Re: Freydís Moon and Racism
Taylor Brooke. Brooklyn Ray. Jupiter Wyse. Cordelia Lynne. Freydís Moon.
These are just a few of the pen names of an allegedly white, trans, nonbinary author of queer fantasy and science fiction by the real name of Taylor B. Barton. In June 2020, several of their fellow authors had accused them of racist bullying, which subsequently led Barton’s publishers and their agent to drop them. Since then, Barton has kept bullying other authors and even engaged in brownface, masquerading as a person of color under one or several of the pen names mentioned above. Under the most recent pen name of Freydís Moon, they had even garnered the attention of The New York Times and was an Indie Ink Award winner. As Brittany Allen puts it on LitHub, Barton seems to be “another fascinating entry in a long line of literary fabulists, who hold our fascination on the strength of sheer chutzpah alone”.
Don’t worry. I will not spend the majority of this blog post going through the receipts that people have on Barton. Enough people have documented, screenshot, and compiled swathes of evidence already. I’ve also never met Barton or been harmed by them, but I’m disappointed that an author whose works I was looking forward to reading—two of which I had bought on Kindle a while back and added on Goodreads—has done something so mind-boggling and harmful repeatedly for the past few years.
While I appreciate the discussions of what happened and what to do after this happened in order to help our collective healing, what no one seems to be talking about, however, is why and how this happened. Why would Barton do something like this, and why would they do it to this extent?
Well, from my point of view, perhaps the better question to ask would be, Why wouldn’t Barton do something like this, given that they have the tools and might feel like they have the justification to do it all over again?
It was the best of times…
On the one hand, there has never been a better time to be a BIPOC and/or QUILTBAG+ person in publishing. Literary agent after literary agent on their Manuscript Wish List Page expresses a commitment to working with writers from diverse backgrounds, some even going as far as creating an all-BIPOC literary agent directory or founding editorial training programs for BIPOC professionals (one of which I am eternally grateful to have graduated from). From the latest Lee and Low Diversity Baseline Survey as of this blog post, there has been steady progress made in employing diverse publishing professionals over the last five years, and this gives me hope for publishing at large. It gives me hope that there won’t be an overwhelming 72.5% majority of white professionals scrutinizing my very Black, queer, gender-expansive work in the (hopefully) near future.
On the other hand, there has never been a worse time to be a BIPOC and/or QUILTBAG+ person in publishing. At a whim, a book can be rejected by an agent or a publisher for being too Black, not queer enough, or a hard sell for whatever reason an ill-meaning agent or publisher can come up with. Marginalized and underrepresented writers are under constant pressure to somehow make themselves smaller while simultaneously leaning into tokenization and stereotype to please the alleged masses.
When those in power talk about DEIB, what they really seem to want is a palatable version of a person’s BIPOC, LGBTQ+, marginalized, and/or underrepresented identity. Diversity means nothing without equity and justice. Inclusion and belonging mean nothing without power to lead and speak. What’s worse is that there are people out there like Barton, who appear to know precisely how much of a coveted, exploited commodity it is to be considered a queer, gender-expansive person of color—a triple threat, if you will—and they get to bask in undue celebration and praise while retaining their white privilege.
Sadly, these phenomenon of brownface, masquerading, and exploitation of marginalized identities and bodies is not something new. Cultural appropriation and racism happen every day on a global scale, and the worlds of publishing and the arts are not safe havens from it unless we take every effort to make them so.
Which means, on some level, there has never been a better time to be a white person in publishing.
It was the worst of times…
Statistically speaking, if you identify as a white person in publishing, you would be a part of the majority of a billion-to-trillion-dollar industry. You would more than likely be able to afford working in unpaid internships or get paid ones while networking with in-house connections a lot more easily than your marginalized counterparts. You will likely receive some of the best college and post-graduate education, preparing you to be the writer or editor of your dreams. Your taste greatly shapes the literary marketplace across the globe.
On the other hand, there has never been a worse time to be white person person in publishing. BIPOC and/or QUILTBAG+ voices are being celebrated now, leaving your voice a bare whisper. Do what you will about book banning in libraries and schools, but school curriculums are being gutted of the usual white literary classics regardless. At the slightest breath of a word, the barest graze of your fingertip against the Quote button on Threads or X (formerly Twitter), you risk being canceled and never spoken to again. The dominant paradigm of society that has so long resembled you is crumbling to dust, and it would appear that no one wants to hear those same old stories anymore. They want new, exciting, Black, Brown, and queer stories. They want stories from neurodivergent perspectives and those from other continents and cultures. They want stories told by people from those very cultures, and they want them yesterday.
And why do these publishers seem to want them yesterday? Why now of all times?
Well, have you heard of the phrase “Black Lives Matter”? What about “Stop Asian Hate”? And how about “Racism Is A Pandemic,” the phrase painted on the large piece of cardboard in the picture featured at the top of this blog post?
In response to these phrases and the movements that have been birthed from them, it would appear the dominant paradigm feels threatened and frightened of losing its power, but that is not true. The dominant paradigm is alive and well. Soliciting the works of marginalized and underrepresented storytellers is how the dominant paradigm makes it look like they’re offering an olive branch when they’re really offering an invitation to keep playing the game where the results are still rigged.
