The course was essentially a study of novels by and about peoples and countries that had once been ruled by the British Empire. Some of the selections included Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children, Zadie Smith’s White Teeth, Julian Barnes’s England, England, Peter Carey’s Jack Maggs, and Jean Rhys’s Wide Sargasso Sea. 

It was these last two that really piqued my interest in a postcolonial and eventually queer approach to literature: Jack Maggs is the re-telling of Dickens’s Great Expectations but from the perspective of the criminal, and Wide Sargasso Sea is a kind of prequel to Jane Eyre that gives voice to the infamous “mad woman in the attic,” Bertha.

I remember finding something so profoundly powerful, and right, about these contemporary novels that revisit classics and give voice to voiceless characters, particularly the marginalized ones whose real-life counterparts, in historical perspective, had been equally silenced. It was perhaps this singular exploration of postcolonialism that led me to queer theory and the queering of fiction.

The Queering of Fiction

When we talk about queer fiction, we typically mean stories by and about lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, asexual, aromantic, and other non-heteronormative persons. Those who are, in other words, not heterosexual and cisgender. But when we talk about queering fiction, what we mean is looking at the existing work from a lens that allows us to consider whose voices and stories are being left out, minimized, or marginalized. 

A classic example is Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, which is now often read for homosocial or homosexual perspectives on the relationship between Ishmael and Queequeg. Similarly, The Great Gatsby can be queered to review the relationship between its narrator, Nick Carraway, and the titular antihero, Jay Gatsby.

There have been a great number of postcolonial and queer texts published in recent years, but even more compelling to me are writers who are “writing back” to our LGBTQ+ foreparents and reimagining the stories and fictive futures that those LGBTQ+ writers offered to us so courageously, if much more subtly than is required today. One of the best of these published recently is William di Canzio’s Alec.

Alec by William di Canzio

Alec is an inspired tribute to E.M. Forster’s iconic gay novel, Maurice (1971). In it, di Canzio gives the two lovers—Alec and Maurice—not only riveting back stories, but a beautifully articulated origin for their romance, all of which is wrapped up in the historical context of World War I, which was such a monumental time for Forster himself.

E.M. Forster’s Maurice

Forster wrote Maurice in 1913 and then significantly revised the novel at least twice, in the 1930s and 1950s. Unfortunately, due to censorship and legalities, Forster chose not to publish the work until after he died. To me, this is one of the most heartbreaking events in literary history, as what Forster created was one of the bravest and most significant same-sex love stories in literature to that time, and it would have been groundbreaking to see it published even sooner and during the author’s lifetime. 

That said, Forster was certainly right that it likely would have ruined his career. As anyone who has read my book knows, plenty of gay writers were publishing gay stories in the first half of the twentieth century—even happy ones! But there were always stipulations, such as publishing anonymously, publishing with small presses, etc. And indeed, no one of Forster’s stature, save perhaps Charles Warren Stoddard, was attempting it. And what happened to Stoddard when he finally decided to publish his openly gay romance in 1903? His reputation was ruined.

A Story Left Untold

It is for this reason, then, that di Canzio’s Alec, which openly and lovingly gives Alec & Maurice the story they deserve, as well as the ending Forster likely wished for them, is such a moving experience. In addition, it’s a superb accomplishment in its own right. Di Canzio’s style and language are rich and provocative, his descriptions resonant and vivid, and his almost defiantly open descriptions of the lovers’ sexual experiences enthralling. Significantly, I think di Canzio does a remarkable job of fleshing out a story left untold, of a particular time, that reminds the reader both how far we have come but also how fragile progress is.

Alec isn’t just an updated love story for Alec and Maurice, it’s a love song to E.M. Forster, filled with respectful gratitude to a tortured pioneer and with a hopeful eye on the horizon. This is a worthy homage and simply one of the best books I’ve read this year.

Literature is and always has been a conversation, and the conversation that’s now happening between contemporary writers and their LGBTQ+ forerunners is a welcome and remarkable one. As di Canzio has shown, it takes not just great skill as a writer, but detailed and efficient work as a historian and researcher, to do this well.

And what a gift it is when it happens. 

Tell us in the comments: Have you read William di Canzio or any other novels that “write back” to LGBTQ+ foreparents?

Adam W. Burgess is an English Professor at the College of Southern Nevada. He has a Ph.D. from Northern Illinois University and is pursuing a post-doc writing certificate at the University of California, Berkeley. He loves engaging in all topics related to LGBTQ literature and craft. 

You can find Adam on his website or follow him on Twitter, and Instagram.

