Hi, my Name is: A treatise on labels - Review
At their core, labels are useful for society. Genre, cuisine, and just words in general all allow us to make mental shortcuts into understanding the basic principals of whatever we are dealing with. But am I wrong to suggest that sometimes those labels force us into categories that do more harm than good?
Take for example, Science Fiction as a genre. Sci-fi, as a genre, has always existed in the United States, but it first took off in the 20th century. Edgar Rice Boroughs is probably the most famous “early” American sci-fi writer. It had been about a decade after the publications of H.G. Wells’ seminal works and Burroughs decided to reinvigorate the market with Barsoom (the 10-book series starring John Carter or various spin off characters). At the time, it was common for “genre-fiction” to be published in pulp magazines, and due to this the pieces were called “pulp fiction” (if you’re curious pulp refers to the cheap paper these books and magazines were printed on. Now that you’ve learned this fact, you’re cursed to hear someone explain it to you 300 times a year. Don’t be mad at me, I don’t make the rules.).
Strangely enough, pulp fiction, to this day, gets a bad rap. It’s often considered lude or exploitative of the market. Granted, the cover art had a very specific style, generally including a half-naked woman on the front, but funnily enough, pieces of pulp fiction are the hearts of some of the west’s leading franchises. Batman, Tarzan, Conan the Barbarian, and Zorro all made their way into the US’s imagination through these cheap flimsy magazines. Tons of famous authors got their start here too, my favorite being Upton Sinclair. The “muckraker” who wrote The Jungle, one of the most important books in US History. Yeah, that guy started his literary career in pulp fiction. Name more famous authors who had their work in this “swamp of garbage?” Sure thing! H.P. Lovecraft, Louis L’Amour, Agatha Christie, Arthur C. Clarke, Ray Bradbury (he made it cool for a while), F. Scott Fitzgerald, Mark “freaking” Twain, and Jack London. All of which have countless pieces of literary criticism written about them, and yet genre fiction is still considered dribble. Strange, right!
Regardless, most of American Science fiction history is hidden within the history of pulp fiction, which is in turn hidden within the history of genre fiction. Today, that history is hidden yet again behind a needless wall that obscures work that might go ignored like feminist literature did for so long. It’s difficult to do research on pulp work because there isn’t a strong foundation for it, meaning its often difficult to even approach the mountain of work that exists. And even if you do write about it, there’s a solid chance it’ll fall on deaf ears.
There have been multiple moments in which science fiction was seeming to cement itself with “the big boys” of literary fiction, but those moments were quickly cast away. Obviously, Frankenstein and Brave New World come to mind, as both of these are some of England’s most important novels. On the shoulders of these books comes Kurt Vonnegut and Ray Bradbury, who are probably the only two household names from the late 1900s “sci-fi is literature” movement, but even they are simply considered exceptions to the rule.
Frequently, science fiction has been shunted and abused when it comes to recognition. Several years where breakout novels have made it onto the mainstage of literary discourse, they received no recognition from major award syndications and aren’t taught anywhere across the country.
So. Here’s where stuff gets real. How have sci-fi writers combated this? They simply were never called sci-fi writers. Margaret Atwood and Cormac McCarthy are probably the two most famous authors that happened to have this happen. Respectively, they wrote Handmaid’s Tale and No Country for Old Men both of which have been adapted by Hollywood, quite successfully. When I first learned about them in University, McCarthy was described as a reincarnate of Ernest Hemingway and Atwood was simply considered a feminist writer, neither of them or their works were called science fiction. These writers don’t lean into their fame (despite having the right to) and are both quite humble and hilarious.
Without the “negative” label of sci-fi applied to these writers, their work has become exceedingly cherished, and rightfully so! I cannot say if they did this on purpose, and I cannot say what would happen if they were labelled as “sci-fi” writers. All I can note is where they are today and how literary critics and the world treats them.
Categorizing someone or something is constrictive. It’s limiting to have a label because it puts you under a sometimes inescapable umbrella. You’re expected to meet the qualities that are pressed upon you, or you’re treated as an outsider, sometimes even by people who are forced under the same label.
Don’t get me wrong, there are moments in life where it is best to “know your role” and by embracing a label, you might find it easier to meet like-minded people! But if you limit yourself to what someone else expects of you, you never get to be what you want to be. And if you only meet people who think like you, then there’s a good chance you’ll end up in an echo-chamber. If those are the best ways to design a world, count me out! That’s stifling.
Labels are the ticked boxes that decide the type of woman or man we become. They’re the screws that hold us in place, but also the predrilled holes that guide us to where society might think we should be. But does that mean everything will fall apart without them? No silly. I was just writing a damn metaphor. Don’t extend it to disprove me. If anything, a world without labels would allow true independence of thought, leading to unique discussions between people who could never cross paths. It could become a world where we don’t stratify someone based on their interests, income, or race or gender. It’s a world where character counts more than skin tone or sexuality. Where a difference in opinion isn’t an issue, but a positive.
Maybe I’m just creating a utopia and missing the framing narrative. Maybe I’m an idealist mistaking himself for a futurist. Or maybe those are just more labels I’m using to make a bigger point. Maybe these last two paragraphs have been included for an ironic sense of justice that builds upon itself as a caricature of my former points. Maybe this is all for an elaborate punch-line I haven’t thought up yet. Maybe this elaborate emotional crescendo is where I come out of the woodwork and into the waterworks to drive my point home. Or maybe, I just end it like this.
