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Criticism and Authority in Fandom
Mar. 8th, 2005 03:01 pmSo, one of Hana’s posts made me think–specifically about authority in fandom.
The start of this thought was actually the perennial issue of feedback and commenting, and how well or ill fic authors receive critical reviews. The occasion, this time, was an article noting how badly many students in the current generation (whatever that may be) take criticism in class or at work once they have jobs. And the juxtaposition of these things suddenly snapped something into focus for me.
A lot of the hissing and spitting over this subject in Western fandom seems to come down to authority.
A great many negative responses to negative comments that I’ve seen, my own included, are variations on the theme of “Where do you get off talking like that to me?” Which then gives rise to the standard return, which has become some variation on “You posted it in public and nobody paid me to be nice, get over it.” It may sound like an exchange over manners or freedom of speech or too much/too little personal investment, and those issues are, no doubt, present. But I think the underlying debate has directly to do with how authority is produced in fandom.
The problem, of course, being that there isn’t any one stable way, and the most stable model does not lend itself to calm interaction.
So, author X writes and posts a story (let’s keep this about fic, for now) and reader Y comes along and says that X got some characterization wrong. X goes up in flames and asks how Y can be so rude, was she raised in a pigpen, and things go downhill from there. In particularly bad cases, friends of both X and Y pile on, and ego-fluffing and mud-slinging commence apace. Sound familiar?
I would like to suggest that what X is saying is not (or not only) “how can you do such a mean thing as say my story isn’t perfect” but rather (or also) “where’s your authority to say your character interpretation is more valid than mine?”
And where is the authority?
Fandom is not an academic context, so it doesn’t necessarily do any good for those of us who have advanced degrees to make our CVs into icons for when we post commentary. Teaching as a system of authority has no formal parameters for recognition, here; when it happens it’s a one on one arrangement of personal recognition. Any attempt to arrogate that kind of authority, without getting the individual, personal recognition of it first, tends to be met with especially violent rejection–quite rightly, in my own opinion. Fandom is not a commercial context (at least not this way), so there’s no really big salary to wave around, no fic equivalent of three BMWs and a lake house. A place in a well known archive can sometimes have the same effect as getting the corner office, but those who maintain archives have no particular authority of their own outside that particular site. Thus any insistence that such recognition is based on merit tends to have credence only in very localized terms. Online fandom has no supervisory structure at all, except for moderators who are usually extremely self-limited in their powers. Those who are not seem to often find themselves the targets of scorn and revilement. Awards theoretically mark acclaim by one’s peers, which, in established fields, generally does constitute some authority. But that just begs the question again, because the panels who give out awards are supposed to be experts in the field, supposed to have those tangible marks of success (publication credits, patents, money, etc.) that fandom lacks. Expertise is almost impossible to judge with any surety. The vastly different criteria by which different segments of fandom judge a story good or bad mean that popularity is an extremely unstable basis for authority. It can always be argued, and almost certainly will be, that that doesn’t count.
This takes us toward one of the other difficulties of authority, which fandom shares with all the other performing arts: the double edge of popularity. (Many thanks to Becky for making me think about it.) In the Fine Arts, popularity is desirable and yet suspect. If you’re too popular, then your credentials as a maker of High Art come into question. And in the industries of movies, publishing, music, etc., there’s a strong tendency toward increasing the level, the height, of one’s art. Higher is better. Higher is also narrower in appeal. (This mixes weirdly with the commercial imperative to appeal broadly to make lots of money, but I think that’s a whole different essay.) So judges and panels who are authorities because they are big names, because they are popular, are undermined by the very thing that gives them authority. There’s always room for the rejected one to say ‘well, they’re just a popular success, of course they can’t judge the real worth of my artistic effort’.
I think this carries over into fandom. Not very consciously, because I doubt many of us think of ourselves in terms of High Art. I would, at least, be deeply and lastingly amused, for all sorts of reasons, should anyone contemplate applying for an NEA grant to write fanfiction. But the same dynamic of both desiring and suspecting popularity definitely applies, and I think that feeds very strongly into the ‘poor, misunderstood me’ response that sometimes comes in answer to attempted criticism of any sort, especially if it comes from someone who has gained acclaim.
Both of the authority systems I see actually working, in fandom, are ones with limited scope.
