So be it! See to it!

I have never read Octavia E. Butler's books, although they have been on my list for quite some time. I have equated her with Ursula LeGuin, one who creates believable "alien" cultures, who is interested in the way gender influences behavior.  I love Ursula Le Guin.  So, why have I never read Octavia E. Butler's books?  I think it's because I also have equated Butler with didactic writers, who have a social or political axe to grind.  As in Refugia, the message is a bludgeon, and in dodging the weapon, one is dodging the entire literary experience.

After going through the exhibit (Octavia E. Butler, Telling My Stories) at the Huntington Library, I realize that both assumptions are correct, but they are also so wrong.  In her own words, she is a storyteller, and that is her primary purpose.  The societal themes and rigorous science and research are just the underpinnings for that goal: 

No Entertainment
On Earth
Can Match
A Good Story
Compellingly Told

Octavia E. Butler's archives were bequeathed to the Huntington, probably because she was born and raised in nearby Pasadena, and this exhibit featured letters and journals that delineated her writing process as well as the times in which she lived.  I was intrigued to discover that she was awarded a MacArthur Foundation Genius Grant, which gave her the wherewithal to stop working odd jobs by day and writing only in the wee hours.  It was an unusual grant, as science fiction at that time was the red-headed step child of the literary world, and it is a further indication of Butler's stature as a writer. 

People are complicated, their works even more so. Who would have thought that her juvenilia started with illustrated horse stories, followed by romances?  It reminded me of my artistic childhood friend, who loved all things equine and drew pictures of horses, to the exclusion of anything else, for years. It's such a little girl obsession.  It was the B movie Devil Girl from Mars that sent Butler off into science fiction, an unusual choice for a woman. Aged 12 when she saw the film, she was inspired by the cliched plotting and characterization to start writing her own science fiction stories. Yet, despite her conviction that she could write better SF stories than those currently available, she suffered from depression and writer's block; and even though one of her goals was to provide people of color with work that reflected their reality, her books were marketed with illustrations of white protagonists. 

The exhibit was not large, just a small room off the hallway that led to the larger 3-room "Beautiful Science" exhibit, (which contained books, letters, and objects covering the history of astronomy, natural history,  medicine and anatomy, and electricity and light.)  Clearly, care had to be used in choosing which of a lifetime of  papers to display.  Knowing nothing about Octavia E. Butler, I cannot say whether the choices were apt or not, but they felt appropriate.  There were letters that movingly depicted her sense of isolation as the sole black writer at the Clarion Science Fiction workshop.  She writes equally strongly of her fear of writer's block and her desire to do worthwhile work in the world.  I felt akin to her, reading about her passion for meaning, for more than existence; "Ants exist."  Then there was the journal entry, grieving the destruction of the LA Library, likening it to the murder of a beloved human, then raging at herself for being "trite, trite, trite."  There were the highlighted notes that put together ideas and research.  And there were the written affirmations in her journals, each line a goal written in a strong present tense.  One showed up regularly, both clear and specific:  "All my books are Number 1 on the NYT Bestseller list for 2 months."  She was not shy about it.  But what really struck me (and the curator) is that each page of affirmations was finished up with the phrase "So be it! See to it!"

I like that.  It is like Picard saying "Make it so."  There is clarity and strength of purpose.  You can trust that whoever receives that command will follow through, just on the strength of that incisive phrase. It's inspiring to find such focus in a non-fictional human, genius or not.  However, it's also inspiring, in an odd way, to read about self-doubt and struggles, both with writing and with plain daily living.  Somehow, watching another person struggle and succeed gives one the confidence that it is possible to be creative, in fact, that life in general is possible.  I think this is why an exhibit like the Octavia E. Butler exhibit is so compelling.  You see all the tricks and shifts, and the sheer undaunted spirit shines through.  We don't need to know the person to find personal journals and letters fascinating.

That being said, I do wonder at the almost voyeuristic pleasure of this exhibit.  I wanted to see more, to sit in a Morris chair in the Shakespeare garden and read letters from Octavia, my new best friend.  Because these personal papers were sent of the authors' own free will, I didn't feel guilty reading them.  I felt that I had her permission, and that she would be glad that another storyteller might be inspired by her.  Stories are where it's at.