Blackjack Rick Riordan
Rick Riordan » The Last Olympian. Blackjack slowed down just enough for me to hop off, then he kept flying toward the main doors. I yelled out, 'Lions! Command sequence: Daedalus Twenty-three. Kill Flying Pigs! Begin Activation!' The lions stood up and looked at me. They probably thought I was teasing them. Blackjackis one of the supporting characters in Rick Riordan's mythological series of books. He is one of Percy Jackson's companions.
Not to be dramatic, but I was scarred by this encounter. I was betrayed.
(Don’t worry, I love Uncle Rick.)
At the time of The Last Olympian‘s publishing, Rick Riordan went on a book tour, and one of his stops was at my local community college. I was in seventh grade and at the peak of my Percy Jackson obsession. I was convinced that if I were a demigod, I would be a daughter of Athena. The most recent book, The Battle of the Labyrinth, had played with my emotions with the kiss scene immediately followed by Percy’s near-death experience. I was hyped beyond belief for the dramatic conclusion.
So I went to the event along with my dad. The signing limit was one book per person, so I gave my dad Battle of the Labyrinth and picked up a copy of The Last Olympian at the door. It was packed in there. Stacks of fresh new hardcovers practically lined the walls, and the place was teeming with children and their parents. To my surprise, most of them were younger than me, somewhere from eight to ten years old. I knew that lots of kids my age loved the books, so why weren’t any of them here? Had they not heard about it? Later, I guiltily realized that I hadn’t mentioned it to my friends beforehand, so they very well may not have heard about it.
With all the younglings, the event was a bit raucous, and I can’t remember the exact order of things or what exactly was said. Roughly, I think Rick spoke for a bit, then he took questions, and then there was the signing.
What I do remember is the cardboard cutouts promoting the upcoming movie. Right away, I was suspicious, because Percy Jackson was supposed to have green eyes, and Annabeth most definitely did not have brown hair! I voiced these complaints to my dad, who took them in good humor.
I also remember Rick Riordan promoting the movie and acting pretty excited about it. He said that he had visited the set for Camp Half-Blood and that it was everything he could have imagined. The teaser he showed us looked a bit dark to me, but he was the author. I trusted him. Bolstered by his words, I resolved to look forward to the movie.
I shouldn’t have underestimated all the nine-year-olds. They came prepared with questions, unlike me. One sharp-eyed child asked why Blackjack was originally introduced as female, but later showed up as a male pegasus. Rick admitted that the inconsistency was a mistake not caught in editing.
After questions, we got in line for the signing, which was managed pretty briskly. Nonetheless, Rick was polite and friendly to everyone, allotting enough time to answer one question per person. My dad went before me, and because he was clearly just there in a parental capacity, he moved through pretty quickly. Then I was up. I, stupidly, had not prepared any questions. Rick greeted me and asked for my name, which I gave, and then asked if I had any questions for him, to which I said, “uhh, not really.” He said some other pleasantry, gave back my book, and I was moved along.
Looking back, of course I wish I had asked him something, anything, but my brain shorted out in the moment, and being twelve, I didn’t know what book signings were like. The nine-year-olds were probably warned by teachers or parents, or maybe they were just smarter and more dedicated fans than me. Who knows?
Part of it is definitely a personal trait I didn’t know about until that moment, that I am supremely awkward around celebrities. Not that I’ve met many, but I’ve been to several signings with famous authors since, and I’ve put my foot in my mouth every single time, usually in more embarrassing ways than not having a question ready.
Anyway, I went home, read The Last Olympian, and I was not disappointed in the dramatic conclusion I’d been waiting for.
So where does betrayal come in? If you’re a fan of the series, you may have already picked up on what I’m referring to. That is, the movie.
The movies based on the Percy Jackson series are supremely bad.
I trusted you, Rick Riordan! I went into that theater with expectations of a great movie experience, and that is not what I received! I left the theater disappointed. Disgruntled. Distressed.
It wasn’t until years later that I discovered Rick Riordan’s Twitter account, where he has disavowed any connection with the movies and makes fun of them on a semi-regular basis. And you know what? By that time, I understood. Sometimes a movie deal for your book isn’t what you expected it to be. I’m sure that he was more excited than any fan about it, and as a result, more disappointed when it turned out to be garbage.
In the end, I’m still a huge fan of Rick Riordan, and the existence of some terrible movies that capitalize on his name can’t ruin that for me.
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Pride 2019 marks an important milestone in the movement for LGBTQ rights: the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall riots in New York City. To help commemorate this historic event, we thought we’d share the moving speech Rick gave upon receiving the Stonewall Book Award in 2017 for The Hammer of Thor.
Thank you for inviting me here today. As I told the Stonewall Award Committee, this is an honor both humbling and unexpected.
So, what is an old cis straight white male doing up here? Where did I get the nerve to write Alex Fierro, a transgender, gender fluid child of Loki in The Hammer of Thor, and why should I get cookies for that?
These are all fair and valid questions, which I have been asking myself a lot.
I think, to support young LGBTQ readers, the most important thing publishing can do is to publish and promote more stories by LGBTQ authors, authentic experiences by authentic voices. We have to keep pushing for this. The Stonewall committee’s work is a critical part of that effort. I can only accept the Stonewall Award in the sense that I accept a call to action – firstly, to do more myself to read and promote books by LGBTQ authors.
But also, it’s a call to do better in my own writing. As one of my genderqueer readers told me recently, “Hey, thanks for Alex. You didn’t do a terrible job!” I thought: Yes! Not doing a terrible job was my goal!