The expertise model does work, but judgments of what constitutes expertise in writing are both very personal and wildly diverse. Even where formal guidelines exist, for grammar, for example, fandom harbors sufficient sophistication to argue the correctness of commonly accepted authoritative sources. One fine example of this is the use of “they” as a gender-neutral singular pronoun–arguments for correctness or incorrectness can both be made, and are. The use of “blond” as a specifically masculine descriptor is another of these. The fact that a commonly accepted authority does exist only means that both sides agree there is a final authority to be had, can they only triumph over the wrong-headed stubbornness of their opponents. This is not conducive to broad-based authority.
The expertise model works a bit better when dealing with the original text. An exhaustive knowledge of canon generally garners respect. In Western anime fandoms, in particular, those who can read or understand the source text can gain authority by translating and interpreting it. In any fandom, deep familiarity with the details indicates the kind of investment many fans can respect.
The family model of authority, however, seems to me most common, and certainly has resonance with how fandom operates. The family-based authority is an insular one. It requires a virtual blood connection–liking the same source text for the same reason, for example, or sometimes sharing a basic worldview. Authority from outside that connection is discounted. Authority, in this case, is given by usually unspoken consensus reached within the family group, based as much on personal dynamics as the quality of writing. Attempts to assert authoritative critique from outside that circle meet with about as much success as some random adult telling a non-related child to clean her room. (Of course, the fact that fen from non-Western cultures are part of English speaking fandom puts a bit of a crimp in that analogy; within cultures that place more value on respect for elders, this would not, necessarily, draw resentment. *tips hat to Genie for reminding me*)
I choose the terms “adult” and “child” for a reason. Any criticism suggests that the criticizer knows better on the subject than the criticizee. Within the family context this translates pretty automatically into seniority terms: older/younger or adult/child. Coming from someone outside the consensual “family”, such an implied claim can only read as arrogant, unjustified and even predatory. Is it really any wonder that the response is violent? Or that it spreads? After all, when we insult someone’s family, what we generally get is a fight.
A caveat in closing: I do not mean to imply that all negative reaction to criticism is based in fandom’s conflicts of authority. Some of it is simply spoiled whining by people who feel the world should conform in every detail to their whims. I do, however, think that the consistence and vehemence with which criticism is rejected has a great deal to do with those conflicts. Nor do I think that can be resolved. Such is the nature of fandom–decentralized and fluid in its structures.
The start of this thought was actually the perennial issue of feedback and commenting, and how well or ill fic authors receive critical reviews. The occasion, this time, was an article noting how badly many students in the current generation (whatever that may be) take criticism in class or at work once they have jobs. And the juxtaposition of these things suddenly snapped something into focus for me.
A lot of the hissing and spitting over this subject in Western fandom seems to come down to authority.
A great many negative responses to negative comments that I’ve seen, my own included, are variations on the theme of “Where do you get off talking like that to me?” Which then gives rise to the standard return, which has become some variation on “You posted it in public and nobody paid me to be nice, get over it.” It may sound like an exchange over manners or freedom of speech or too much/too little personal investment, and those issues are, no doubt, present. But I think the underlying debate has directly to do with how authority is produced in fandom.
The problem, of course, being that there isn’t any one stable way, and the most stable model does not lend itself to calm interaction.
So, author X writes and posts a story (let’s keep this about fic, for now) and reader Y comes along and says that X got some characterization wrong. X goes up in flames and asks how Y can be so rude, was she raised in a pigpen, and things go downhill from there. In particularly bad cases, friends of both X and Y pile on, and ego-fluffing and mud-slinging commence apace. Sound familiar?
I would like to suggest that what X is saying is not (or not only) “how can you do such a mean thing as say my story isn’t perfect” but rather (or also) “where’s your authority to say your character interpretation is more valid than mine?”
And where is the authority?
Fandom is not an academic context, so it doesn’t necessarily do any good for those of us who have advanced degrees to make our CVs into icons for when we post commentary. Teaching as a system of authority has no formal parameters for recognition, here; when it happens it’s a one on one arrangement of personal recognition. Any attempt to arrogate that kind of authority, without getting the individual, personal recognition of it first, tends to be met with especially violent rejection–quite rightly, in my own opinion. Fandom is not a commercial context (at least not this way), so there’s no really big salary to wave around, no fic equivalent of three BMWs and a lake house. A place in a well known archive can sometimes have the same effect as getting the corner office, but those who maintain archives have no particular authority of their own outside that particular site. Thus any insistence that such recognition is based on merit tends to have credence only in very localized terms. Online fandom has no supervisory structure at all, except for moderators who are usually extremely self-limited in their powers. Those who are not seem to often find themselves the targets of scorn and revilement. Awards theoretically mark acclaim by one’s peers, which, in established fields, generally does constitute some authority. But that just begs the question again, because the panels who give out awards are supposed to be experts in the field, supposed to have those tangible marks of success (publication credits, patents, money, etc.) that fandom lacks. Expertise is almost impossible to judge with any surety. The vastly different criteria by which different segments of fandom judge a story good or bad mean that popularity is an extremely unstable basis for authority. It can always be argued, and almost certainly will be, that that doesn’t count.
