Suspending Disbelief

No matter how much research has been done, no matter how accurate the author tries to be, historical fiction is still made up. As readers, we know that the writer was not sitting in that Regency drawing room, taking notes as people chattered away, yet we read the words enclosed in quotation marks as if we were listening in.

As for fantasy, well, that takes a long stretch of suspending one's disbelief, now, doesn't it? Dragons, time travel, magic powers? We know there's no such thing, but it's entertaining to exit the real world and poke about in something that does not actually exist.

It is up to the author to create the environment in which the reader can let the world go and accept the fiction on the page. All that 'what-if' that makes up the story, the twists and turns of the plot, hinge on our ability to wonder along with the writer. There are times, however, when suspending disbelief is hardly possible.

For pure beauty of prose, I stuck it out with Jamie O'Neill's At Swim Two Boys. There's one character who has imaginary conversations with a former cell mate, arguing philosophy, and it's done so well that it works without being a distraction to the story. O'Neill knows his history and his settings in 1916 Dublin, with enough detail to set the stage without boring us with long, drawn out descriptions of every minute detail. Really gets the feel of grinding poverty across, which was quite the hallmark of the times.

He lost me about half-way through, unfortunately. Now, the two boys, our heroic protagonists, are supposed to be discovering their teenage sexuality. The older man, when not arguing with his head, seduces the poor waif, to the hissing and booing of the audience. But wait - this evil deed does not go unpunished. No indeed, the older man sees the light and gives up his hedonistic ways just in time to go and fight for independence. And he actually is head over heels in love with the other sixteen-year-old boy, but he refrains from seduction as a favor to the other boy who is his paid paramour. How's that for salvation? Why, he doesn't have sex with the lad until after the paid paramour has died in the Easter Rising.

If there's one thing I cannot do, it is believe that it is acceptable for an adult to seduce a child, straight or gay. There's no salvation to be had, even if your man goes on the run with the rest of the Shinners during the civil war. In the real world, people like that are recognized as being sick puppies, and trying to make such a pervert into a hero is not at all believable. My first thought goes to the author, who put this notion forward, and I'm wondering if O'Neill is a charter member of MABLA trying to make his sick ideology acceptable.

Maybe it's just gay writers trying to prove that they are normal people in spite of their sexual orientation. Colm Toibin certainly gave it a go in The Master, where he tried mightily to prove that Henry James must have been gay, only to reinforce the notion that the man was straight and traumatized by his parents' bad marriage. Happens even today, except now it is acceptable for folks to live together without the bonds of holy matrimony. But still, there is some sort of frantic grasping at validation, a way to shout out 'Look, I'm as good as this character who I think might have been gay'. Talent is talent. No need to tie it to one's sexual leanings, as if homosexuality has anything to do with the ability to write exquisite prose.