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The Conium Review 2016 “Count”

Typically, we release our gender ratio statistics around the same time as the official VIDA count. However, we wanted to tally the numbers before the AWP Conference in Washington, DC. There’s also the small matter of today’s inauguration, wherein a serial misogynist was sworn into the nation’s highest office. It seems like a good time to remind the literary community that there are still places where women’s voices can be heard, even if those places seem increasingly under attack.

The Conium Review: Vol. 5 featured a larger percentage of women than any previous print issue of The Conium Review, and our combined print and online count held steady at 76% self-identified female authors. For those who haven’t read The Conium Review: Vol. 5 yet, there is also a distinct feminist undercurrent in many of the pieces, even more noticeably than the average issue of The Conium Review. This wasn’t a reactionary plan of any sort (the issue was finalized before the November election results). In the simplest terms, this is just where our editorial aesthetic leans — toward fiery voices that refuse to be marginalized. Given the events of today, I’m glad to see our press putting out a lit mag with stories in this vein. It seems necessary in this social climate. Keep writing. Keep submitting. Keep reading. Stay strong.

(And as always, we’d like it if you’re writing something a bit weird/surreal/bizarre too).

The Conium Review 2016 “Count”

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Female (Total Print & Online)

%

Male (Total Print & Online)

%

Female (Print)

%

Female (Online)

%

Male (Print)

%

Male (Online)

Okay, now let’s break it all down. Our 2016 count is 76% female and 24% male. The previous year’s overall count was identical at 76% female to 24% male. The 2014 gender ratio was 64% female and 36% male.

Throughout the entire year, The Conium Review published 29 authors total, with 22 self-identified female authors and 7 self-identified male authors.

In the annual print edition, we published 9 self-identified female authors and 1 self-identified male author, for a ratio of 90% women and 10% men. Within our online arm, The Conium Review Online Compendium, we published 19 authors total, with 13 female authors and 6 male authors, with a ratio of 68% women to 32% men.

Throughout most of 2016, the editorial masthead contained 10 people, 7 of whom self-identify as female, 3 of whom self-identify as male, for a behind-the-scenes ratio of 70% women and 30% men.

Historically, we’ve tallied out “count” only for The Conium Review as a periodical. However, we launched a few books in 2016 through Conium Press. These authors are not reflected in our overall count, but the numbers don’t change much either way. We’re a boutique press with only a couple titles each year. Of the two books published this year, one was written by a self-identified female and one was written by a self-identified male. We also released two limited-run micro-chapbooks, again with a ratio of one woman and one man. If you add these Conium Press numbers to our tally, it becomes 33 authors total — with 24 women and 9 men — for a total ratio of 73% women and 27% men. Whether you crunch the numbers as 76% or 73%, we still think it’s a damn good gender ratio. With the excessive number of magazines that seem to propagate the same male voices over and over and over and over again, we’re glad to offer a counterbalance — even if it’s only partial counterbalance. Especially on today of all days.

The Conium Review 2015 “Count”

The Conium Review 2015 “Count”

%

Female (Total Print & Online)

%

Male (Total Print & Online)

%

Female (Print)

%

Female (Online)

%

Male (Print)

%

Male (Online)

Last year, we took some proactive steps to improve our VIDA count, with an emphasis on growth, reflection, and contentious outreach. We went from a 2013 ratio of 29% female and 71% male to a 2014 ratio of 64% female and 36% male. This year, we’ve continued that momentum. After crunching the numbers, our 2015 count is 76% female and 24% male.

The full breakdown of our 2015 numbers shows 26 self-identified female authors and 8 self-identified male authors throughout the year (34 authors published in total during the calendar year). Of these 26 female authors, 7 were published in print and 19 were published online. Of these 8 male authors, 1 was published in print and 7 were published online.

As with last year’s initiatives, our 2015 numbers were not achieved by quotas — it happened organically as we continued to work on better outreach and marketing to marginalized writers.

When discussing this shift in our journal’s gender parity, it’s important to recognize the impact of behind-the-scenes stats. In 2013, our masthead included 3 self-identified female editors and 5 self-identified male editors for a ratio of 38% female editors and 62% male editors. In 2014, we had 6 female editors and 4 male editors for a ratio of 60% female editors and 40% male editors. In 2015, our staff featured 7 female editors and 4 male editors for a ratio of 64% female and 36% male.

We’re pleased with the strides The Conium Review has made to give a voice to marginalized women writers. This year’s official VIDA count also shows some improved gender ratios by powerhouses like Harper’sGranta, and others (we’re a small press and not included in the official “count,” we tally our own numbers in-house).

For this year’s count, VIDA’s official count has also expanded their metrics. VIDA has tallied stats on race and ethnicity, sexual identity and orientation, and ability. These additions to the VIDA count are based on self-reportage and survey responses. As such, results aren’t as broad a cross-section as the “main count,” but there is enough data to be statistically significant. The results show a handful of publications with diverse bylines, though many major publishers have wide gaps when it comes to equal publication of women of color, LGBTQIA authors, and writers with disabilities. Find the full VIDA count here, and if you’re attending AWP conference, stop by the VIDA exhibit (booth #503).

