Most importantly, my discussion of "Sacrifice" outlines the hermeneutic strategies that are the currency of SVU's onscreen detectives but also of the competencies of its audience. That is, by relentlessly thematizing the investigation of desire through watching for signs, searching for clues, interrogating recalcitrant suspects, and fabricating plausible stories to fit the evidence, SVU is training its viewers to do the same. I've argued that the suggestion of Olivia's lesbianism is insistently activated by the gendered logics of televisual representation overall, and their interpenetration with the precarious homo/hetero binary. And I've argued that SVU as a text demonstrates this topography in its narratives, which symptomatically interweave the quest for truth and justice with the search for the elusive frontier where normal sexuality and relationships cross into deviance, perversion, and violence, where private acts and desires cross into the public discourse of crime and the televisual spectacularization and commodification of sex. Additionally, I'm claiming here that SVU actively invites its viewers to scrutinize these contradictory fields of overlap for the illicit specters that haunt them -- its marketability depends, after all, on the pleasure of learning the ways of sex detectives. Given a series whose premise is discovering clandestine sexual transgressions, how can we not be ever-vigilant, as an audience, for even the subtlest signs and clues? This exercise expands as fans convene their own detective squads, collectively reviewing the facts and producing explanatory narratives in their own gratifying inquests.
The interpretive networks of fans who see Olivia in an erotic relationship with Alex (or other female characters) synthesize and rework SVU's onscreen languages to articulate the results of their libidinal investigations. Shaping this process is a critical awareness, first of all, of the televisual constraints circumscribing the portrayal of sexuality -- particularly, I've emphasized, in "masculine" genres and at the perilous junction of women and the workplace. Angie B. reiterates the widespread recognition that the generic conditions of this detective series dictate that "the show deliberately does not focus on the personal lives of its characters." This attribute incites and justifies disproportionately intensive deductive formulas: in the rubric of one group (Baby Lurches; now offline), for example, "one drink" between characters in the diegetic realm equates to a sexual liaison, once you control for the program's acute representational restraint. Moreover, I'd contend that many fans are also consciously engaged with the ways the more enfolding contortions of the closet manipulate the visibility of lesbian eroticism, both on- and offscreen. One fan fiction author, LostinTranslation, had this to say about the inspiration for the novelette "Held Within the Beat of Your Heart" {http://www.ralst.com/Held1.HTM}:
The endeavor of selecting an illustrative fan fiction story is even more precarious than with SVU episodes. Even within the loosely-organized agglomeration of web sites, archives, bulletin boards, and blogs that are identifiable as an SVU slash community, there is a staggering diversity of styles, interpretations, and approaches exhibited in fan works. That said, I think "Held Within the Beat of Your Heart" can be taken as typical of the classic subgenre of long stories that mobilize the conventions of lesbian romance, while also engaging slash's beloved "hurt/comfort" trope, wherein one character nurtures another through profound trauma. In a rendition tailored to SVU's signature traumas, "Held" recounts the aftermath of a horrific, almost unthinkable crime: Olivia and Alex have been kidnapped, and our heroine is forced by their captors to sexually violate Alex. While this assault is both an extreme instance and a patent echo of the "sexually-based offenses" SVU screens each week, the text emphasizes that this was one case that was "kicked under the rug as soon as possible" (pt. 1). In a striking contrast to SVU's customarily zealous detective work (one the characters perceive as well), bloody clothes from the scene are given back to the women to be destroyed, and Tutuola "accidentally" wrecks the camera that the perps used to record their brutality (a figure for the television camera, perhaps) -- these are "evidence no one wanted to process" (pt. 2). As in the TV series itself, it is clear that the specter of Olivia and Alex having sex exceeds the bounds of the detectives' epistemological capabilities, and all signs that indicate this prospect must be hastily recontained.
"Held" highlights the precariousness of the boundaries of consent and perversion that SVU, for the most part, works to shore up. Alex's determination to convince Olivia that the latter isn't a rapist is a key element of the story's plot; when Alex first asserts that she "wasn't raped," Olivia bitterly counters that the hospital did a rape kit (pt. 1). By turning to "standard procedure" to classify their experience, Olivia makes manifest the inadequacy of the juridical infrastructure that provides SVU's discursive framework. Alex, in Lost's version, has decidedly kinky tastes that were sickeningly parodied in her non-consensual submission at the hands of the kidnappers. In the course of confessing her proclivities to Olivia, they have this conversation:
If, as I have argued, the sexual violence that SVU investigates is linked to the discursive violence of the border wars that televisual lesbianism epitomizes, "Held" literalizes this connection. The atrocity of the circumstances that bring Olivia and Alex together seems to suggest that the barrier keeping them apart is so potent that it could only be breached by an act of unspeakable brutality. The fact that, here, Olivia and Alex's first sexual experience together is actually an assault recodes the ideologically-charged indictment of slash as "character rape" because it is "a total violation of established characterizations" (Jenkins 466). It is relatively axiomatic in Olivia fan fiction that she and/or Alex are hindered in expressing their desire for each other by their professions or backgrounds -- just as, on the series, any exploration of their personal lives is almost completely precluded. Following the contours of this loaded configuration, "Held" stipulates that Olivia and Alex weren't romantically involved and never communicated their love before they were abducted. Referencing the diegetic restrictions and intensities that draw the outlines of their relationship, Lost writes that, in Olivia's opinion, "Keeping a distance between herself and her investigators could only help Alex maintain her professional integrity," and as a result, "In all the years they'd known one another, last night's dinner [the occasion of their kidnapping] was probably only the fourth or fifth time they'd dined together without Elliot playing the role of the unacknowledged chaperone" (pt. 1). Thus, the despotic vectors that obstruct Olivia and Alex's desire on TV are translated into a fictional labyrinth of agonizing violation and guilt from whence our heroines, in the end, triumphantly emerge.