The post Writer to Writer: William di Canzio and E.M. Forster appeared first on DIY MFA.

“But Adam,” you’re thinking, “surely there are those who wrote without critique groups and writing circles, and who managed to write brilliantly without any feedback!” 

Well, maybe, but I tend to doubt it. 

Even notorious recluse Emily Dickinson would send her poems to trusted advisors via “snail mail” to get their feedback, though she published almost none of her poetry during her lifetime. 

The truth is, while there might be one or two writers who can accomplish their very best work in total isolation, that’s going to be the exception, not the rule.

The Benefits of a Writing Community

Writing communities help us see what we otherwise couldn’t see in our own work, from the smallest errors in mechanics or dialogue to the bigger issues of theme and structure. They inform us from the audience’s perspective, which is invaluable in the early stages—even if we’ll never make every reader happy—but they also provide expert, practical advice from those who are engaged in our craft.

In addition, writing groups composed of LGBTQ+ writers and readers are especially important to those of us writing from that perspective and with those readers in mind. For example, most of us in this group acknowledge that we can’t possibly know everything about every experience, and while our imaginations and invention strategies can take us very far indeed, there are some things that we don’t know and might make mistakes without help. 

Writing groups that are made up of diverse members can help us illuminate our blind spots and make us aware of where we might be stepping out of bounds or getting something wrong.

Tips for Finding Your Writing Community

As this year is ending, community of many types might be on your mind. If you’re an LGBTQ+ writer who hasn’t yet found an LGBTQ+ writing community, why not make it one of your goals of the season to do that for yourself?

Perform Google search for “LGBTQ+ writing groups” 

You’ll find several excellent online and local/in-person groups to choose from through a simple search like this one. 

If you tend to be the shy type, it might be a good idea to start with the online groups and see if you can search the rosters for active members, and even ratings/reviews of critique partners. 

Just as you might research publishers to submit to, or agents to query, you should also do your due diligence in seeking out a writing group that will work for you and that has a good reputation.

Check out Lambda Literary

This group is devoted to all things LGBTQ+ literature and there are resources for readers, writers, and teachers. 

You’ll also find things like writer’s retreats, resources in specific genres, and even book recommendations. Reading in your genre is crucial to growing as a writer and to understanding the conversations happening amongst your colleagues right now, so this is a good place to start for a few reasons.

Search for Local LGBTQ+ Centers

Locally, you can search for your nearest LGBTQ+ centers to see what sorts of writer’s programs exist, if any. There might be book clubs or creative writing groups hosted at or by the Centers themselves, or through their affiliates, like local community colleges or universities. 

You can also suggest one or offer to host one if they don’t have it, yet!

Look for Your State or Federal Arts Council

Another local or regional option is to search for your state or federal Arts Councils (places like Arts Council England, the National Endowment for the Arts, or state-level Arts and Humanities organizations; for example, the Nevada Arts Council). 

Research the Major Writer’s Publications

Check with major writer’s publications to see what kind of sub-groups or independent communities are available to their members. Many of these are already well-established, such as LGBTQ Voices at Poets & Writers magazine.

If All Else Fails…

If you can’t find anything online that seems to fit, or if there’s nothing local to you, or if you’re just the more adventurous type, you can always consider starting a writing community of your own! 

Items to consider are: 

• Do you want to conduct this online or in-person?
• How many members do you want and must they identify openly as LGBTQ+?
• If you’re meeting online, what platform will you use to meet, to share work, etc.?
• If you’re meeting in-person, can you secure a location?
• Will you require dues or other contributions in order to rent a space or purchase technology?
• What are the operating rules and etiquette guidelines for your group?
• Will you establish a reading critique format and rubric for discussions/responses yourself, or will this be something the group puts together at an early meeting and revises occasionally? 

You can find many more tips on starting your own group in Gabriela Pereira’s DIY MFA book or on the DIY MFA Community Resources website.

Remember, as uncomfortable as it can be to share our work and face critique, it is ultimately going to help us strengthen our writing, ensure we are being sensitive in our work, and allow us to grow personally and professionally.

So, the only question now is, what are you waiting for?

Adam W. Burgess is an English Professor at College of Southern Nevada. He has a Ph.D. from Northern Illinois University and is pursuing a post-doc writing certificate at the University of California, Berkeley. He loves engaging in all topics related to LGBTQ literature and craft.

You can find Adam on his website or follow him on Twitter.

The post Want to Write Your Best? Find Your Writing Community! appeared first on DIY MFA.