Qualitative social science research has an obligation to resist replicating or reinforcing social harms. This paper explores how researchers can adopt strategies to develop inclusive, safe, and ...reflexive research spaces with queer participants. Reflecting on a research study that explored the impact of queer representation in young adult literature on young readers, the paper explores the concepts of building queer connections and fostering inclusion as methods to support qualitative research design. Through this reflexive process, it has been found that intentionally using strategies to establish queer connections between participants and promoting inclusion through empathetic listening can significantly enhance participant experiences, primarily in terms of safety, support, and openness to vulnerability. These deliberate strategies also play a crucial role in reinforcing participant engagement and retention. Further, these findings indicate that these methods have additional benefits for research that transitions from face-to-face methods to online and digital formats. We argue that qualitative social science researchers who work with the queer community have an obligation to create inclusive and safe spaces for participants – not only to resist replicating stigmatising social structures, but to move beyond a pedagogy of pathologization in queer research.
Young Adult (YA) literature that focuses on the experiences of marginalized individuals and communities empowers young readers, challenges social stigma and discrimination, and supports identity ...formation. This article explores the impact of queer YA literature on young queer and questioning readers, with a specific focus on how it can develop empathy within its audience. We analyzed reader responses to queer representation through monthly focus groups with twenty-three queer-identifying participants. Over eight months the participants discussed pre-selected queer YA texts. We found that queer YA literature has the capacity to not only empower its readers, but to develop their capacity for empathy, challenge perceived social norms, and demonstrate the potential of literature as a tool for activism and advocacy. Showing younger readers diverse experiences within queer YA literature can support readers to see themselves reflected on the page, and challenge reductive and restrictive views about queer identities.
Contemporary Young Adult literature is a favored genre for exploring sexual assault, yet rarely interrogates the social structures underpinning rape culture. In its representation of heterosexual ...relationships, Young Adult paranormal romance offers insight into the processes and structures that uphold rape culture. Genre tropes normalize abusive behavior and gender ideals, demonstrating the explicit and implicit construction of rape culture, culminating in the depiction of supernatural possession analogous to rape. Here, I reflect on power, control, rape culture, and girlhood in a textual analysis of Nina Malkin's Swoon, Becca Fitzpatrick's Hush, Hush, and Sarah Rees Brennan's The Demon's Covenant. A constructive reading reflects implicit cultural discourses presented to the girl reader, who can apply this to her own negotiation of girlhood. Keywords: adolescent reader, control, genre tropes, power, resistance, sexual violence, supernatural hero
The rise of LGBTQIA+ and queer young adult (YA) literature has led to an increased diversity in the range of texts available for young readers. The covers of these texts use various design elements ...to market to their target audiences, employing signifiers to indicate a narrative’s queer themes that range from subtle coding to explicit representation. This article presents findings from a qualitative research study at a regional university in Australia, which explored reader responses to peritexts used by queer YA books in a context where book bans that target marginalised identities, including queer identities, are increasing around the world. Queer-identified research participants aged 18-30 engaged in focus groups, discussing and analysing pre-selected queer YA texts over the course of eight months. Participants had a range of responses to the peritexts, including finding that signifiers of queer themes were affirming to their own identities and could be indicators of allyship in public spaces. Participants also discussed the potential risks associated with publicly consuming a book explicitly presented as queer through its peritext, emphasising concerns around vulnerability, exposure, and a lack of safety. This article uses a theoretical framework of critical social theory and queer theory to shed light on the relationship between peritext and reader response in queer YA literature, providing insights into how these elements contribute to readers’ understanding and engagement with queer narratives, and the potential value of peritext for queer and non-queer audiences.
