My name is V. Alexander and recently I was criticized for writing a novel about a manic depressive woman who vies for control of the Black Market. Even though the hero in Black Market Princess is a colorful, self-empowered woman who has real-world counterparts, it seems I've violated some sort of formula, and because of this, some rather obnoxious individuals who are full of resentment have been making noises from inside structures located in Manhattan. Always up for a healthy debate, I'd like to elaborate on why my version of the woman hero is better than New York's.
When I was nine, I awakened one morning to a shrill scream. Because my grandmother and I had been discussing brown recluses the night before, I assumed she'd discovered one. I ran into her living room and stared at two rugged men who'd just busted out of the Kentucky State Penitentiary in Princeton. One had soft eyes and a mustache and had been convicted of second degree murder. The other was bald with a beard and was wielding an ax. Unlike the murderer, this man's eyes were devoid of expression. He'd been locked up for various forms of assault, but to this day I'm convinced he was guilty of crimes that were much worse.
My grandmother was trying to explain something. She lived in a sprawling house just outside the small town of Fredonia that had a dungeon-like basement. She explained that her husband, who'd been dead for years, was down in the basement taking a shower. One of the men went to investigate and then returned saying there was no one downstairs. My grandmother said my grandfather must have heard the commotion and was probably running next door to call the police. Confused and feeling a renewed sense of urgency, the men tied us up and stole her Pontiac. As they issued a departing threat, warning us not to try to escape until they were gone, my grandmother, a church organist, told them to be careful of the sheet music in the back seat of her car. Later that day, the men were apprehended in Hopkinsville. The murderer asked a police officer to give my grandmother a message. Her sheet music hadn't been touched.
If my grandmother hadn't been so sharp-minded-if she hadn't been able to tell a story that was patently absurd while looking those men dead in the eye-the convicts would have lingered at the house and we would have probably wound up dead. There was no working shower in the basement; "next door" was several miles away. Nevertheless, keeping it together, my grandmother played the ultimate game of chance, winning our lives. She is but one example of the many women I've known who are heroes. Talk to any doctor, nurse, educator, or social worker and see what she has to deal with on an hourly basis. You could probably write a whole series about her day.
Strong women have always been with us. But as multifaceted as women are, in the world of fiction, the women heroes, particularly the ones in the mystery-suspense genre, all seem to occupy a very narrow space. If they deviated from their two-by-two matrices for any reason, their carefully conditioned audience would get spooked. There would be trouble in the bookstore aisles that might even spill over to the cafe. Thus, the formula lives on-Act like a man during working hours, then run back to the 1950's in your free time and get wrapped up in family dramas so your audience will think you're vulnerable and therefore sympathetic. Don't be too vulnerable, though. Don't get drunk, shoot up a hair salon, or try to outwit three gigolos before breakfast. Your sales will fall off a cliff.
This sort of narrow-mindedness is no surprise. Traditional publishers feel they must cling tightly to what's worked in the past if they're to ride out the current economic storm. When challenged about their female heroes, they have a ready-made response. Whether they say it directly or imply it ever-so-subtly, their message is they represent Feminism. I might even agree, depending on which kind of Feminism we're talking about.
Most enlightened individuals would agree the Feminist Movement is one of the best things that's ever happened to western civilization. Feminism introduced an unprecedented level of honesty to relationships between men and women-not to mention women and women-and enabled society as a whole to move forward by pooling talent from both sexes.
When feminism began to gain momentum, legions of mostly male executives hurried to cash in. Advertising agencies ramped up aggressive campaigns, leveraging themes of outrage and self-empowerment to sell millions of items. Whenever sales began to slacken off, New York would pump more dollars into increasingly aggressive media campaigns. Over time, this had a warping effect. People began to associate Feminism with anger and self-indulgence. As Feminism acquired a negative connotation, millions of women, who'd benefited greatly from the Feminist Movement, disassociated themselves from the Feminist label. This second type of Feminism would come to be known as Corporate Feminism.
As of 2010, New York is still peddling Corporate Feminism in its bid to retain readers. The mystery-suspense genre, which is neck-deep in Corporate Feminism, seems to have sparked a mass exodus. Several bookstores are quickly re-categorizing works by authors traditionally associated with the genre. Meanwhile, the shelf space in the Mystery section seems to be imploding, like a super nova collapsing on itself. The two by two matrices is no longer working. Being worldly-wise, cynical, and self-centered is no longer cutting edge stuff. Most Americans share these traits.
Original Feminism took the porcelain doll out of the glass case, roughed her up a little, then twisted her limbs to see how far they would bend. Corporate Feminism then purchased the doll, added some designer labels, and put her back in the case. The keepers, who write magazine content and manage book acquisitions, tell us what we can and can't do with a woman's likeness. They say we have to make her superior to men. Well, duh. Women are innately superior, and men are no longer even relevant. They say we can't make her freak out without a reason. What are you talking about? She is a woman, isn't she? They say female heroes must be beholden to their relatives in order to be sympathetic. Nonsense. Relatives give terrible advice. Their motives are always suspect.
So what do the remaining male authors who share shelf-space in the mystery-suspense section do with these rules? In their comical efforts to align themselves with Corporate Feminism, they talk about a woman's legs, then, as if they fear they've screwed up, immediately talk about her job title and her ability to multitask. How original! Lots of character development there. So she has legs, can hold a job, and might be able to hold onto an infant while answering the phone. That's rich. With such mind-blowing insight, these guys should go to work for the Fed.
New York, you might have the market cornered on Corporate Feminism, but you don't have the market cornered on strong, independent women. Your exclusion list is simply too long, and your audience too narrow, for you to be able to provide meaningful content to the millions of readers who value good entertainment over stagnant politics. Just as the oceans remain mostly unexplored, we have barely begun to scratch the surface of what a female fictional hero can be. Women are no longer prisoner to the nuclear family, and they have long since moved beyond the reach of your generic sisterhood. They don't need rules; they want to laugh and be taken on an adventure. So what if the hero of a book happens to be an aspiring criminal with a mental condition that can land her in deep trouble? So what she laughs at inappropriate moments, exploits her friends, and makes a fool of herself at social events? So what if it doesn't take her half a page to tell a joke that may or may not be vulgar?
New York, without Corporate Feminism, your readership would probably quadruple. But you can't afford to take that chance. If you took the time to expand your audience, sales might drop next quarter. So humorless, flawless, female machismo lives on. Life's a bitch-and to keep the register ringing, your hero had better be one.
V. Alexander is the author of two regional best-sellers-Trouble Is Her Business and Black Market Princess. Visit http://www.twistedsistersuspense.com
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