The recent online discourse surrounding R.F. Kuang's Taipei Story leaked ARC line has been heated at best, ideologically uncritical at worst. My stance on this issue is not neutral, but I can't help but notice the cyclical arguments and the demographics that comprise of each "side."

On one hand, I've seen an outpouring of support for Kuang from majority White audiences who laud her work as the pinnacle of anti-imperialist narratives in the modern canon. On the other, I've seen a majority of SWANA voices and their allies questioning the validity of including the settler-occupier identity in the narrative of the story. I've seen the valid point being made that without the full subtext, we can't draw an informed conclusion on the gravity of this choice by Kuang. I've also seen the equally valid point that normalizing settler-occupier identities of an active genocide-perpetrator is unnecessary in any capacity. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but what I've noticed from this discourse is the continued perpetration of tone and voice policing of SWANA, particularly Palestinian, voices.

Since the general elections in 2024, we've seen the genocide-apologist narrative take center stage. Folks continue to antagonize the Muslim vote who overwhelmingly supported third party candidates with the Democratic Party's handling of the genocide in Gaza as the key factor in how they casted their vote. To this day, I continue to see vitriol aimed at those who refused to be complicit (myself included) and this extends into the bookish space with ease. We see it with this particular instance when White creators thinks they have the authority to publicize their think-pieces on the subject without stopping to think about who is actually raising these concerns. In sharing your solidarity with your beloved celebrity author, have you considered the Palestinian and Muslim-diaspora voices you might be speaking over?

Some common defense arguments riddled with logical fallacies and whataboutisms I've seen in the past week have been:

• "Why don't we have the same reactions when American characters are mentioned?"

• "Not mentioning Israeli identity is erasure and erases the harm they've caused."

• "R.F. Kuang's politics have been clear, we need to trust her."

• "Everyone's cancelling R.F. Kuang meanwhile other Zionist authors get movie deals."

• "There are other authors perpetrating real harm while we argue over one line."

• "Why are we so much harder on authors of color?"

While all these statements can be dissected and analyzed individually, the greater theme I'm seeing is confusing solidarity with celebrity. And when that celebrity is an Asian author who has capitalized on stories of colonization, the question that comes to mind is are folks defending her because she's a person of color? The infantilization of Asian women has a deep legacy rooted in orientalism, and many of the arguments I see online border on this deeply racist trope. Nobody is infallible, and in pursuit of being an "ally" in her defense, many folks have subverted the values they claim to uphold.

I'd like to pose a few alternative questions.

• Why are BIPOC readers expected to stay silent when BIPOC authors make mistakes? Why are we supposed to give them more grace when we wouldn't do the same to their White counterparts?

• Why do non-BIPOC folks feel the need to intellectualize issues they have no personal stakes in?

• Is it easier to speak on declining literacy rates than it is to empathize with a Palestinian or Muslim person?

• What would your reaction be to seeing something on a page that humanizes the perpetrator of years of genocide you've watched your kin endure?

• Does your endorsement of a well-loved BIPOC author negate the remaining work you have to do in allyship?

There are the jaded and cynical parts of my mind that question whether this whole debacle was a stunt from the publisher to create more buzz around Taipei Story. While I agree that we will not have answers to our questions until we read the book, I implore the bookish space at large to take a step back and truly assess with care and nuance before jumping into the discourse.

I recently finished The Geomagician by Jennifer Mandula (thank you @PRHaudio for the gifted audiobook) and had an interesting conversation with a friend about the presence of the Church in a fantastical Victorian London setting. Not an allegorical representation, or metaphorical references to Christendom, but the actual Church complete with the Papacy was a steady presence throughout the novel. I think this was a bold choice on the author's part and likely reflects some religious trauma (maybe) but it actually worked pretty well for the story. My friend showed clear distaste for the heavy religious presence and that got me thinking about the veil of comfort that comes from fictionalizing institutions of systemic harm.

I eat up the toppling-of-an-oligarchical-system in any novel I read. For example, in The Dream Hotel by Laila Lalami, a grounded dystopian novel, the characters overcome a corpo-oligarchical carceral system. In Blood Over Bright Haven by M.L. Wang, the systems in question were academia as the gatekeeper for state violence and colonization. There are a million examples I could name and most folks would have no trouble naming the real-world system or institution to which the fictional one is alluding to. So why does The Geomagician's inclusion and naming of the Christian Church give us pause? Literary scholars, that's a question for you!

Does naming the "boogey man" sully the experience of reading fantasy? Is the art of writing Sci-fi/Fantasy, or Horror defined by the ability to create parallel systems as part of world-building, or can fantastical worlds be built around existing systems?

Mild spoilers ahead:

For what it's worth, I found the world-building and magic system in The Geomagician to be quite compelling, especially as someone with dinosaurs as their lifelong special interest. I did find the ending a bit disappointing, specifically because of the way the MCs continue to acquiesce to the systems that oppress them. The main protagonist maintains a neutral stance throughout the novel which is infuriating, but reflects a common characteristic of White feminism: "I don't care until it harms me." It was still a fun fantasy read and I'd recommend it to fans of dinosaurs and unique magic systems!

* Disclaimer * This is neither an endorsement nor a condemnation of the titles mentioned, simply a bid to interact critically themes.