Well, they did have that right. But I also had the right to withdraw my support from what I deemed to be invidious editing. I sent one letter putting my position on the line, and when they did not change their policy, I did not write again. Naturally that left me open to charges that I was a bad sport, and there were a number of insults directed at me. Another pro writer wrote in my defense, protesting the “pre-emptive smear” and upholding the principle of free speech. In fact, the “make no sense” conservative also wrote a stirring objection to their censorship. I could almost get to like conservatives like that. But the editors were adamant about their policy and about my supposed bad nature, accusing me of attacking another contributor and of calling names. Their basis for this was my suggestion that needless cruelty to animals is an early sign of sociopathic behavior, in response to the other’s seeming pride in squishing spiders. Readers may remember Jumper, the spider character in Castle Rooqna. You don’t see the Disney folk sit on their hands when someone disparages the Mouse; well…
I can’t say I was happy to go. I had enjoyed slugging it out with those of differing opinion, and the interactions had been by no means predominantly negative. I had trouble sleeping several nights, upset about the business. But the principle of freedom of expression is fundamental, and I simply could not allow so egregious a violation to pass. It is in the extremes that our philosophies are tested, and those of us who are serious do not set aside our ethics merely because in some cases they become inconvenient or distasteful. Does a murderer have rights too? Yes, even the worst among us must be granted their right to speak. Imagine applying the editors’ logic to other cases: anonymous folk approach a city councilman, saying they don’t like the presence of blacks in their neighborhood, so in fairness to them he sets up apartheid. Anonymous businessmen approach a congressman, saying they don’t like foreign competition, so in fairness to them he introduces a bill to ban all imports. Anonymous fundamentalists dislike certain elements of the Catholic Church, so they have the government ban Catholicism in the name of fairness. Does that seem farfetched? There are regions where exactly such things have happened. But in America most of us disapprove of them. We believe in freedom of expression, even for those we don’t like. It is part of our Constitution.
How did the murderer react to this exclusion? He apologized for causing the magazine this trouble and asked that his subscription money be used to purchase some tapes he liked, and the balance donated for useful purposes. To my mind he acquitted himself in a more honorable manner than those editors did. I continued the correspondence with him. I believe I did come to understand the rationale for what he did, though I disagree with it. Because he spoke in confidence, I shall not describe it here, except to say that I believe it vindicates the liberal case for socially responsible activity as a preventive for disaster.
So yes, I do understand the principle of withdrawing support from an endeavor one has previously valued. Since I am as adamant about maintaining my freedom to incorporate any elements I choose in my fiction as those editors were about their prerogatives, I can only tell readers who object to such elements to go their own ways. The woman who objected to the rape scene was not abusive or anonymous; she stated her case politely and gave her address. So she received a polite response. I do not vilify those who stand on principle, and I tend to value those who do stand on an opposing principle more than those who agree with me while lacking principle. But lest there be any question: I do not approve of rape. I merely defend my right to show rape onstage, as one of the evils of society.
So I departed that fanzine, disliking the smell. The editors are probably still wondering why professionals are so touchy. I had supported the publication with money, letters, and recommendations. I gave it one last item: my report on the convention where I had met Jenny, the girl paralyzed by a drunk driver, and that was it. I left not only because of what had been done, but because the editors were unwilling or unable to grasp why they were wrong. It marked the probable end of my active participation in fanzine fandom, because this had been one of the best fanzines. What are the worst like? Don’t ask!
Ah yes, that brings up Jenny. She has been discussed more fully in the Xanth series, where she has become a character, and you may have met her as Jenny Elf in the graphic edition of Isle of View. For those who haven’t, a compressed recap: in FeBlueberry of 1989 I received a letter telling me how a twelve-year-old girl had been struck by a drunk driver and almost killed, and had remained almost three months in a coma. I wrote to her, and my first letter did bring her out of the coma. I continued to write, though she remained paralyzed and mute and could not respond. Later I attended a convention in her area, so I could meet her. She was treated well there, and I believe she enjoyed herself, though she remained so weak that most of her time was spent lying on her back. That was the report I sent to the fanzine. The significance for this novel is that during this period we passed the anniversary of my first letter to her: one year. I have an artificial rose from her corsage beside my computer screen as I type this, a memento. It resembles the roses on the clifflike structure as the novel ends; there will be more on them in the next novel. In this period Jenny resumed going to school, but not the one she had attended before; this one is for folk like her, whose needs are special. She seems to like it.
And on to Ligeia. Ligeia is the name I gave to the first of a number of suicidal teenage girls I have heard from. All have the same name, to preserve their anonymity, because often their nature is a secret from their parents and I don’t feel I have the right to betray their confidence. What have I to do with girls forty years my junior? The same as with prisoners: I answer my mail. But though I will not name them individually, I will do so collectively. This novel has considerable input from them, as you may have guessed. Colene represents a composite of these bright and tormented creatures. If you know a girl exactly like Colene, she is not any of my sources, because none is that close to her overall.
I am no expert on the subject of suicide, and I can’t say I ever properly understood even my daughters when they were teenagers. In this day of the revelation of fathers who abuse their daughters, I have been hyperconscious of the proprieties. When does a father stop playing with his little girl? Some it seems don’t stop; they proceed into sexual molestation. But the other direction is not ideal either: isolation from one’s children. We have been a close family, but I stopped physically touching my daughters early, and felt the gradual alienation. Would one of them tell me if she had a serious problem or felt suicidal? Maybe, and maybe not. I have always been there, and ready to help if asked, but they tend not to ask. I suffer the perhaps universal inadequacy of fathers. So I have had the nagging suspicion that the feelings expressed by the Ligeias, which they don’t tell their parents, could also be felt by my daughters, and they wouldn’t tell me. But mine have not been abused or neglected, and have suffered neither poverty nor family breakup. I hope that’s enough. They are now going to college, and thence into the larger world. As has been said: a child is someone who passes through your life and disappears into an adult. Am I sublimating the distancing I regret in my own daughters by being more sensitive to these Ligeia girls? I don’t know, but it is possible. I prefer to think that I am simply trying to do what is right, whatever the context.
The first Ligeia was deeply disturbed. She believed that there had never been love in her home, and she was isolated and hurting. Cautious, I put in an indirect query via the school system, to see whether she could be helped by private counseling there. The school counselor went straight to her parents, putting her into deeper trouble. So much for the sensitivity of the system; no wonder girls prefer to keep the secret. “No one can be trusted,” a later Ligeia told me, and I had to agree. You see that attitude in Colene. First Ligeia One wrote to me; then she phoned me. She declared that she loved me, and was upset when I demurred. She wanted to talk for an hour or more at a time, and on subjects I balked at, such as sex. Call me conservative if you will, but I feel it is not the proper business of a man who is not a doctor or counselor to talk to a girl just about young enough to be his granddaughter about the specifics of sex. There is too much potential for abuse. When she started calling on consecutive days, I had to put the brakes on, because she was sticking her family with horrendous phone bills and I was losing time from my work that was worth even more. In addition, my daughters were bothered. “She’s trying to take more of your attention than we are!” one protested with some accuracy. I set a limit: one hour cumulative per month; I would hang up on her if she overreached it. This was no easy thing, because this girl wasn’t kidding about suicide; once she was cutting her wrists as she talked to me. There was more, but let me digest it down to this: in due course her folks seem to have put her in some kind of institution, and her outside contacts were abruptly cut off. I do not know whether she is alive today. In fact, I do not know whether any of them are alive, other than those now in contact with me, and I hesitate to inquire.