Can Authenticity Be A Straight-Jacket?

 That is the question that came to me while reading Write More “Indianly,” or Else: Asha Thanki on the Trap of “Authentic” Writing. The subtitle does give away the answer, doesn't it?

I never considered authenticity of any kind, and especially not as related to my racial and ethnic identity, as a question for my writing until it was brought directly to me. In a meeting with an early reader, I was advised to write my novel more in the style of Indian writers publishing in English.

My book, apparently, read American; couldn’t I write more “Indianly?” Could I be more subtle with the queer love on the page; wouldn’t an Indian author use more symbolism—the peeling petals of a flower, maybe, or a metaphor about water, to depict this longing?.

But I also knew I couldn’t possibly write Indianly, whatever it meant; my influences have never been only Indian writers. I don’t even know that I would limit my influences to diasporic writers—what a small world we create, if we can only write into a canon.

Is there an authentic authenticity that comes from honestly expressing our ideas and feelings, regardless of whatever pigeonholes, fashions, or just plain prejudice puts us?

A friend asked why I put my stories in Indiana. She is also from here, but has been living in the East for decades. I could not think of writing anywhere else. I know only my thoughts and opinions and feelings about where I live and the people who live around me.

Tonight, I have been listening to Vince Ray & The Boneshakers, and this seemed appropriate for this post:

Good advice for sorts of situations.

sch 7/10