This takes us toward one of the other difficulties of authority, which fandom shares with all the other performing arts: the double edge of popularity. (Many thanks to Becky for making me think about it.) In the Fine Arts, popularity is desirable and yet suspect. If you’re too popular, then your credentials as a maker of High Art come into question. And in the industries of movies, publishing, music, etc., there’s a strong tendency toward increasing the level, the height, of one’s art. Higher is better. Higher is also narrower in appeal. (This mixes weirdly with the commercial imperative to appeal broadly to make lots of money, but I think that’s a whole different essay.) So judges and panels who are authorities because they are big names, because they are popular, are undermined by the very thing that gives them authority. There’s always room for the rejected one to say ‘well, they’re just a popular success, of course they can’t judge the real worth of my artistic effort’.
I think this carries over into fandom. Not very consciously, because I doubt many of us think of ourselves in terms of High Art. I would, at least, be deeply and lastingly amused, for all sorts of reasons, should anyone contemplate applying for an NEA grant to write fanfiction. But the same dynamic of both desiring and suspecting popularity definitely applies, and I think that feeds very strongly into the ‘poor, misunderstood me’ response that sometimes comes in answer to attempted criticism of any sort, especially if it comes from someone who has gained acclaim.
Both of the authority systems I see actually working, in fandom, are ones with limited scope.
The expertise model does work, but judgments of what constitutes expertise in writing are both very personal and wildly diverse. Even where formal guidelines exist, for grammar, for example, fandom harbors sufficient sophistication to argue the correctness of commonly accepted authoritative sources. One fine example of this is the use of “they” as a gender-neutral singular pronoun–arguments for correctness or incorrectness can both be made, and are. The use of “blond” as a specifically masculine descriptor is another of these. The fact that a commonly accepted authority does exist only means that both sides agree there is a final authority to be had, can they only triumph over the wrong-headed stubbornness of their opponents. This is not conducive to broad-based authority.
The expertise model works a bit better when dealing with the original text. An exhaustive knowledge of canon generally garners respect. In Western anime fandoms, in particular, those who can read or understand the source text can gain authority by translating and interpreting it. In any fandom, deep familiarity with the details indicates the kind of investment many fans can respect.
The family model of authority, however, seems to me most common, and certainly has resonance with how fandom operates. The family-based authority is an insular one. It requires a virtual blood connection–liking the same source text for the same reason, for example, or sometimes sharing a basic worldview. Authority from outside that connection is discounted. Authority, in this case, is given by usually unspoken consensus reached within the family group, based as much on personal dynamics as the quality of writing. Attempts to assert authoritative critique from outside that circle meet with about as much success as some random adult telling a non-related child to clean her room. (Of course, the fact that fen from non-Western cultures are part of English speaking fandom puts a bit of a crimp in that analogy; within cultures that place more value on respect for elders, this would not, necessarily, draw resentment. *tips hat to Genie for reminding me*)
I choose the terms “adult” and “child” for a reason. Any criticism suggests that the criticizer knows better on the subject than the criticizee. Within the family context this translates pretty automatically into seniority terms: older/younger or adult/child. Coming from someone outside the consensual “family”, such an implied claim can only read as arrogant, unjustified and even predatory. Is it really any wonder that the response is violent? Or that it spreads? After all, when we insult someone’s family, what we generally get is a fight.
A caveat in closing: I do not mean to imply that all negative reaction to criticism is based in fandom’s conflicts of authority. Some of it is simply spoiled whining by people who feel the world should conform in every detail to their whims. I do, however, think that the consistence and vehemence with which criticism is rejected has a great deal to do with those conflicts. Nor do I think that can be resolved. Such is the nature of fandom–decentralized and fluid in its structures.
