Issue 20: To Pander Or Not To Pander
A bit of everything: provincial writing, growth, shame, and a conversation on consistency.
To pander, or not to pander?
For most of this week, I thought about what it meant to gratify the desire of particular audiences through storytelling. I was reading a Nigerian novel with such crisp writing but unfortunately, a tired storyline. It didn’t bother me that the Igbo/Yoruba words were italicized. It was the storyline that made me wonder: what happens when our identity is confined to a linear narrative in the eyes of foreigners? To be Nigerian might mean to be poor and illiterate. Or extravagant—the Yahoo boy or Owambe aunty. Foreign publishers demand these single-story narratives from writers who belong to marginalized communities (for example black writers are expected to write on race as the central theme of their novel, instead of romance), as they ‘understand’ the ‘sellability’ of these stories.
In the vicious cycle, writers are forced to pander in different ways: the language of the story, the nature of the story, the direction of the story, etc.
Conversations around pandering in storytelling are not new. In 2015, Marlon James said writers of color pander to the white woman. In 2016, Chigozie Obioma's The Fishermen was accused of pandering, so he wrote this article in the Guardian, in which he defended language that might otherwise be referred to as ‘pandering’ as conveying “the vivid sense of event”. Bakwa Magazine published a rejoinder here.
I brought this up in my publishing class on Monday when asked about some of the problems in the future of publishing and later during my one-on-one tutorial session where I brought up a valid writing concern: sometimes it seems cultural nuances in my stories are lost on my colleagues. What do I do? My professor, who's always maintained his aversion to explaining parts of your story—language, themes, references—reiterated this: “you don’t have to explain your work. It’s not your job.” I agree but I've always wanted a publisher's angle to it because as someone who works in media and has worked in publishing, I understand the need and appeal of giving the audience what they want/think they need.
On the flip side, I believe that behaviors can be changed and that getting to the root of the audience's needs is how you understand the problem and how it should be fixed. And this isn't to indict you if you pander in the stories you tell or the way you treat people (there is such a thing as conforming to someone's beliefs and doing everything they want, either for your advantage, to make them feel good or for other reasons). It's for us—me and you—to think through it.
Still on pandering, but focusing on growth, shame, and pseudonyms. Here’s a story:
A lifetime ago, I was guilty of pandering in a way that I hardly speak about, no thanks to shame. At the time, blogs had just become mainstream with literary writers and I was still recovering from years of reading Sidney Sheldon and John Grisham. My pandering existed as a pseudonym that sat sleekly on my tongue. Cecile White.
I’m not the first woman to use a pseudonym, yet I’ve judged myself a bit harshly for using one, especially when I consider my motives.
Charlotte, Emily, and Anne Brontë published their novels Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall under the gender-ambiguous pseudonyms Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell because they knew of the existing bias against female authors, especially since their novels examined subject matters which were “unfeminine” for their early Victorian readers: sexual passion, alcoholism, domestic abuse, and violence.
The general view is that pseudonyms help you reach certain segments of the market you won’t ordinarily reach. When I used Cecile White, I had only subconsciously thought about the end result/possibility of reaching a wider/foreign audience. My motive was to use a name that was easy on the mouth. But easy for who? You know the answer.
In addition, Ope Adedeji just didn't sound writerly in the same way that I thought Jane Austen or James Patterson did. It was also a name I didn't quite like at the time. After two or three years of using my pseudonym, I abandoned it. I had learned, in a way that you learn when you grow, that sometimes, it’s not worth it. Yet, I’ve never spoken about this experience or written about it to anyone because I’ve always felt ashamed of it. Never mind that I was in my late teens. If you asked me about Cecile White two years ago, I'd cringe—how could I have been so gullible only seven years ago? And this is how shame works, It tells you no version of you is worthy. It tries to define you by an experience. Shame wants a neatly told story of perfection when in reality, there’s no such thing.
As I write this letter to you, I recognize that acknowledging the past, not as something that defines you, but something that gives you perspective, sets you free. This is more a sign of growth than learning how to love a name or why not to pander.
Interview with Akachi
This week’s letter spotlights Akachi who I think is just amazing. She’s a multidisciplinary designer and illustrator who enjoys art, photography, and music. Here’s our conversation on growth and being intentional about consistency.
When and how did the artsy part of you come alive?
My earliest memory is doing school projects with my mom when I was five. She was a primary school teacher and she's kind of artistic. She was always making fun shapes with colored paper and using bright colors to decorate her classrooms.
So how and when did it become a career?
I actually can’t say when exactly. Maybe in 2017 when I did illustrations for the RelianceHMO website. However, I decided to be serious this year and put something out weekly.
How’s that going? How are you able to do this consistently?
Sometimes I see beautiful people and I want to draw them. Sometimes the idea just pops in my head. Art is a form of expression and I am proud of the fact that I can blend into any style. I'm working on finding a visual style that isn't rigid. I want you to be able to see me when you see my art. Like Niyi Okeowo. When you see his work, you just know that it’s his work. When I'm making art, I mostly focus on the feeling I want to give or I see it as an experiment.
Last year, I did not have any structure, so I was doing everything based on vibes. I ended up making less art in 2020. That's going to change this year. I'm challenging myself to make something every week. You can follow my journey here. If you want to see my work, just check my personal IG
I love that you’re really thinking of being deliberate. In all this time, do you have a favorite work?
I can't believe I'm saying this but this is hard. I enjoy the process of creating. I also enjoy seeing the growth and I love it when I have random ideas and I bring them to life so I'm going to give my favorite in these categories. The one I totally enjoyed working on, the growth one I enjoyed the most, and the random idea brought to life.
What's your creative process like?
There's always music. Sometimes, I see songs—it sounds crazy, I know—and I want to draw the feeling or images in my head but it’s tough and I'm lazy. When I'm creating, the first focus is the emotion I’m trying to express. I also have to visualize 50% of the outcome. This serves as a mental guide. Then I sketch, draw outlines and put the color in. Anytime I start drawing without seeing some parts of the full picture, it's always an interesting but unfinished journey. Having that mental picture keeps me excited. It's like “I need to bring this baby to life, I can see it, so must do it.”
What's next for you?
Consistency. I want to be consistent in my expression. I want to start selling my art in May and hopefully have an exhibition in November or December. I want to put a lot of (good) work out.
Key takeaway: Be like Akachi. Consistency doesn’t happen accidentally. Have structures. Be intentional about your work this year.
Things I enjoyed this week:
And if you’re looking for something to do this weekend, the Story Story festival, organized by Lanaire is taking place from the 5th to the 7th of February. If you’d like to learn the tools & skills needed to share your stories with the world from amazing industry leaders like Inua Ellams, you should totally attend. Send Lana a mail here to register.
That’s all, you! See you next week with a note on love!