Love in the Time of Banned Books #11 | "Lonely Universe" by A.M.R.

Art by A.M.R.

"Lonely Universe" by A.M.R.

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"Lonely Universe Art" by A.M.R.

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"Lonely Universe"

by A.M.R.

Part I: Flowers

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Pale flowers climb 

the old rugged hill, leaping from rock to rock like the Child once did. 

They grew up together, with 

sturdy roots and upturned faces,

easily scaling the 

unforgiving landscape.

That was before 

the Child sliced open their knee on the rough terrain and discovered

the raw pink glint of an inner world they never knew existed. 

Morbid curiosity took hold as the Child examined the cut, 

dappled sunlight illuminating their deepest inner-workings:

A tangle of 

blood and sinew

and hope.

Then a breeze stung the open wound, 

like a slap across the face 

from someone you thought would always take care of you.

The gash welled with russet tears and 

it was then the Child knew

to never again bare their blood and bones. 

With time, the gash healed,  

but a blistery bubble formed around the Child’s mind, filling with pus to drown out the thoughts 

of what lay within them: 

A being far too tender and new for this world. 

Before the fall, 

The Child would pick those flowers often, 

carrying the bouquet home between pudgy fingers. 

They couldn’t bring home the hill or the vines 

or the clambering roots that 

connected them all, 

but they would still present each blossom to Mother, 

hoping she would still see the beauty in their 

fistful of severed stems. 

Mother took the flowers 

and placed them in a dainty vase on the windowsill.

Just like when she named the Child 

(her Daughter, her pride),

she had a name prepared 

for that pretty bloom’s face:

Violets she called them. 

And for 14 years they were.

Pretty and

    purple 

    and perfect.

Until one day, 

the flowers grew a little taller.

Their pinwheel heads poked above the grass for the first time and looked around –

noticing each other. 

There were dozens of them, tentative petals asking 

Are you like me?

Pale blue buds nodded back in recognition.

The difference in shade seems slight, 

but a name 

makes all the difference. 

Periwinkle,

the Child whispered,

overlooking that overgrown hill.

               After all this time…

Part II: Snakes 

***

My very first brainstorms for this piece included a section where I discussed a trans character I have always related to. But I scrapped that draft before I got very far with it because I was afraid it wouldn’t be taken as seriously as a topic more “palatable” for a wider audience. I thought maybe I should stick with something part of the classic “queer coming-of-age" story everyone knows, like googling “am I gay” quizzes, or reading a queer romance for the first time. And this fear was not unwarranted. After all, I have already seen nonbinary/genderfluid identities be wielded as weapons to tear down trans rights – of course I was afraid my story might be used to do the same. But you know what? Screw it. I decided to include this section anyway, because Alex Fierro deserves nothing less.

If you don’t already know her, Alex Fierro (she/her until she says otherwise) is the demigod child of the Norse god Loki, and one of the central characters of Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard (a series written by none other than Percy Jackson’s Rick Riordan). Alex is a shapeshifter, pottery artist, and overall just really badass demigod. As someone who is  constantly compared to my transphobic mother, Alex Fierro is someone absolutely I wish I had the confidence to be. Alex doesn’t let her Mom (A.K.A. Loki) define her. Instead, Alex embraces her shapeshifting powers, in spite of who she inherited the power from. Even the snake motif associated with her mother is reclaimed as her own – etched onto her pottery as a signature, and tattooed onto her neck. In short, Alex’s identity is solely her own. Meanwhile, on her dad’s side, Alex has Mexican roots, and her passion for pottery is established to be a connection to her heritage. This adds another facet to her character that I relate to, as I am also part Latino and trying to use my art to reconnect with my heritage as best I can. I have to admit, though, that it's really all of the little details that make her character feel the most honest and relatable to me. Things like: 

• Being bored enough to lie down and make rainbow snow-angels on the Bifröst during a  serious conversation. (With my ADHD, you better believe I would do the same!)

• Accidentally shapeshifting into a donkey while in disguise, due to sheer nerves. (Yeah, I would also be braying if the fate of the entire world relied on me making a convincing bride.)   

• Refusing to let Magnus use his healing powers on her because it would mean allowing him a glimpse into her mind. (That fear of vulnerability hits a little close to home for me…)

The intersectionality of all these pieces of Alex’s identity, coupled with the fact that her narrative doesn't revolve solely around any one aspect of her identity (you know, considering the fact that her mom trying to start Ragnarok is a slightly bigger issue) made for a character I saw so much of myself in. To be completely honest, these books were the first time I ever saw someone like me, let alone a real future for myself. However, I think the most impactful part of Magnus Chase And The Gods of Asgard is that the series ends with the fact that Alex and Magnus are kinda immortal (at least until the world ends, in which case everyone dies anyway), so they have literally all of time to figure everything out. This can be such a relief to see as a queer person, especially when you’re not in the most ideal place in the present: to see that, not only do things get better, but that you still have time to figure it all out, is rare for people like me. 

And book bans are certainly not going to make that any easier.

Part III: Stars

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My point with all of this is that even a single distant star blinking at you can make you feel seen. During my short time in this big universe, I have been to some incredibly dark places: I have been pulled into one of the deepest vortexes I have ever seen, a hole of hopelessness where even the brightest suns will fizzle out if they can’t find a way to escape its immense gravity. I am one of the lucky ones, but I am only here now because of the constellations of fictional worlds that pulled me back into the light. But now people want to take that away. Books are being challenged and banned. LGBTQ+ (especially trans) rights are under attack, and my fellow suns and stars are flickering out because they can’t see a future for themselves.

Sometimes I struggle to see one too.

So yeah – we need banned books in our libraries because, to minorities (especially LGBTQ+ youth) representation is the tether keeping us from drifting into the vast expanse of space. Those who support the bans can’t see the spark of hope these books have created in LGBTQ+ people’s lives because the light pollution is too bad where they are – there are too many blazing billboards for them to get any comfort from the twinkling lights above. But the effect of these banned books is clear if you can only get far enough away from the glare; seeing representation in the media doesn’t somehow transform us into a brand new person, because matter is neither created nor destroyed. We were always stars, and seeing representation simply gave us the permission to shine a little brighter.

And I think seeing a brighter sky can make us all feel a little less alone in this universe.

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About "Love in the Time of Banned Books"

In this series, we seek to celebrate LGBTQ+ identities and experiences, while critically examining book bans and how they impact the LGBTQ+ community.

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