While Young Adult dystopian texts commonly manipulate expectations of time and space, it is largely in a linear sense—projecting futuristic scenarios, shifting the contemporary reader into a ...speculative space sometimes only slightly removed from contemporary social, political, or environmental concerns (Booker 3; McDonough and Wagner 157). These concerns are projected into the future, having followed their natural trajectory and come to a dystopian present. Authors write words and worlds of warning in a postapocalyptic landscape, drawing from and confirming established dystopian tropes, and affirming the activist power of teenage protagonists in cultivating change. This article examines the intersections between dystopian Young Adult literature and Indigenous Futurisms, and the possibilities for sharing or encoding Indigenous Knowledge through the disruption or revision of genre, where the act itself become a movement of activism and survival echoed in text. Lynette James acknowledges the “ruptures” (157) Indigenous authors have made in the genre through incorporating Indigenous Knowledge into story as an embedded element – not only of narrative, but of structure. Ambelin Kwaymullina, of the Palyku people of the Pilbara region of Western Australia, exemplifies this approach in her disruption or rupture of the dystopian genre in her embodiment of Indigenous Knowledge in the Young Adult (YA) text The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf. Kwaymullina centres Indigenous Knowledge throughout the trilogy, offering a powerful revision of key tropes of the dystopian YA genre, creating a perspective that privileges Indigenous Knowledge. This is most significantly identified through her depiction of time as a non-linear concept, at once realised narratively, conceptually, and structurally in the text. The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf, the first of a trilogy of novels in “The Tribe” series, presents a futuristic post-apocalyptic world, set 300 years after the Reckoning, a cataclysmic environmental disaster. The protagonist, Ashala Wolf, is one of a number of people with supernatural abilities that are outlawed by their government and labelled Illegals. As the novel begins, Ashala is being interrogated by the villainous Neville Rose, held in a detention centre as she plots to escape, free her fellow detainees, and return to the Tribe in the Firstwood. The plot draws from historical and contemporary parallels in Australia, yet part of the text’s subversive power is that these parallels and connections are never made explicit on the page. The reader is invited to become an active participant in coding meaning by applying their own understandings of the context and connections, creating an inter-subjective dialogue between reader and text, and Indigenous and non-Indigenous knowing. This article looks to the first novel in the trilogy as the key exemplifier of the disruption of genre and knowledge through the representation of time. It is in this novel that these concepts are established and realised most clearly, being predominantly from Ashala’s perspective as a direct descendant of Indigenous Australians, with the following two novels divided between Ashala, Georgie, and Ember as polyphonic narrative focalisers. Acting as an introduction to the series, The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf presents a foundation for readers to challenge their perceptions on both genre and knowledge. Kwaymullina entangles the two, imbuing knowledge throughout narrative and structure which in turn disrupts genre. In her revisioning of narrative through genre and structural focus of time as a non-linear concept, Kwaymullina puts into practice Conrad Scott’s argument that “the potential healing of moments or processes of crisis in Indigenous dystopias is never possible without a strategic engagement with narrative itself, and even the formal aspects of the text” (73).While the series fits the conventions of the dystopian genre, it has been more commonly identified as speculative fiction, or Indigenous futurism, as Kwaymullina herself defines her work. James notes the significance of acknowledging a text as Indigenous futurism, writing, “identifying a work as Indigenous futurism rather than simply as YA dystopia asks readers, critics, and scholars to adjust their orientation in ways that may radically alter both their perception and reception of it” (153). For the purposes of this article, I acknowledge the clear value and importance of identifying the text as Indigenous futurism, but also find value in the movements that define the shift from dystopian literature to Indigenous futurism, in its engagement with and recasting of dystopian conventions in the text. In embedding Indigenous Knowledge in her worldbuilding and narrative, Kwaymullina actively rewrites dystopian expectations and tropes. These notions would be expected or normalised when grounded in Indigenous futurism, but are regarded as a subversion and revision when read in dystopian fiction. The text engages directly with the specific tropes and expectations of dystopian genre—its significance in rewriting the spaces, narratives, and structures of the genre cannot be overstated. The employment of the dystopian genre as both framework and space of revision speaks to larger debates of the value of dystopian fiction in examining socio-cultural issues over other genres such as realism. Critics argue the speculative nature of dystopian fiction that remains linked to concerns of the present and past allows audiences to envision and experience their own transformative experience, effecting political change (Kennon; Mallan; Basu, Broad, and Hintz; Sypnowich). Balaka Basu, Katherine Broad, and Carrie Hintz argue that serious issues presented in fantastic futuristic scenarios “may provide young people with an entry point into real-world problems, encouraging them to think about social and political issues in new ways, or even for the first time” (4-5). Kerry Mallan notes the “ability of dystopian fiction to open up to readers a dystopian social elsewhere serves a double function: On the one hand, it offers readers an opportunity to reflect on their current existence to compare the similarities and differences between the real and the fictional; on the other, these stories implicitly exhort young people to take responsibility for their own lives and the future of society” (16). Drawing on these metanarrative structures with the interweaving of Indigenous knowledge increases the active responsibility for the reader. It invokes Nnedi Okorafor’s labelling of Indigenous