The truth about target audiences

This one's for you.

I have read precisely zero of these books (because they are in Italian) but they are in pretty rainbow colours so: pride etc. [Photo by Edoardo Botez on Unsplash]

I have written before about my strange relationship with Pride Month – that I’m happy it exists, how amazing and unimaginable it would’ve been to younger me, but how I dread the automated, dead-eyed backlash. (You can read that here, free to read for Pride Month!)

Sometimes I worry I spend so long thinking about Pride Month as a concept, I forget to enjoy it, just allow myself to exist within it. Life is only getting more complicated for LGBTQ+ people – a group I will refer to as ‘queer’ for the rest of this piece, btw, in the name of inclusivity¹. The media’s transphobia obsession is approaching a decade of nonstop bile, and finding its way into law, fuelling the soulless culture wars that politicians are so fond of embracing as it means they don’t actually have to do anything about more pressing problems.

The rollback of rights and the excise of diversity and inclusivity programs in the US is causing ripples over here too, and the world seems more emboldened to be hateful and bigoted than it has for the last 25 years or so.

How brief a crumb of time did we lose ourselves in the delusion that society was getting its act together. Nothing was perfect – far from it, in fact, despite what fans of the 2012 Olympics will tell you; Britain was still a harsh and cruel place for so many – but we were slowly making progress. A leaden ascent with a few slips and stalls thanks to sabotage, yes, but an ascent nonetheless.

I am a writer. I am gay. I write (mostly) fiction about queer people and situations, but my work is meant for everyone to read. Sometimes people open a review of my books, or even a conversation with me, with the line “I know I’m not the target audience, but…” and even if it is followed by a compliment, something freezes inside of me.

What makes them think they’re not the target audience? Why is reading about queer lives a niche, yet straight lives are presumed to be accessible to all? My favourite book is Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca, yet I don’t own a stately home, or have a dead wife, or twirl my hair round my fingers and act shy in front of my superannuated husband, nor was I alive in the 1930s. Am I not the target audience?

My target audience is humans – or gifted dogs that might have appeared on execrable vaudeville-esque consumer champion TV show That’s Life in the 1980s – and all that is required is an ability to read, or press play on an audiobook, and an open mind.

We need to read about as many different lives as possible; the world is a terrifying, fascinating place, and sometimes the key to finding your own safe nook within it is to be curious about lives that don’t resemble yours, just as minorities find comfort in seeing representation.

And you know what? You can start by getting to know these queer writers.

Edmund White

Literary hero and enthusiastic chronologer of the gay experience, White died last week at the age of 85. His books pull no punches, they do not shy away from the seediness and grey morals of the era that inspired them, but there is joy, there too. I remember very clearly reading A Boy’s Own Story, and having to go find a dictionary to look up ‘cornholing’. The school library didn't offer up any answers, so I had to go to the huge central library in Bradford, and once I found out, I said ‘Oh’, and went to the shelf to find more by him.

My favourite: A Boy’s Own Story

James Baldwin

Poet, author, thinker, and activist, Baldwin was taken far too soon, but what a legacy he leaves behind. His fiction is moving and thoughtful and, okay, not the cheeriest, but the darkness is earned. You can feel the pain and joy and all his experience in every carefully chosen word. Great for reading while staring out mournfully at the rain, but also for stretching out in the sun, imagining yourself a world away.

My favourite: Giovanni’s Room

Laura Kay

Laura’s four books so far could be described as romantic comedies – and they are romantic, and also very funny – but they’re more about people and how we rub along together and make everything messy and awkward. Each of her main characters are tangled up in themselves and trying to make the best of it, and that Laura cares so deeply about them shines through. Always such a pleasure to read.

My favourite: Tell Me Everything

Armistead Maupin

What is there to be said about San Fransisco’s greatest advocate? His Tales of the City books are modern classics (the first is almost 50 years old, actually, so modern might be pushing it) and his characters and gossipy tone are a delight. Reading Tales of the City as a confused teen was like opening the curtains ever so slightly and feeling excited to feel the daylight peeping through. (I then immediately closed them again, but what can you do, eh?)

My favourite: Tales of the City (I have read them all but you could stop after the first and still feel fulfilled)

Matt Cain

Matthew’s talent is managing to let sunshine into what can be very unsettling and difficult situations. His novels are uplifting but also tackle internalised homophobia, being closeted, coming out, unrequited crushes, controlling relationships – handled with a light touch and humour.

My favourite: One Love

Dean Atta

Dean is a poet and author whose groundbreaking, beautiful YA books feel like the future. Written in verse, they beautifully portray the complications of relationships and being a young person in a world that sometimes feels like it doesn’t belong to you.

My favourite: Black Flamingo

Sarah Waters

A legend of queer historical fiction, there is nothing Sarah Waters can’t do, and no plot twist she won’t try. Fingersmith is the kind of book that makes you want to get amnesia so you can read again with fresh eyes, and the characters in all her books are well-rounded and given room to be adorable, devious, broken, and vengeful.

My favourite: The Night Watch

Juno Dawson

Juno was first an unstoppable force in YA fiction and non-fiction, and has gone stratospheric thanks to her investment in believable, complex characters, with dazzling and twisty plots to match. As well as her bestselling HMRC series, Juno has written Doctor Who books, audio dramas and even an episode of the show itself. This woman is booked and busy.

My favourite: Her Majesty’s Royal Coven

Okay I had to stop there otherwise I’d be here all day, but there are so, so many more who deserve your eyes and your heart. Support queer authors!

Just a tiny selection of other queer novels worth your time: Sedating Elaine – Dawn Winter; Dancer From The Dance – Andrew Holleran; Rosewater – Liv Little; Detransition, Baby – Torrey Peters; Here Again Now – Okechukwu Nzelu; Just By Looking At Him – Ryan O’Connell; You Only Call When You’re in Trouble – Stephen McCauley; Gender Theory – Madeline Docherty; Some Body Like Me – Lucy Lapinska; Greatest of All Time – Alex Allison; We Could Be Heroes – PJ Ellis; Less – Andrew Sean Greer; Memorial – Bryan Washington

Needless to say, I hope, you should also read my books! Here they are in a gorgeous stack., including the advance copy of my fifth novel, The Glorious Dead, which arrives in September.

theguyliner

A post shared by @theguyliner

You can browse all my books on Bookshop.org, or Amazon, or Waterstones

And I have to say, while I may not have a specific target audience, I feel I’ve hit the bullseye when it comes to readers. I am truly grateful for your time; without you, none of this happens. Thank you.

Previously, on The truth about everything*:

1. I realise this can be a controversial decision to some readers, especially when the Q word was hurled at us as an insult. I used to avoid it at all costs. But queer has been used in academia and activism for decades. and has been reclaimed to a degree. Also, there are plenty of people who find the rigid labels too much of a restriction, and don't feel like the belong to any one group. So, for me, queer is a way of bringing everyone together. It’s worth, I think, occasionally setting aside your own discomfort for the greater good.