Matt Ruff
I think the most important thing as far as maintaining a respectful tone is knowing your characters really well and keeping your own thoughts and feelings separate from theirs. I’m viewing the Tulsa Massacre from a safe remove of nearly a century, and by the nature of my job, I’m seeing it not only as a historical atrocity, but as a source of drama. To the people who actually lived through it, of course, it wasn’t a story, just a straight up matter of life and death, and that’s how it’s got to come across on the page. Research is obviously important: memoirs and oral histories of survivors, as well as contemporary news accounts, can give you a good sense of how real people thought and felt in the moment.
Another issue that white authors in particular need to be wary of is that whatever personal feelings of racial guilt or complicity you may be wrestling with, they are completely irrelevant to your characters. When Atticus gets pulled over by the state trooper, he’s not saying to himself, “I wonder what the state of Matt Ruff’s soul is,” he’s thinking, “How do I make sure this cop doesn’t shoot me when I reach for my driver’s license?” This may sound obvious, but one of the most common ways stories go wrong is when the author unthinkingly projects their own hang-ups onto characters who wouldn’t realistically share them. And while white soul-searching is a legitimate topic for a novel, it’s a different novel than one in which black protagonists are fighting for their lives.
Regarding the fantastic elements in the story, I tried to be mindful of unintended implications. One of the reasons I made magic so difficult and dangerous to use is that if it weren’t, it would quickly overwhelm the historical forces that I’m writing about. Even in Lovecraft Country, wealth and politics are much more reliable forms of power, but if you’re determined to leave no stone unturned in your quest for world domination, magic is an option – one that will almost certainly destroy you. I also wanted to avoid any suggestion that the Order of the Ancient Dawn were the root cause of racism and white supremacy – rather, they are just one weird facet of a much broader systemic problem.
As far as inspiration and learning how to do this, any time I read a novel or watch a TV show or film, I’m basically operating in two modes simultaneously: Reader/Viewer Me is enjoying the story the same way any other audience member would, but Artist Me is focused on the storytelling choices, thinking about what does and doesn’t work and contemplating what I might do differently. One nice side effect of this is that even badly told or boring stories are often quite entertaining to me, because I can learn a lot from their flaws.
Another issue that white authors in particular need to be wary of is that whatever personal feelings of racial guilt or complicity you may be wrestling with, they are completely irrelevant to your characters. When Atticus gets pulled over by the state trooper, he’s not saying to himself, “I wonder what the state of Matt Ruff’s soul is,” he’s thinking, “How do I make sure this cop doesn’t shoot me when I reach for my driver’s license?” This may sound obvious, but one of the most common ways stories go wrong is when the author unthinkingly projects their own hang-ups onto characters who wouldn’t realistically share them. And while white soul-searching is a legitimate topic for a novel, it’s a different novel than one in which black protagonists are fighting for their lives.
Regarding the fantastic elements in the story, I tried to be mindful of unintended implications. One of the reasons I made magic so difficult and dangerous to use is that if it weren’t, it would quickly overwhelm the historical forces that I’m writing about. Even in Lovecraft Country, wealth and politics are much more reliable forms of power, but if you’re determined to leave no stone unturned in your quest for world domination, magic is an option – one that will almost certainly destroy you. I also wanted to avoid any suggestion that the Order of the Ancient Dawn were the root cause of racism and white supremacy – rather, they are just one weird facet of a much broader systemic problem.
As far as inspiration and learning how to do this, any time I read a novel or watch a TV show or film, I’m basically operating in two modes simultaneously: Reader/Viewer Me is enjoying the story the same way any other audience member would, but Artist Me is focused on the storytelling choices, thinking about what does and doesn’t work and contemplating what I might do differently. One nice side effect of this is that even badly told or boring stories are often quite entertaining to me, because I can learn a lot from their flaws.
More Answered Questions
Alison Gresik
asked
Matt Ruff:
In light of the #ownvoices movement, I'd love to hear from you as a white author writing Lovecraft Country about the experience of Black characters. How did you get comfortable with telling this story? What limitations did you become aware of, during and after the process? What are you learning from having the story adapted by Black writers & producers? Anything you would do differently? Any intuitions that paid off?
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