The Asexual Geek's 2020 Recap
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| Image description: Thank you for spending your 2020 with me! You've made this asexual geek very happy. |
If you’re reading this post, then I owe you my most sincere thanks. Whether you’re a friend who brainstorms topics and proofreads, or a reader who helps me maintain my tiny readership, I’m grateful I could spend this weird and wild year with you. Due to my blog’s schedule and the holidays, my next update will not be until the first full week of January, meaning this is my last post of 2020. I’ve covered a lot of ground since this blog launched back in mid-February, so I thought I would use this final post of the year to look back at the things I’ve discussed and give some final thoughts about this year’s aspec analysis. Consider it an Asexual Geek retrospective!
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Writing
What (And Who) I Know
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| Image description: Two of my favorite usual suspects, Cole and Seven. One more bit of analysis for the road? |
An old writer’s adage advises to “write what you know.” I do that
all the time on this blog as I highlight my own feelings and experiences with
being a sex-repulsed aromantic asexual. But beyond just the subject matter, so
many of my posts this year have focused on characters and media I already know
and love. Anyone who reads the blog regularly knows that my often-cited
examples include Cole the spirit from the video game Dragon Age: Inquisition
and ex-Borg Seven of Nine from Star Trek: Voyager because I find their
struggles infinitely relatable from an aspec perspective. In fact, I’ve
referenced Cole in six different posts and Seven in a total of (appropriately
enough) seven. Therefore, it feels natural to start with them and to highlight
the places I’ve gone with my analysis.
Of the many characters I analyze for this blog, Cole, the spirit
of compassion, is one of the most recent to come into my life - and also one whose
struggle to discover who and what he is perhaps resonates most deeply with me. Cole’s
spirit identity often makes other characters feel uncomfortable and challenges
their perceptions, as many aspec identities do for allosexual people. But Cole
himself finds value and purpose in that identity, so much so that his personal
quest begins for fear of losing that identity. And yet, as I’ve mentioned many
times, I feel that Cole’s character is sadly mismanaged in this quest, which
allows the player to choose whether Cole should forgive a past wrong and thus
become more spirit-like, or live with the hurt and thus become more human.
Cole is terrified that he could be made into a demon, which is
what begins the entire quest and makes the decision necessary. He describes
this fear by saying that, were it to happen, “then I’m not me anymore.” In
related dialogue, Cole defines his sense of self using the parameters of his
true spirit identity: “helping makes me who I am.” Listening to Cole assert
that is excellent, which makes the “human” option that much more sadly ironic…
and also completely unnecessary. Something that friends and I have discussed regarding
this quest is that making the player pick between the “spirit path” and the
“human path” could actually have been avoided. If the option instead was “helping
Cole forgive and forget” or “helping him live with the pain”, there would still
be just as much emotion and character development while avoiding the ways the
human path diminishes him and erases his aspec tendencies. After all, both forgiveness and dealing with pain can be very relevant things that occur in the journeys of aspec people, and imagining that doing one and not the other is more or less human is slightly absurd. This is why I
believe the human path is built on a faulty premise and seems to be done simply
for the comfort of the other characters rather than for Cole’s own benefit. Not
only does this idea limit Cole, but it means that many players miss out on the
beauty of Cole’s struggle to find and embrace himself, becoming one with his
true identity and purpose. This is beautiful from an aspec point of view, but also
from a human point of view, showing us that the spirit of compassion who wants
to heal the hurting could help us too. I know he certainly helps and inspires
me when I need him the most, and I only wish the writers would let him do it more.
Seven of Nine, meanwhile, is a character who has been with me
since childhood, although I didn’t recognize how great she was back then. In
the many rewatches of Star Trek: Voyager I’ve done over the years, I’ve
come to really feel a connection to Seven and her struggle to adapt to adverse
circumstances. The circumstances are often very adverse for her indeed, but not
just when it comes to her forced assimilation by the Borg when she was a child.
In fact, Voyager’s de-assimilation of Seven is a different kind of
adversity, which forces Seven to relearn everything she’s known all her life.
And yet, the crew doesn’t seem to see it like that, especially not at first. Seven’s
de-assimilation happens unbeknownst to her, and when she realizes she’s becoming
less Borg, her initial reaction is horror that she is becoming “less than”; her
fears are met with cheerful descriptions of how her human systems are
operating.
