provide context to the stories we intend to present for you this month,
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both happy and otherwise,
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for any account which was only one of these
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would be false. Read by Madison Scott-Clary, whose tail is behind her.
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Please enjoy “Blank Verse Essay
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on Intentionality in Queer Fiction”,
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by Rob MacWolf I will not say here, 'no more happy ends.'
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I won't presume to undercut the need For stories of queer heroes of queer worlds Where homophobia has never been.
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For gods of sunset, moon, and winter know
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That if no tale but such as these were told From now until the day I breathe my last
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It would not serve to mend the deficit.
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Let tales of worlds where homophobia Is not,
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has never been, and never will, Be told.
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Let them abound and multiply,
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And fill the too-straight world,
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and it subdue. Let prince love prince,
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let princess princess save.
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Let warriors own of no gender but war.
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For each tale, after all, will be the one For someone, that first opens up their eyes To see as in a darkling glass, themselves.
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And yet. If tales but such as these were told From now until the day I breathe my last And none besides, why,
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I would breathe my last Believing that the life that I had lived Was not a life,
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and all the love I'd loved Was not entirely love.
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How could they be?
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The lives and loves of all my heroes would Be lived and loved in worlds too bright for me.
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Too just. Too perfect.
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Far too welcoming.
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Their shining worlds where homophobia Is not,
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has never been, and never will,
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Could have no place in them for such as I.
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Behold my history,
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dark and disowned.
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Behold my heart, by sword of sorrow pierced.
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This is my body, old before its time.
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This is my blood,
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which I cannot donate.
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As in the days when out of Hamelin town The sons and daughters, by unearthly song, Were led on paths unnamable and strange Into a paradise of innocence,
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Save one. Just so my soul is long since lamed By grieving for my griefs,
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by growing in Closets too cramped to ever stand up straight.
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I cannot walk as fast.
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I reach the gates Of Bergentruckung only just in time To see the shining world where all my woes At weary last be laid to weary rest Before the door shuts fast.
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And I alone Escape to tell thee:
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aye, I yet remain In this same world where homophobia Is yet,
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has ever been, and likely shall Outlast the day I draw my final breath.
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So let there too be stories of this world.
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Let love admit of base impurities.
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Let prince love prince, but furtively,
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at some Discreet motel room at the county line.
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Let princess save princess,
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from homelessness
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In flight from cruel conversion therapy.
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Let warrior own of no gender but war Against the bulk of laws heteronorm.
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And aye, let tales of perfect other worlds Be told as well.
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We have yet need of them.
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Alongside tragedy.
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Alongside grief. Alongside seedy and outright unchaste.
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Alongside bitter, dark, unhealthy, grim:
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Not to be emulated,
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yet still seen And recognized.
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For which of us have not Beheld such, in a dark glass, in ourselves?
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Yes, tell me stories of how love should be,
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Should have been always, and has never been.
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But tell me also tales of how love is.
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And how perforce it likely will remain. Let not it be that all our stories are Of worlds where homophobia is not,
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For none of us will ever live in one.
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I do not say here 'no more happy ends.'
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I rather say 'put some within my reach.'
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For, gods of sunset, moon, and winter know,
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That reach is not as long as it should be.
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This was “Blank Verse Essay on Intentionality in Queer Fiction”
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by Rob MacWolf, read for you by Madison Scott-Clary,