“Why VIDA Matters to Me: Part II, Words are Power (Or Another Rant about Stephen Tully Dierks),” by James R. Gapinski

Preamble (again, in case you missed Part I)

A few months ago, I was talking about the VIDA “count” with a friend-and-fellow-writer.  The count has been at the forefront of our editorial discussions this year—The Conium Review journal has a large gender gap, but we’re trying to change that this year and beyond.

In the middle of the conversation, my friend-and-fellow-writer said something like “I feel like, as a woman author, I should care about VIDA, but I don’t.  It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Doesn’t matter?”  I couldn’t believe it.  But over the past few months, I’ve dug deeper.  I’ve explored some critiques of VIDA, and I’ve discovered how some writers, editors, and readers consciously or unconsciously determine that underrepresentation and misrepresentation isn’t a ‘big deal.’

I can’t speak for my friend-and-fellow-writer, but I can speak for myself and why VIDA matters to me (and by extension, why the VIDA count is on The Conium Review’s radar).

Part II, Words are Power (Or Another Rant about Stephen Tully Dierks)

While the VIDA count matters to the integrity of literature and books (see “Part I” of this essay), it has deeper connotations too.  Words are power.  By silencing women, the publishing industry explicitly proclaims that women do not matter.  The “important authors” that we read in MFA programs are mostly white men (or maybe not—that depends on your MFA program—but generally speaking, most academic programs venerate a ton of white men alongside tokenistic women and minorities here and there).  Men are the ones who currently have the most omnipresent voice, and so we can’t help but pay attention.  White men have become the metaphoric “megaphone guy” from George Saunders’s essay “The Braindead Megaphone.”  (Yes, I realize Saunders essay isn’t about this topic specifically, but the metaphor fits.)  Men have the power.  Words are power.  Silence is subjugation.

Just look at Stephen Tully Dierks.  I can’t write an essay about misogyny in literature without talking about Dierks.  It’s on everybody’s minds right now.  It’s current.  It’s worth mentioning again, because it speaks to the larger problem (not just a problem with “Alt-Lit,” but a problem with the literary community as a whole).

I didn’t know the name Stephen Tully Dierks before September 30th, when VIDA shared a Facebook link to the Gawker article “Hip Alt-Lit Editor Quits Public Writing Career After Rape Accusations.”  Since then, I’ve read Sophia Katz’s essay, in which she details the sexual assault perpetrated by Dierks.  I’ve read a firestorm of Internet commentary.  I’ve read Dierks’s half-assed apology that included way too many supposed excuses for his despicable actions.  I’ve read about the other victim who came forward.  Whenever something pops up about Dierks, I read it.

Most of the literary community has supported Katz.  Many have taken to the Internet to express well warranted outrage.  A smaller number of people defended Dierks.  While I am all for “innocent until proven guilty,” Dierks’s half-assed social media apology points squarely toward his guilt.  In it, he does not deny Katz’s version of events.  On the subject of Dierks’s apology, I find one line most revealing.  He notes “I clearly gravely misread the situation and Sophia’s actions, words, and silence.”

In Sophia’s account, this silence is evident.  Certainly, she is not silent the entire time.  She tries to talk Dierks out of it.  She says “no” more than once.  But she eventually gives up because he keeps pushing and pushing.  He is offering her a rent-free place to stay in Brooklyn—difficult to come by—and she has no other alternatives besides the street.  He coerces.  He pressures.  He gives her intoxicants.  The entire situation is engineered to throw the balance of power in his favor.  She is silenced by his power.  She had little space to resist.  He forced her, even if he didn’t do it with physical violence.

Dierks says he misread her silence, but silence is not consent.  Again, I do not know Dierks, but from all accounts, he is a predator.  He invited a very young girl to stay at his place—a girl without financial means to escape and stay elsewhere—he tried to impress her with all his connections, he made her sleep in his bed even though she brought a sleeping bag, he waited for the lights to go out, he ignored her whenever she asked to stop or requested that he put on a condom.  He used his power.  He took away her capacity to resist.  He silenced her.

This is a man who worked as an editor.  This is a man who is making decisions on which voices to publish and which to reject.  And while he is the ultimate example of a piece of shit editor on everybody’s mind right now, any editor who willfully silences women is perpetuating a community where people like Dierks can thrive under the radar, his abuse going undetected for quite a while.

While there is a lot of outrage floating across the Internet, many only extend criticism to the Alt-Lit scene.  This problem is bigger than Alt-Lit.  This is a mainstream problem.  Maybe editors are more subtle in the mainstream—maybe they don’t coerce young authors like Dierks did—but they perpetuate the underlying culture that made Dierks believe he was simply “misreading the situation.”

This is why VIDA matters.  We need to shift the balance of power, and it’s something that needs to be addressed across the board, not just in the Alt-Lit scene.  There are gender gaps—and power gaps—everywhere.  Voices are being silenced.  Certainly, the Dierks case is extreme, and these gaps don’t always lead to rape, but they still lead to marginalization and a feeling of helplessness.  The publication gender gap hurts the community as a whole.

