A white girl on your book cover? Why, Kern?
THIS WAS A REAL THING
When I put out my second novel, Beauty Scars, I can’t tell you how excited I was. The launch went well (really well), I was finally building up a modest readership and even though this was my second novel, Beauty Scars was the first time I really felt like an author.
Then my novel started making the rounds and of course my immediate network read it first. Much of the initial feedback was positive but then people started asking me this weird question.
The first time someone asked it was through a Facebook message. It wasn’t even a close friend. They were someone I knew through the internet (mostly) and had read my first novel.
Their message started politely enough and we had a short back and forth about the fantastical elements of the story. Then they asked it:
"But Kern, why did you choose to put a white girl on the cover?”
This was back in 2017 and I still remember exactly how I felt when reading that message. Confused as fuck.
I also felt other emotions — anger, disappointment — but my confusion rose to the top because, and I am not making this up, I didn’t even realize that the image of the girl on my book cover was white.
Before you roll your eyes, hear me out. I’ve told you many times about how the book cover for this novel was created. The short version is that I ran a contest for high school students from two local art schools and the winner’s work is what is now my book cover.
I gravitated to this cover immediately and when it was voted as one of the top five (the first stage of the contest took place over Tumblr), I knew right then that it was the one.
At no point throughout this entire month-long process did I ever think about the race of the image. It really didn’t occur to me. I just loved the design and thought it most accurately represented what my novel was about. It really was that simple.
Back to that Facebook message; I don’t remember how I replied so I don’t want to make up anything. All I remember was that feeling of confusion.
That moment came and went and I continued promoting my novel. Then maybe a week or two later, someone sent me a Whatsapp message and asked me the same thing. I don’t remember who it was, but it had to be someone I knew more personally for them to send a text.
Their exact words were, “I love your new book, but that cover…why?”
Now I was just upset. I don’t remember exactly how I replied, I just know it was rude. Maybe even a bit too rude, but I was already irritated. Why were people so caught up on this? Then it happened again, twice in one week actually. Both people were internet connections but it still made me furious.
I’m a thinker, so now when this question was thrown at me so many times in such a short period of time, it made me spiral. I did a deep dive with myself and tried to figure a few things out; first, why people were so bothered by the cover, and next, why I was so bothered by their inquisitions.
I’ll start with the latter because I think that will also answer the former.
After some serious self-reflection, I figured out why I was upset. I felt like the undertones of the inquisition was a questioning of my Blackness. Like “How dare I not make the cover a Black girl?” “How dare I try to appease white readers?” “How dare I not make sure that every aspect of my novel screams Blackness?”
All assumptions, of course, because what I actually did was tell the story that was in my heart and used the image I felt best depicted the energy of that story. Mind you, the characters in Beauty Scars are not of colour, but that part was conveniently ignored by my judges.
After some more self-reflection, I went from angry to anguish. Why was my world of fiction — my creative world where I dreamt up stories and characters from the ether of my mind — why was this world subject to limitations? Isn’t imagination supposed to be off-limits?
After the anger and anguish, I started feeling guilty. Was I wrong? Should I have been more explicitly Black in the depiction of my story? Should I have made my characters Black? I tend to not include colour descriptions in any of my novels, but was that a mistake? Was I letting down my community?
Yeah, this is how my mind works. I spiral till I reach the depths of possibilities and languish till my dizziness recedes.
When I reflect on this series of events, it’s usually with a gilded giggle. I’ve written about cultural appropriation before. And while I acknowledge its dangers, I am firmly on the side of authors writing about whatever they want and letting publishers and readers judge for themselves how well the story was executed.
Part of my firmness dates back to this situation. I do not want to be told how to express myself. I hate it. I go through varying stages of heinous emotions when I feel like my creativity is being restricted in any way, especially by people not involved in the process.
Seriously. Stay out of my shit.
I think of all the stories that are written every day, how many books are published every year that find their way into someone’s life. I think of how powerful some of those stories are.
An Indigenous Canadian author named David Robertson narrated a story to a group of young people that I’ll never forget. He said a librarian told him that a little girl walked into a library looking for a book. The librarian then suggested one and the little girl went home to read it. When she came back the next day, she said she didn’t like it so the librarian suggested another one. The little girl went home again and tried to read it but still couldn’t get into it.
Finally, the librarian spoke to the girl, asked her about her life and then suggested one of David’s books. It was a book about an orphan and as it turned out the girl was also an Indigenous orphan. Needless to say, she loved that book because she felt seen.
My mind imagines a world where that book wasn’t written. A world where that young girl would go another day, another month, another year without feeling like she fit into anyone’s story. How would she have turned out?
I tell this story for a reason. David has written many books, some intentionally focused on his Indigenous Heritage, others not. I think it’s beautiful that a young girl can read a book and find herself within its pages. That’s a special feeling. I also think it’s special when books remove you from your world and transport you to lands you’ve never seen and places you’ve never imagined and characters that are so far from your reality, you wonder how the author created them.
Both types of books are necessary, but when readers expect an author to exclusively create stories that are explicitly tied to the author’s identity, they are wrapping the author in obligation and sticking a neat little bow of social responsibility on top. And in my mind, the only obligation I have as a storyteller is to tell the story I feel called to write.
Because when we limit expression, we actually limit the diversity of stories being placed into the world. When we tell people what they can and can’t write, we assume we know which books are best for all groups of people.