Despite Seven’s clear horror and rage at this forced process, the
crew somehow expect her to be perfectly willing to help them and seem shocked
when she tries to escape the ship. She is thrown in the brig as a result, an
act which prompts her derisive reply of “so this is human freedom.” Her point
is valid, but it’s also supposed to be understood that she simply doesn’t know
what’s good for her, a cringeworthy sentiment that comes back around frequently.
Other times, the crew is hostile towards Seven because she Borg, which makes it
even more baffling that they would expect her to be immediately friendly and
helpful. In one of her early episodes, she is described by a crewmate as
“rude,” which is actually extremely insulting given the circumstances of
Seven’s life. But despite these barriers, Seven does try to connect with
the crew, and eventually forms meaningful relationships with them, all part of
her efforts to adapt to every bizarre and challenging situation she finds
herself in. At times, the show sadly doesn’t understand the difference between
adaptation and conformity, and there are many plot points that force Seven to
do the latter. But despite these weaknesses in writing, Seven’s pursuit of
adaptation has become an extremely valuable lesson for me as an aspec person,
and as a person in general. I believe that adapting to circumstances is a gift
to yourself, and there are many times where Seven embodies that lesson.
Of course, my Star Trek analysis is not limited just to Seven, but extends to Data the android from Star Trek: The Next Generation, as well as Voyager’s holographic doctor. These characters are all very different, but they nevertheless share a lot of important similarities. They’re all non-human characters who are portrayed at different times as varying levels of non-sexual and/or non-romantic. Thus, moments when they are dehumanized or expected to conform to a more “typically human” standard are especially important to analyze. In many cases, these characters’ seeming lack of humanity is used as justification for other characters to discriminate against them, and their lack of sex or romance is almost always included as part of what makes them “weird” or “other.” But other times, when it’s convenient to see these characters as human, then people around them often react in ways that imply these characters are missing the mark and need to do better, often meaning they need to become more “normal.”
I mentioned Cole’s quest earlier in this post and discussed how the “normal” human standard never really seems to be something Cole wants. And yet we nevertheless get lines of dialogue such as, “Cole will never grow into a real person until he comes to terms with what happened” when the human path is chosen. This stems from the notion that Cole is becoming human anyway and that human is what he needs to be, but that’s not necessarily true. Cole can function just fine, if not better, when he’s a spirit; but when he’s a spirit, he’s something that’s difficult for his human friends to understand, and so making him more human feels like fixing him. This is especially true in Dragon Age: Trespasser, set three years later, where a more human Cole will act more “normal” and have a romantic relationship.
This also happens to Seven. Much like Cole, Seven is forced to endure plots where the people around her (and the show's writers) try to alter her lifestyle in ways that seem like they are for their own benefit rather than her own. And of course, these plot points often center on romance. If these plot points were used to demonstrate why it’s wrong for the crew of Voyager to meddle in Seven’s life, then they would serve as thought-provoking examples of why it’s wrong for allosexual people to do the same thing to aspec people. But because the crew is often framed as knowing what’s best for Seven, what we have are unfortunate examples of how helping a non-human character embrace humanity can become controlling, like in the episode “Unimatrix Zero.” Throughout the episode, the crew insists that Seven engaging with people in the Borg dreamworld is a normal thing she should embrace, which becomes especially pronounced when she realizes she used to share a romantic relationship there with a man called Axum. When she seems hesitant, Axum himself gets prickly, something weirdly at odds with him previously saying he didn’t want to tell her about the relationship because she obviously no longer remembered it. Although there are a few scenes where Seven is allowed to assert herself, I don’t think the episode intends these scenes to be taken seriously. Rather, I think we’re supposed to understand that Seven is just “denying herself happiness” and that she doesn’t know what’s good for her, just as we were meant to think the same thing when it came to her de-assimilation.