And so a white writer like Barton, I think, must be incredibly terrified. Maybe they have a story idea with Black and Brown characters, but they’re worried about getting things wrong. What if, as a white person, they’ll be accused of racism and stereotypes before they even get the chance to publish anything or share it with their friends? What if they just can’t quite afford a sensitivity reader or don’t have the courage to admit their unconscious biases?
Or, maybe Barton has actually had a bit of writing experience but not much success, and they wish they had more. So, they get the idea to create a persona and a pen name—all of which has been done by plenty of authors who came before them, but not quite to the extent that Barton has been accused of. Barton has gone so far as to pose as both an author and as a literary agent and even fuel flame wars to defend themselves on X (formerly Twitter).
To be frank, it terrifies me. If I’m right about Barton and their motivations—and I feel certain that I am, given the publishing landscape—it terrifies me that there are people out there like them who are so unwilling to confront their fear, pain, and racism that they go out of their way to lie and manipulate others for their own gain. I’m also worried for authentic BIPOC and QUILTBAG+ writers (like myself!) who will face additional, needless scrutiny from others demanding that they prove their queerness and other marginalized identities as they have always done to those in power. In an age where people can create avatars with the click of a button, make new email addresses in seconds, and open multiple social media accounts, it has never been a better time and a worse time to be someone other than yourself.
R. F. Kuang wrote all about this for her novel, Yellowface, which follows basic-white-girl June Hayward and how she steals the manuscript of the deceased Athena Liu, adopts an East-Asian-sounding new name, and uses “an ambiguously ethnic author photo”. Thus, Barton appears to use the novel as their playbook.
So, now, we come upon that delicate precipice: How do we move forward?
How do we ensure the safety of BIPOC and QUILTBAG+ creators?
How do we let artists maintain their anonymity and privacy?
How do we prevent Barton from doing this again?
How do we prevent the spread of other Bartons?
How do we heal?
it was the age of wisdom…
Support actual BIPOC, QUILTBAG+, and other marginalized creators. That should be a given.
Leave people with pen names and other faceless Internet personalities alone. They’re not the problem here.
Barton’s gonna Barton. Haters gonna hate. I suspect they’ll show up again, and when they do, we’ll be ready.
This one is a kind of three-parter, so bear with me.
If you identify as white or are otherwise a part of a dominant societal paradigm, and if you are afraid of writing stories about people unlike yourself, stop being afraid, and educate yourself. Your very job as a writer is to practice empathy and to write about things you know and don’t know. Go read Nisi Shawl and Cynthia Ward’s Writing the Other, and go read other books on the subject. Also, as a note, BIPOC and QUILTBAG+ creators are not responsible for your continuing education to dismantle the socioeconomic and cultural barriers that you likely benefit from. They have enough on their plate as it is, so please just leave them alone unless they have explicitly expressed their willingness to be a resource of knowledge for you.
If you identify as white or are otherwise a part of a dominant societal paradigm, and if you have thought about masquerading as a QTBIPOC writer to further your own writing goals, don’t do it. Be yourself, educate yourself, and learn to sit with your trauma and pain.
If you identify as BIPOC, QUILTBAG+, marginalized, or underrepresented in the field of publishing, and if you have thought to yourself that you can’t write about people unlike yourself or that you should masquerade as a white, cisgender, and/or heterosexual writer in order to advance your career, don’t do that either. Be yourself, educate yourself, and learn to sit with your trauma and pain.
Everyone heals differently. Let them figure it out on their own.
Being a queer person does not excuse you from perpetuating racism.
Being a person of color does not excuse you from perpetuating racism.
Being an amazing writer does not excuse you from perpetuating racism.
Being gender-expansive does not excuse you from perpetuating racism.
No part of anyone’s identity excuses them from perpetuating racism.
The only shields against racism are the ones you actively and mindfully wield.
it was the age of foolishness…
If things had been different, I would have taken on Taylor B. Barton as a coaching or editing client because as someone who has made it their professional mission to serve BIPOC and/or QUILTBAG+ authors of speculative and commercial fiction, their work appears to be right up my alley. Yet after learning about what they did and the lengths at which they did it, I would not be able to serve them with a clear conscience. I also don’t think I’d have the emotional bandwidth to unpack their racist behavior and mindset, and I’d sooner encourage them to find a therapist or other experienced professional.
An unexpected benefit about being a Secular Buddhist is that I’m slowly falling out of the habit of hating people—especially those I’ve never met—for things that they’ve done. This is because I’m encouraged to believe that everyone is on their own journey to personal and spiritual enlightenment and to bring in compassion to whatever situation I can.
Of course, this doesn’t mean that I have to forgive them, start over, or let them back into my life. I have the right to enforce boundaries and protect myself from harm just as any Xiaolin Buddhist monk would.
And this blog post is by no means an indictment on Barton either. It’s a question I’ve done my best to answer, given the context of all that’s happening around it and my own personal experience. For you, reading this now, the questions and judgments you make might be different from mine, and that’s perfectly fine. You’re entitled to them while you make your way back to healing and growth.
As for me, I’ll keep on writing and raising my shield.