As important as it is to offer authentic voices and empower authors and role models from within LGBTQ community, it’s is also important that LGBTQ kids see themselves reflected and valued in the larger world of mass media, including my books. I know this because my non-heteronormative readers tell me so. They actively lobby to see characters like themselves in my books. They like the universe I’ve created. They want to be part of it. They deserve that opportunity. It’s important that I, as a mainstream author, say, “I see you. You matter. Your life experience may not be like mine, but it is no less valid and no less real. I will do whatever I can to understand and accurately include you in my stories, in my world. I will not erase you.”
People all over the political spectrum often ask me, “Why can’t you just stay silent on these issues? Just don’t include LGBTQ material and everybody will be happy.” This assumes that silence is the natural neutral position. But silence is not neutral. It’s an active choice. Silence is great when you are listening. Silence is not so great when you are using it to ignore or exclude.
But that’s all macro, ‘big picture’ stuff. Yes, I think the principles are important. Yes, in the abstract, I feel an obligation to write the world as I see it: beautiful because of its variations. Where I can’t draw on personal experience, I listen, I read a lot – in particular I want to credit Beyond Magenta and Gender Outlaws for helping me understand more about the perspective of my character Alex Fierro – and I trust that much of the human experience is universal. You can’t go too far wrong if you use empathy as your lens. But the reason I wrote Alex Fierro, or Nico di Angelo, or any of my characters, is much more personal.
I was a teacher for many years, in public and private school, California and Texas. During those years, I taught all kinds of kids. I want them all to know that I see them. They matter. I write characters to honor my students, and to make up for what I wished I could have done for them in the classroom.
I think about my former student Adrian (a pseudonym), back in the 90s in San Francisco. Adrian used the pronouns he and him, so I will call him that, but I suspect Adrian might have had more freedom and more options as to how he self-identified in school were he growing up today. His peers, his teachers, his family all understood that Adrian was female, despite his birth designation. Since kindergarten, he had self-selected to be among the girls – socially, athletically, academically. He was one of our girls. And although he got support and acceptance at the school, I don’t know that I helped him as much as I could, or that I tried to understand his needs and his journey. At that time in my life, I didn’t have the experience, the vocabulary, or frankly the emotional capacity to have that conversation. When we broke into social skills groups, for instance, boys apart from girls, he came into my group with the boys, I think because he felt it was required, but I feel like I missed the opportunity to sit with him and ask him what he wanted. And to assure him it was okay, whichever choice he made. I learned more from Adrian than I taught him. Twenty years later, Alex Fierro is for Adrian.
Blackjack Rick Riordan Author
I think about Jane (pseudonym), another one of my students who was a straight cis-female with two fantastic moms. Again, for LGBTQ families, San Francisco was a pretty good place to live in the 90s, but as we know, prejudice has no geographical border. You cannot build a wall high enough to keep it out. I know Jane got flack about her family. I did what I could to support her, but I don’t think I did enough. I remember the day Jane’s drama class was happening in my classroom. The teacher was new – our first African American male teacher, which we were all really excited about – and this was only his third week. I was sitting at my desk, grading papers, while the teacher did a free association exercise. One of his examples was ‘fruit – gay.’ I think he did it because he thought it would be funny to middle schoolers. After the class, I asked to see the teacher one on one. I asked him to be aware of what he was saying and how that might be hurtful. I know. Me, a white guy, lecturing this Black teacher about hurtful words. He got defensive and quit, because he said he could not promise to not use that language again. At the time, I felt like I needed to do something, to stand up especially for Jane and her family. But did I make things better handling it as I did? I think I missed an opportunity to open a dialogue about how different people experience hurtful labels. Emmie and Josephine and their daughter Georgina, the family I introduce in The Dark Prophecy, are for Jane.
I think about Amy, and Mark, and Nicholas . . . All former students who have come out as gay since I taught them in middle school. All have gone on to have successful careers and happy families. When I taught them, I knew they were different. Their struggles were greater, their perspectives more divergent than some of my other students. I tried to provide a safe space for them, to model respect, but in retrospect I don’t think I supported them as well as I could have, or reached out as much as they might have needed. I was too busy preparing lessons on Shakespeare or adjectives, and not focusing enough on my students’ emotional health. Adjectives were a lot easier for me to reconcile than feelings. Would they have felt comfortable coming out earlier than college or high school if they had found more support in middle school? Would they have wanted to? I don’t know. But I don’t think they felt it was a safe option, which leaves me thinking that I did not do enough for them at that critical middle school time. I do not want any kid to feel alone, invisible, misunderstood. Nico di Angelo is for Amy, and Mark and Nicholas.
I am trying to do more. Percy Jackson started as a way to empower kids, in particular my son, who had learning differences. As my platform grew, I felt obliged to use it to empower all kids who are struggling through middle school for whatever reason. I don’t always do enough. I don’t always get it right. Good intentions are wonderful things, but at the end of a manuscript, the text has to stand on its own. What I meant ceases to matter. Kids just see what I wrote. But I have to keep trying. My kids are counting on me.
Rick Riordan Biography
So thank you, above all, to my former students who taught me. Alex Fierro is for you.
Books By Rick Riordan
To you, I pledge myself to do better – to apologize when I screw up, to learn from my mistakes, to be there for LGBTQ youth and make sure they know that in my books, they are included. They matter. I am going to stop talking now, but I promise you I won’t stop listening.