We also see the problems that come when human characters get to decide the metrics by which their non-human companions are judged. Because Seven is both human and Borg, she typifies this to the extreme, and her shipmates often decide when they want to see her as one or the other. This selective way of referring to her sets up a barrier to Seven’s development that she has to overcome if she wants to be seen as an equal, which is where the episode “Human Error” comes into play. I find this episode infuriating on a number of levels, including the fact that Seven says she wants to change herself and the crew reacts with surprise. It would have been worse had they reacted positively or like this was a long overdue revelation, but their shock is nevertheless frustrating, given I see their actions as part of the cause. When they set Seven up in situations where she must change herself in order to be respected, what do they expect the outcome will be? The in-episode reason is given that Seven misses Unimatrix Zero and Axum, but I find that difficult to believe; rather, it seems more likely that Seven is tired of being treated as “other” and “less than” by people who insist on gatekeeping her humanity, setting themselves up as judges of what makes someone a person.
Oftentimes, watching these
characters trying to discover their true selves and their places in the world
begs the question – just what does it mean to be “normal”? To what standards
are we supposed to be conforming and why? And at what point does expecting
someone to change stop being for their benefit and start becoming about the
perceived benefit it will have for others? By making
non-human characters conform to certain human standards like intimate
relationships, media seems to be making a commentary on all of these things,
saying that normal/standard humanity is typified only in a romantic and/or
sexual life. That erroneous notion is precisely what made me start this blog in
the first place, and when I see it used to limit such amazing characters, it
feels essential to call it out. Getting the
chance to analyze these characters in great detail was sometimes a challenge, but
it was also a blessing and a gift, because it meant that I got to view these
characters in a light that felt more authentically them, as well as extremely
valuable to my own journey.
Expanding My Horizons
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| Image description: The covers of the three books I reviewed on the blog this year. |
Speaking of canon asexual and aromantic characters, I also read and reviewed three aspec books this year: Let’s Talk About Love by Claire Kann, Archivist Wasp by Nicole Kornher-Stace,
and Tash Hearts Tolstoy by Kathryn Ormsbee. These three stories are very
different, following wildly different circumstances and characters, but I
highly recommend them to anyone wanting to see how to write a good aspec
character. Alice, the main character of Let’s Talk About Love is a
biromantic asexual whose ace identity and how she navigates romance is the
backbone of the entire novel. Tash’s identity as a heteroromantic (possibly
sex-repulsed) asexual, by contrast, is sprinkled across the novel, but
nevertheless makes up a huge part of who she is and how she interacts with the
world. Wasp, meanwhile, is a “Word of God” aromantic asexual character fighting
her way through a dystopian world of dangers both living and dead.
There is something
extremely valuable to analyze in each of these novels and all three of these
characters. In terms of story, I was most drawn to Archivist Wasp for
its fascinating world-building and stick-with-you plot. In terms of identity
(although my identity is actually closer to Wasp), I found Tash very relatable and her fears and concerns mirror many of my own. In terms of sheer
relatability, I found myself feeling like Alice would be a good friend –
indeed, I could see Tash and Alice getting along exceptionally well, a fact
which makes me weirdly happy in itself. Overall, these books and characters
do an amazing job of demonstrating so many of the struggles aspec people go
through, and serve as a great glimpse into the lives of different types of aspec
people – romantic aces, aces of color, aces who have other LGBT+ identities,
etc. This is especially important because all three of these books are YA
novels, and thus their target audience is young people who may really need to
hear these things.
For instance, there are
several plot points in Let’s Talk About Love that I knew were going to be
emotional, accurately portraying the painful processes I went through when
discovering my own identity. All of that is portrayed directly in this book
thanks to a narrative that doesn’t shy away from using aspec terminology, as is
true of many parts in Tash Hearts Tolstoy, although Tash takes a while
to build up to using it in her story. Like me, Tash struggles to exist in a
world that feels like it’s only after sex, and feels like a stranger even
within herself at times. Wasp too, although her circumstances are very
different, is adrift in a world that’s out to get her. In general, it was amazing to read stories where I felt seen, with characters whose experiences
and fears aren’t metaphorically similar to my own, but are actually some of the
same struggles I myself have faced.
Spoiler alert!
There is one scene in Tash
Hearts Tolstoy that I want to unpack a bit more, however – when Tash finds
herself caught between her internet crush on fellow vlogger Thom and her crush
on Paul, her best friend’s brother. Tash knows Paul is allosexual and assumes a
relationship is impossible; by contrast, while she doubts Thom is asexual, the
unknown possibility gives her hope… but she also fears what his reaction could
be if she comes out to him. Things get even more complicated when Paul confesses
his crush on Tash, a moment which quickly becomes a confrontation when Tash
tries to call his bluff, convinced that he would never want to be with her if
sex wasn’t involved. Paul already knows that Tash is asexual, but both he and
his sister completely misunderstand it. As much as they try (and even do a
little research), it’s disappointing to see them jump to the misunderstanding
that “Asexuality = Hates Men.” In some ways, it almost seems like Tash’s
identity or her timing for coming out is inconvenient for them, which feels cringeworthy,
even if they don’t mean it that way.
