Over a year ago, I began a series of stories about a caveman named Hom, whose tribe is plunged into chaos by the appearance of a man, Tra, who claims to be a woman.
At first these stories were just a bit of light relief — a way to ridicule beardy wokebro philosophers who believe in gender identity. Stone age people surely lacked the intellectual sophistication necessary to be fooled by such nonsense, and it amused me to imagine how such people might respond to it.
The stories became more complex, and the characters took on a life of their own. Those who write fiction are familiar with this mysterious process, whereby the characters develop their own feelings, motivations and personalities, and events unfold in unexpected ways. This is one of the most enjoyable things about writing fiction, and it’s often under-appreciated by those who only read it.
The earliest Hom stories were written in very simple language, but this soon became inadequate to the task of conveying the rich inner life of a stone age tribe.
More and longer words were needed in order to tell the story. It’s been tempting to go back and rewrite the first few stories to match the style of the later ones, but I feel that would be cheating.
So instead, I have made up a stupid theory to account for the tribe’s rapid rise in cultural sophistication:
Simply put, the idea of trans people was so baffling to the tribe that they were forced to exercise their brains to previously unknown levels, simply in order to make sense of it.
As they grappled with the concept, their vocabulary and capacity for abstract thought improved rapidly. After inventing sexism and gender roles, they developed new weapons and new ways of hunting pig, before moving on to invent arithmetic, farming, and politics.
Thus, the rapid development from the stone age until modern times is in no small part thanks to the existence of trans people — just as the woke folk claim! Without trans people, we would surely still be living in caves. We owe them a great debt.
I’m tired of the trans ‘debate’. I’m tired of endless wokebro philosophers and other assorted idiots chipping in to lecture us about clownfish and seahorses. I simply cannot take these people seriously. They deserve only ridicule.
In particular, I’ve had enough of fiction writers lending their support to such nonsense. These are people who make up stories for a living — they should be the first ones to call out bullshit when they see it. But far too many are asleep at the wheel. They’d rather defend the indefensible than risk upsetting their audience. They’re useless.
I sometimes wonder if Rushdie’s Satanic Verses would be published today — would it ever survive a ‘sensitivity read’? I doubt it. It’s a brilliant, hilarious book, but it’s clearly calculated to piss people off.
Rushdie may be a twat, but he is also a writer of enormous talent. If you read only one of his books, make it that one.
I’ve had great fun writing these stories. I don’t expect them to be taken seriously, and I don’t know if there’s a moral to them, or to what extent they fit with feminist perspectives.
I wrote them for myself, not some imaginary audience. If people like them, that’s great. One day, there may be more. But whatever happens, I plan to continue taking the piss. Because some topics are ripe for it.