My whole life, I’ve had a preference for books written by women. Because, well, I’m a woman. I want to read books written by and about people like me. Whenever we were assigned class projects in school on famous people or the like, I always hoped for a woman. Or would choose a woman, if I did get to choose. With things like projects on presidents, I would look at all the boys talking about all these men and I’d think, “Where are the girls? Why can’t I talk about a woman?”
Even in YA, my preferred category of literature — and one that is by and large dominated by female authors — John Green is seen as the “savior of YA.” Don’t get me wrong, John Green is a lovely man who does awesome charity work and writes books about important issues. But John Green does not represent the majority of YA. He does not represent women.
Yes, I totally could read “The Fault In Our Stars” (which I had to for a class sophomore year), or I could be reading Julie Murphy’s “Side Effects May Vary” and Wendy Wunder’s “The Probability of Miracles.” I could read "Looking for Alaska," or I could read Nicola Yoon's "Everything, Everything" and Jasmine Warga's "My Heart and Other Black Holes." For every book written by a man, there are scores more written by women.
I’m going to pick the female authors.
This philosophy came to a head last semester. In my writing class, we read only one poem by one woman on one of the last days of class; this compared to the dozens of poems by dozens of men, almost entirely white men as well, that we read all semester long. And in my literature class, we only read one book not by a white man - and it was optional. So not everyone read it and we never discussed it in class.
And THEN. I was discussing books with a fellow writing major, a nice and well-intentioned boy, when we discovered that he hadn’t read any of the books I was talking about.
“Well, you know,” he said. “I can't actually remember the last book I read by a woman.” This isn’t the first time I’ve had encounters like this, and it certainly won’t be the last. Because even when I was unconsciously favoring books by women, I still managed to read a book by a man now and then. And that’s not to mention all the men I was reading in school as required reading.
I want to read diverse books that represent the diversity of people in real life. I want to read books about and by people of different races, sexualities, nationalities, socio-economic backgrounds, genders, mental health histories — everything. I want to have as many diverse perspectives as possible so that I can have the most well-informed perspective that I can. I want to support and celebrate these diverse voices so that the space for them can become larger and more open. So I amended my rule to only exclude books by straight, white cis-men.
This isn’t a hard and fast rule. "The Basic Eight” by Daniel Handler, also known by his pen name, Lemony Snickett, is one of my favorite books and he is a straight, white man. I’m fully aware that straight, white men are capable of writing great things and being great people and trying to be as inclusive in their works as possible. But that’s not the point. The point is that they don’t need me, a queer female (though I am white), reading their work for people to say it’s good. Or even for people to read it. Straight, white men are already being read.
Instead, I’m focusing my energy and using my limited reading time on diverse works by diverse authors who don’t get enough representation or credit. That means women of all races and sexualities; that means men of color and queer men; that means non-binary people, trans people, and non-neurotypical people.
Still, this isn’t a hard and fast rule. I recently read “Every Exquisite Thing” by straight, white male Matthew Quick upon recommendation from my best friend.
So, really, it’s not that I don't read books by men or even books by straight, white men. It’s that I’m holding their books to a higher standard. If I’m going to read a book by a straight, white man, I don't want it to just be good. I want it to have diverse representation, be well written, and come highly recommended by sources I trust and admire (other authors, book bloggers and vloggers, friends, even teachers.)
What I am definitely doing is making a conscious choice to read more diversely. The talent of straight, white cis-men is already recognized more than everybody else's. Men's books don’t need me and my time, too -- but it's easier to just say "I don't read books by men."