What’s interesting in my case is that my interrogators weren’t telling me what to write, they were telling me who to write for. They were indirectly telling me that my books should be written and aimed at my racial community and my racial community alone. And because my cover wavered from that silent agreement, I have somehow broken a promise that I never even realized I made. That I have broken a pact made at birth when I slid out of my mother’s womb the same colour as wet dirt.
But how can this be? Is my creative expression supposed to be defined by a singular experience? I don’t buy into that at all, but as I look into the world, I understand why this sentiment exists.
Beauty Scars was released in the summer of 2017. It was Trump’s first year in office as President of the United States and racial tensions were starting to become far more audacious. Living in Canada, I felt it, too. It’s like the people who were previously hiding their racist thoughts felt empowered to speak and act more outwardly. This is when the questioning of DEI initiatives began to flare up. It’s when Nationalism started rearing its ugly head with talks of border walls and mass deportations. It’s when Black people and other people of colour felt it necessary to draw a line in the sand as a means of protection. No one was allowed to cross that line and infiltrate our community, but no one was allowed to leave, as well. It was us against them. Which side are you on?
That was the social and cultural environment that Beauty Scars was born into. So when I reflect on my inquisitors with this level of logic, I’m able to conjure some empathy for their questioning. And if I look at what’s happening today, things have actually gotten worse.
The last two years have seen a resurgence in book bans. And none of us need to do any research to know which books top those lists. Just as troubling, Turkey recently banned the use of Wattpad in its country. Not just one specific book, but the entire platform. And just so you know, the people of Turkey are the third-highest users of Wattpad. This is a damaging event.
What’s interesting to me about book bans and even the Wattpad ban, is that most of the titles are fiction. Imagine that. Imagine a government feeling so threatened by imagination that they ban its creations.
As frightening as that sounds, I feel equally as judged when a reader places expectations on my imagination. They may not be banning my books, but they are exercising a form of censorship that similarly seeks to confine my work.
I know I said that I giggle when I reflect on the Beauty Scars cover drama, but those judgements have stayed with me all these years later. The cover for my most recent novel, (at the time of writing this) has a Black girl on the cover. I’ve received so many positive comments and I genuinely love the image, but I can’t help wondering if part of me agreed to this book cover as some type of retribution. Like subconsciously, this cover is an apology to my community. Even worse, maybe it’s a plea for acceptance.
“Look at me. Look what I did. Are you proud of me now?”
Writing that makes me cringe. And while I don’t believe that I chose my current cover to prove something, I also can’t be a hundred percent sure.
I’ve said a lot in this piece. I’m curious to know how you feel about any of it. What is my obligation as an author? What is our collective obligations as writers and creative people? What is our responsibility to represent our community in our work?
Dear Kern, I honestly want to reach out to you now and give you a big hug and let you know that I hear you. Every word. It makes me sad reading this, because it sounds so familiar. I've had so many similar discussions with non-white friends who were expressing similar frustrations/ hurt. As someone who has the skin of privilege, it is tougher for me to speak out about these issues, but I am glad you are writing about this complex issue with so much nuance and empathy. Nothing is ever black or white (I don't just refer to race here). I think it is incredibly important that we pause sometimes and reassess that attitudes that were born out of the best of intentions, might be hurting the very people that they were supposed to protect. I think you summarized this beautifully: "when we limit expression, we actually limit the diversity of stories being placed into the world. When we tell people what they can and can’t write, we assume we know which books are best for all groups of people." I dream of a world where we can see beyond race and nationality and just see each other as people. Here is something to encourage you: You and I don't share the same race, yet every week when I read you, I am nodding with agreement. We seem to share similar values! And a story to encourage you some more: your piece of cultural appropriation inspired me to write the essay "why I won't identify as one thing." As luck would have it, the algorithms suggested my essay to Tiffany Chu, and we soon discovered that we spoke the same language! I'm so grateful! And grateful to you and your beautiful writing. Please write what you are inspired to write, always! I'll be reading you, and recommending you to others.
This post hit hard in so many ways. First, the personal connection I felt with your words, and also empathizing with your experience as you create and express yourself. I feel that I hide in my turtle shell for this very reason. I keep to myself out of fear of other people’s criticism of not just our work, but our expression of self. I am sure we all have had this experience in our past the tarnishes our ability to truly shine. And, then for us, people of color, to feel like our color identity is constantly being challenged, as though that is our own way to identify and everything we do has to be representative of our, like you said, “blackness.” People ask me all the time, how do you like to identify, “black, African-American…?” To keep important at the forefront, call me “Ruby.” That is my name that is my identity. I get asked all of the time, “why do you live in the white neighborhoods?” I gave this a good thought, I was walking the other day in my “white neighborhood,” not admiring the “white people,” but admiring the trees, the walking path, nature. I laughed to myself, it is not that I like living in “white neighborhoods.” I like living where there are trees and walking paths, where it is clean. I wouldn’t call this a white neighborhood, because I grew up in an area that was very diverse. As an adult, I tend to gravitate to areas that allows me the greatest opportunity to have a relaxing outdoor experience. Like you Kern, I find it interesting that people never ask me why I always chose to live in an area where there are lots of trees? Instead the focus is on the race of the people.
I just have to say I am so appreciative of your transparency and your passion for life and as a writer. Thank you for giving space for people like myself to express ourselves and give consideration to our passion. You are truly a gift to us all!