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I first had this thought while reading tributes to Robert Jordan, and I'm having it again today while looking at tributes to David Eddings. I am, and always have been, something of a style snob. I was raised to appreciate good style, and to cultivate my own, and to enjoy sophisticated play with language. That in itself is neutral when it comes to my interactions with others, but it can become a problem when it makes me inclined to make too-broad judgments based on what is partly an aesthetic and partly the result of familial and cultural advantages—which is to say, privilege.
Today I've been reading the heart-felt regrets of people who are, like me, enthusiastic readers, for whom, just as for me, fantasy and sf open up interior visions, provide escape in times of trouble and satisfaction in times of relaxation, the whole deal. We share a fandom. And right now I'm feeling less than wonderful thoughts about myself for all the things I've said about people just like them because of their particular manner of expression.
It seems to me that this connects to the clash of cultures over sensitivity to and ways of dealing with racism, sexism, and other bias, but I'm still teasing out my thoughts about that.
Today I've been reading the heart-felt regrets of people who are, like me, enthusiastic readers, for whom, just as for me, fantasy and sf open up interior visions, provide escape in times of trouble and satisfaction in times of relaxation, the whole deal. We share a fandom. And right now I'm feeling less than wonderful thoughts about myself for all the things I've said about people just like them because of their particular manner of expression.
It seems to me that this connects to the clash of cultures over sensitivity to and ways of dealing with racism, sexism, and other bias, but I'm still teasing out my thoughts about that.