Futurisms as “the most truthful way of telling the truth” (279), creating opportunities for the Indigenous and non-Indigenous reader to engage with narratives of a real apocalypse on invaded land. The dystopian setting and expectations form a buffer between reader and text (Basu, Broad, and Hintz 4), making the narrative more accessible to the reader without shying away from the embedded trauma, while drawing on dystopian fiction’s balance of despair and optimism (Basu, Broad, and Hintz 2).The stakes and value of dystopian fiction are heightened when engaging with Indigenous narratives and knowledge; as Claire Coleman (a Noongar woman from the south coast of Western Australia) notes, Indigenous Australians live in a post-apocalyptic state as “all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people alive today are the descendants of people who survived an apocalypse” (n.p.). James, quoting Uppinder Mehan, concurs, writing “these narrators are ‘survivors—or the descendants of survivors’ 162, not just of broken dystopian worlds or post-cataclysmic events but of the real historical legacies of slavery, conquest, and oppression” (157). Writing on Indigenous futurisms in dystopian and utopian fiction, Mary Morrison argues “people outside Western hegemonic power structures would likely be well-placed to transform the utopian imagination, to decolonize it” (11), acknowledging the significance in the intersection of genre and lived experience by author and character.Kwaymullina expands on this, noting that for Indigenous authors the tropes of speculative fiction are familiar lived experiences. She writes thatmany of the ideas that populate speculative-fiction books – notions of time travel, astral projection, speaking the languages of animals or trees – are part of Indigenous cultures. One of the aspects of my own novels that is regularly interpreted as being pure fantasy, that of an ancient creation spirit who sung the world into being, is for me simply part of my reality. (“Edges” 27)Kwaymullina affirms Coleman and James in her approach, writing “Indigenous people lived through the end of the world, but we did not end. We survived by holding on to our cultures, our kin, and our sense of what was right in a world gone terribly wrong” (“Edges” 29). The Tribe series demonstrates survivance, with Kwaymullina’s approach forming possibilities for intersubjective dialogues across genre. The concept is reinforced through Ashala’s repeated, joyful cries of hope throughout the text: “I live! We live! We survive!” (197, 200, 279, 391).Sara K. Day, Miranda A. Green-Barteet, and Amy L. Montz note dystopian literature considers possible futures from the outlook and failures of the present (8), arguing “the label ‘dystopia’ typically applies to works that simultaneously imagine futures and consider the present, essentially occupying a liminal space between these times” (Day, Green-Barteet, and Montz 9). This sense of liminality is heightened with the engagement of time from an Indigenous perspective; as Scott writes, “Indigenous dystopian fiction presents not only the crisis of the future but the ongoing crisis of the present time, and that which is still resonant from the past” (73). In “Respect, Relationships, Renewal: Aboriginal Perspectives on the Worlds of Tomorrow”, Kwaymullina notes that linear time can “become a tool of ideology, with colonial characterisations of
Reflecting on the experience of designing and implementing a fully online degree at scale intended for a global student body, the authors propose that online course design is an important but ...under-considered form of educational development practice that enhances student success. Through the collaborative practice, professional and academic staff developed skills in digital pedagogy knowledge, digital literacy, presentation skills, learning management system and platform-specific course facilitation, embedding accessibility and writing for online delivery. Embedding professional development in online course design imparted a holistic understanding of learning, contributing to student success in online learning. Those involved in developing educator capacity and online learning in higher education will find value in this paper, including educator developers, learning designers, educational technologists, teaching academics and administrators.
Peri-urban lakes increasingly experience intensified anthropogenic impacts as watershed uses and developments increase. Cultus Lake is an oligo-mesotrophic, peri-urban lake near Vancouver, British ...Columbia, Canada that experiences significant seasonal tourism, anthropogenic nutrient loadings, and associated cultural eutrophication. Left unabated, these cumulative stresses threaten the critical habitat and persistence of two endemic species at risk (Coastrange Sculpin, Cultus population; Cultus Lake sockeye salmon) and diverse lake-derived ecosystem services. We constructed water and nutrient budgets for the Cultus Lake watershed to identify and quantify major sources and loadings of nitrogen (N) and phosphorus (P). A steady-state water quality model, calibrated against current loadings and limnological data, was used to reconstruct the historic lake trophic status and explore limnological changes in response to realistic development and mitigation scenarios. Significant local P loadings to Cultus Lake arise from septic leaching (19%) and migratory gull guano deposition (22%). Watershed runoff contributes the majority of total P (53%) and N (73%) loads to Cultus Lake, with substantial local N contributions arising from the agricultural Columbia Valley (41% of total N load). However, we estimate that up to 66% of N and 70% of P in watershed runoff is ultimately sourced via deposition from the nutrient-contaminated regional airshed, with direct atmospheric deposition on the lake surface contributing an additional 17% of N and 5% of P. Thus, atmospheric deposition is the largest single source of nutrient loading to Cultus Lake, cumulatively responsible for 63% and 42% of total N and P loadings, respectively. Modeled future loading scenarios suggest Cultus Lake could become mesotrophic within the next 25 years, highlighting a heightened need for near-term abatement of P loads. Although mitigating P loads from local watershed sources will slow the rate of eutrophication, management efforts targeting reductions in atmospheric-P within the regional airshed are necessary to halt or reverse lake eutrophication, and conserve both critical habitat for imperiled species at risk and lake-derived ecosystem services.
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