Journals need to be part of the solution, not the problem.  It’s like Roxane Gay says in her essay “Beyond the Measure of Men,” “If women aren’t submitting to your publication or press, ask yourself why, deal with the answers even if those answers make you uncomfortable, and then reach out to women writers.”

Because we need Dierks (and others) to look at the literary community and see all the empowered, loud, wholly un-silent women.  We need him to realize that the literary world is one where he is no longer in control.  We can only move toward that goal when women are more widely published.

Talking about Katz, Dierks, consent, and silence is a good start.  The conversation has already exploded across social media, and hopefully it will become something deeper and more reflective than simply calling out Dierks.  We need to call out the entire mindset that preceded this incident.  We need to reflect on the VIDA count now more than ever.

About the Author:

James R. Gapinski is The Conium Review‘s Managing Editor. He holds an MFA in creative writing from Goddard College. His work has appeared in theNewerYork, Line Zero, Heavy Feather Review, and elsewhere. James lives in the Boston area with his partner, two cats, and a collection of 8-bit video games.

“Why VIDA Matters to Me: Part I, Men Only Tell Half the Story,” by James R. Gapinski

Preamble

A few months ago, I was talking about the VIDA “count” with a friend-and-fellow-writer.  The count has been at the forefront of our editorial discussions this year—The Conium Review journal has a large gender gap, but we’re trying to change that this year and beyond.

In the middle of the conversation, my friend-and-fellow-writer said something like “I feel like, as a woman author, I should care about VIDA, but I don’t.  It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Doesn’t matter?”  I couldn’t believe it.  But over the past few months, I’ve dug deeper.  I’ve explored some critiques of VIDA, and I’ve discovered how some writers, editors, and readers consciously or unconsciously determine that underrepresentation and misrepresentation isn’t a ‘big deal.’

I can’t speak for my friend-and-fellow-writer, but I can speak for myself and why VIDA matters to me (and by extension, why the VIDA count is on The Conium Review’s radar).

Part I, Men Only Tell Half the Story

I’m getting tired of hearing the same half of the story on a continuous loop.  Certainly, there are good male authors (I hope I’m one of them), but the literary world is publishing way too many of them while simultaneously ignoring way too many women.  Sure, men are capable of writing new, innovative fiction.  However, that fiction is invariably filtered through the same gendered lens.  We can pretend that gender doesn’t matter, but we secretly know that it does.  Right?  A man, for example, could not write Elissa Schappell’s Blueprints for Building Better Girls.  A woman, for example, could not write Junot Díaz’s Drown.

It’s tough to consider “a man could not write” or “a woman could not write” arguments in isolation, because gender is just one part of who a person is.  You can easily imagine all sorts of differences between authors.  And you can imagine how every iota of difference creates a different experience and a different story and a different lens.  But on a fundamental, broad-stroke level, gender matters.  The underrepresentation of women matters.  VIDA matters.  Because if the publishing industry continues to discriminate against women, we’re ignoring half of the conversation.  We’re missing out on a huge chunk of the human experience.  We’re hearing the same monotone voice over and over, ignoring the women who have entirely unique stories to tell.  Stories that we need to hear.

The male narrative has been shoved down our throats so often that it’s all many readers know.  This brings us back to The Conium Review.  We’re guilty of having a shitty count (VIDA doesn’t officially count us, but we’ve ran our own numbers). However, we’re hitting the reset button, learning from our first four issues, and making changes at the journal.  We’re not going to get truly innovative fiction while only publishing a single worldview.

In a 2011 interview (reprinted in the anthology Paper Dreams), Cate Marvin of VIDA recalls her reaction to the first “count” in 2010; she mentions reading male-dominated literary journals, noting “The fact is, I often felt bored when reading these publications.  (And I felt guilty for being bored!)  Now I know why (whereas before, I felt I ought to be interested).”  Frankly, male authors are starting to bore me too.  It’s not that these authors don’t resonate with my experience.  Some of my favorite authors are men: Etgar Keret and George Saunders, specifically.  But other men on my list o’ faves have been replaced by Aimee Bender, Amelia Gray (super excited that she agreed to judge our Innovative Short Fiction Contest), Lucy Corin, Karen Russell, Karin Tidbeck, and other women.  They tell the other half of the story.  Women turn the literary monologue into a dialogue, and that’s pretty damn exciting.

Even if somebody overlooks the obvious social justice issues, the low publication rates of women matters because it negatively impacts the literary narrative.  We keep getting that tired monologue.  Personally, I want to read a variety of voices.  I don’t want the same ol’ same ol’.  I want to be challenged by what I read (and what I write), and that doesn’t happen when the literary community recycles the same half of the conversation in slightly different packages.  That’s why VIDA matters.  It impacts anybody who loves reading and writing—female and male alike.

About the Author:

James R. Gapinski is The Conium Review‘s Managing Editor. He holds an MFA in creative writing from Goddard College. His work has appeared in theNewerYork, Line Zero, Heavy Feather Review, and elsewhere. James lives in the Boston area with his partner, two cats, and a collection of 8-bit video games.