Have you ever felt that pang of disappointment when a character you deeply connected with, a character that mirrored a part of your own identity, was suddenly… gone? Snuffed out for the sake of plot, drama, or, even worse, a cheap ratings boost? If you're nodding your head, you're likely familiar with the insidious "bury your gays" trope that has plagued our screens and pages for far too long. But what if we could rewrite the narrative? What if we could create stories that celebrate queer lives instead of callously extinguishing them?
The "bury your gays" trope is a frustratingly common phenomenon in media where LGBTQ+ characters are disproportionately likely to be killed off, often serving as a catalyst for a straight character's development or to inject manufactured drama into the storyline. This isn't just about fictional characters; it sends a damaging message that queer lives are disposable and less valuable. It reinforces the idea that LGBTQ+ stories are inherently tragic, denying audiences the joy of seeing queer characters thrive and experience happy endings.
Why is this trope so prevalent? Is it laziness on the part of writers? A misguided attempt at realism? Or something more sinister? Whatever the reason, it's time for a change.
Chuck Tingle, the purveyor of "tingly" fiction, might not be the first name that comes to mind when discussing nuanced social commentary. But his novel, "Bury Your Gays," tackles this very trope head-on, delivering a thought-provoking, campy, and surprisingly gruesome exploration of queer representation, the perils of unchecked capitalism, and the ever-increasing influence of AI in the arts.
The story centers around Misha Byrne, a gay screenwriter determined to create authentic queer representation in his work. He refuses to kill off his lesbian characters in the season finale of his hit show, defying network executives who are obsessed with ratings. This seemingly simple act unleashes a series of bizarre and terrifying events, blurring the line between reality and fiction.
"Bury Your Gays" doesn't just challenge the "bury your gays" trope; it also offers refreshing representation of asexuality. Tara Ito, a brilliant and quirky tech whiz, is an openly aromantic asexual character who provides Misha with invaluable insights and support. Tara is not defined by her lack of sexual attraction but by her intelligence, her unique perspective, and her unwavering friendship. She is a fully realized character with her own agency, a far cry from the often-stereotyped portrayals of asexual individuals in media.
Why is asexual representation so important? Because asexuality is often invisible or misunderstood. Seeing asexual characters like Tara on the page helps to normalize asexuality, validate asexual experiences, and combat harmful misconceptions.
While "Bury Your Gays" is a work of fiction, it raises crucial questions about the power of storytelling, the responsibility of creators, and the impact of media on our perceptions of the world. It reminds us that representation matters, that seeing ourselves reflected in art can be transformative, and that we have the power to challenge harmful narratives and create stories that celebrate diversity and promote understanding.
Isn't it time we demanded more from our entertainment? Shouldn't stories reflect the richness and complexity of the human experience, in all its beautiful, diverse forms?
So, the next time you encounter the "bury your gays" trope, challenge it. Speak up. Demand better. Let's rewrite the narrative and create a world where queer lives are not only seen but celebrated.