(Not) Engaging with Disability: Convenient Approaches in SFF. In speculative fiction, by the very definition of the genre, you’re dealing with magic, technology, or other elements that aren’t present in our world.
This opens up tons of story possibilities for authors. It can also close off opportunities. For example, if you want to include disabled characters without using magic workarounds, it’s occasionally difficult to realistically integrate them into your world. After all, if your characters are incredibly skilled magicians, is it realistic that they wouldn’t try to minimize or heal their disability?
If you’re working with warp portals and faster-than-light travel, wouldn’t that world also have prostheses that are nigh indistinguishable from natural limbs, and far more effective medications around the board? Navigating Criticism and Discussions of Disability Representation. For authors just learning about disability representation, it can be intimidating to watch the conversations taking place: from articles on websites like Disability in Kidlit, to disappointed reviews, to disabled people on Twitter talking scathingly among themselves.
When you’re genuinely trying to learn, it can be terrifying to see how much writers appear to be doing wrong, and all the impossibly nuanced rules of what does and doesn’t seem to be okay. It may even feel like people are setting up arbitrary hurdles to jump, and will lash out at the smallest mistake despite what else the book may do right, and despite how sincerely the author wants to do right. There are plenty of articles out there about why you should try writing disabled (and otherwise marginalized) characters despite the risk of criticism.
Representation matters. That does not make it easy, however. The Trope of Curing Disability. Growing up, one of my favorite classic children’s book was Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden.
One of my favorites, I think, for two reasons. One, an ancient house on the moors and a secret walled garden? WANT. Two, a bed-ridden, disabled boy. As a mostly bed-ridden, disabled girl, I—surprisingly—identified with Colin more than with most able-bodied characters in most books (which, up until that point, formed about 99,99% of what I read, because frankly, it was and is surprisingly hard to find disabled characters).
Contes des ères abyssales. Jeux de rôle indépendants. Générateur d'énergie créative. Folklores artisanaux. Par Thomas Munier. Écrire sur un personnage LGBT : l'orientation sexuelle – Mademoiselle Cordélia. Les archétypes de héros de roman – Mademoiselle Cordélia. Les stéréotypes de personnages féminins – Mademoiselle Cordélia.