But the worst part? Tash takes the blame. She blames herself for
making her coming out confusing, even though she herself is still trying to
figure it out. She blames herself for not being aware of Paul’s feelings and conceptualizes
it as her being self-centered, which is completely untrue. The fight is messy
and both sides say some regrettable things, but the idea that it’s Tash’s fault
and she had no right to react as she did is disappointing. The situation leads
to a lot of emotional unloading that her best friend has clearly been holding
back on her, making it seem like Tash has been selfish, a plot point that
obviously doesn’t sit right with me. Clearly Tash’s friends care about her and want
to respect her identity, but it’s still extremely frustrating that the entire
argument is framed like Tash needs to see things from Paul’s point of view while
no one seems to see things from her point of view or imagine how difficult/confusing
the whole thing must be for her. I love that her friends try, but so much of
what they say at times still feels like it’s steeped in allosexual privilege,
for lack of a better term. It’s easy for them to say these things because they’ve
never been where Tash is. The idea of telling Tash to keep an open mind about
what Paul would be willing to do for her and telling her about how confused he
is are valid, but it pins the entire argument on her. It’s not fair, but it is
actually somewhat accurate from an aspec perspective because aspec people often
have to do all the work in these types of situations.
All of that happens before Tash even meets Thom… which goes terribly. Tash often laments that every interaction between people seems to be rated on some sort of sexual scale and, in this case, the fantastic date she has with Thom seems to be viewed by him as a prelude to earning sex. Even his efforts at consent feel like the base minimum he can do as a human being, rather than actually caring about what Tash wants, especially because he’s the one who pushed the situation in first place and the implication is that he’ll still want to have sex at a later time. Tash knows it too, which prompts her coming out to him, but something else prompts her too, which I’m not fond of – in that moment, she knows her friends would advise her to come out to Thom because “he should know.” While I do agree it’s unfair to leave a potential partner in the dark about something like that, aspec people – and queer people of all identities – do not owe people their coming out story. It’s a complex scenario (and one that I’ve never had to navigate); from a consent standpoint, it is a little strange to withhold your identity from someone you’re dating, but at the same time, it’s not something everyone has a right to know from the first moment they meet you. So even though I did find myself scratching my head at some of these scenes, I’m very glad the book made me think about these issues.
Needless to say, it becomes clear to Tash that Thom doesn’t care for her as a person, and she comes to the powerful realization that she won’t sit idly by and allow him to give his opinion on her emotions, her life, or her identity. These lessons are so important, as are the lessons all three novels teach – Alice teaches us the importance of love of all kinds, Wasp teaches us to survive even when the world tries to drag us down, and Tash teaches us to work until we reach our true self. These are lessons that are important whether or not you’re aspec, and ones I hope we can all absorb from these stories, as well as from others in future.
The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly
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| Image description: Voyager flying through San Francisco in the final episode, "Endgame." It's been quite a year, but just like Voyager, we made it. And there's a lot more I want to do in the coming year. "To the journey!" |
Analysis like this was
often very tough and I frequently found myself struggling to get through “the
bad” and “the ugly”; there were many times when these aphobic plot points or
things I unearthed in fandom made me want to scream. But despite that, it was
all worth it, because the things that made up “the good” were often very good
indeed. Because of this blog, I discovered some amazing things – about myself,
about the people around me, about aspec-positive media just waiting to be consumed.
Through it, I connected with my friends and loved ones in new and amazing ways;
they helped me grow, and I’d like to think that maybe I helped them grow in
return. It’s been a hard year and, for many of us on the asexual spectrum,
maybe it’s been a hard life, but running this blog has taught me to be thankful
and to begin seeing things with new eyes. I have a long way to go and a lot
more to discuss, but I’m excited by the prospect of forging ahead. I hope you’ll
come along with me. See you in 2021!
With all my platonic
love,
The Asexual Geek
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