Giving poignancy to the women's original enforced distance in the story is a recurring motif of each of the characters remembering watching the other. Many of these memories are, in fact, recapitulations of favorite onscreen moments from episodes of SVU: among Olivia's, "the night she and Elliot surprised [Alex] while she was out on a date, her hair up and dressed in a stunning red cocktail dress;... arguing about a case in the hallway outside her office" (pt. 3); among Alex's, "Olivia incongruously dressed in a shimmering black evening dress, standing next to her in front of the window looking into an interrogation room, their fingers accidentally brushing" (pt. 6). The latter passage continues, "Memories segued into fantasies: Olivia and she walking down a corridor and Olivia suddenly pushing her against the wall and claiming her mouth in a kiss, Olivia showing up late one night at her apartment and taking her from behind as she lay sprawled over the dining room table" (pt. 6). That is, observation and imagination, television and fiction, slide effortlessly into one another, often in the substance of a single event: Alex confesses, "The other night when I asked you out to dinner, I was half pretending it was a date" (pt. 3) -- echoing in a more hopeful erotics the rich leveling economies correlating various planes of sexual violence.
As I (along with commentators like Sally Forth and Angie B.) have theorized SVU as a TV program, the elements that conspire to render Olivia unrepresentable as a lesbian onscreen are ultimately extratextual: our culture's pervasive homophobia; the economic imperative to appeal to a mass audience; the gendered hazards bequeathed to television by historical hierarchies and transformations; the insidious ubiquity of the closet. Fan fiction stories like "Held," however, transpose the impediments to Olivia and Alex's romance from outside the text to inside the characters' psyches, reconstituting these oppressions as their individual fears and inhibitions. Even when fics thematize, as they often do, Olivia or Alex's struggle with prejudice or internalized homophobia, these conditions are still located as hang-ups that, while they may seethe with acknowledged violence, can be processed and (usually) overcome inter/personally. Simultaneously, "Held" (and many other stories) also transpose the fans' procedures of watching (obsessive scrutiny of the characters' attire, vigilance for suspect looks and touches), as well as their tendency to fantasize about what they see, into the heads of the characters, converting the viewers' competencies as sex detectives into Olivia and Alex's erotic waltz. What appears is a kind of machine for collapsing TV's divergent registers into each other, a libidinous interface with the perpetual flows of meaning wherein SVU episodes, industry gossip, and fan production penetrate and transform each other -- and it is in this interactive destabilization of the ostensibly obvious perimeters distinguishing text, audience, and metatext that lesbian desire in the televisual sense operates.
The interpretive networks of fans who see Olivia in an erotic relationship with Alex (or other female characters) synthesize and rework SVU's onscreen languages to articulate the results of their libidinal investigations. Shaping this process is a critical awareness, first of all, of the televisual constraints circumscribing the portrayal of sexuality -- particularly, I've emphasized, in "masculine" genres and at the perilous junction of women and the workplace. Angie B. reiterates the widespread recognition that the generic conditions of this detective series dictate that "the show deliberately does not focus on the personal lives of its characters." This attribute incites and justifies disproportionately intensive deductive formulas: in the rubric of one group (Baby Lurches; now offline), for example, "one drink" between characters in the diegetic realm equates to a sexual liaison, once you control for the program's acute representational restraint. Moreover, I'd contend that many fans are also consciously engaged with the ways the more enfolding contortions of the closet manipulate the visibility of lesbian eroticism, both on- and offscreen. One fan fiction author, LostinTranslation, had this to say about the inspiration for the novelette "Held Within the Beat of Your Heart" {http://www.ralst.com/Held1.HTM}:
SVU is a television series about crimes involving sex that rarely explores sexuality itself. Often times SVU traffics in stories involving extreme sexuality, but the underpinnings for such forms of sexual expression are rarely considered beyond a simple psychology that is often heavily moralized. Too often on SVU sexuality is understood within an uncomplicated dynamic of direct cause and effect. Of course, this is nonsense. With Held, I wanted to write a story about a sex crime and sexual expression, I also wanted to write a story in which the two topics would collide in unpleasant ways. I picked a horrific situation because I wanted to use such a thing as the most unlikely of backdrops for a love story. (personal correspondence)In other words, Lost's work is a response to some of the limitations, contradictions, and erasures that mark SVU's texts, to the inescapable infusion of the show's lexicon with normative hierarchies of power that are often rigid and binarized. Lost's project is to deliberately and interactively formulate an alternative vocabulary that reveals the intimacies that SVU attempts to repress between opposing terms like natural and criminal sexuality, romantic and violent erotics.
The endeavor of selecting an illustrative fan fiction story is even more precarious than with SVU episodes. Even within the loosely-organized agglomeration of web sites, archives, bulletin boards, and blogs that are identifiable as an SVU slash community, there is a staggering diversity of styles, interpretations, and approaches exhibited in fan works. That said, I think "Held Within the Beat of Your Heart" can be taken as typical of the classic subgenre of long stories that mobilize the conventions of lesbian romance, while also engaging slash's beloved "hurt/comfort" trope, wherein one character nurtures another through profound trauma. In a rendition tailored to SVU's signature traumas, "Held" recounts the aftermath of a horrific, almost unthinkable crime: Olivia and Alex have been kidnapped, and our heroine is forced by their captors to sexually violate Alex. While this assault is both an extreme instance and a patent echo of the "sexually-based offenses" SVU screens each week, the text emphasizes that this was one case that was "kicked under the rug as soon as possible" (pt. 1). In a striking contrast to SVU's customarily zealous detective work (one the characters perceive as well), bloody clothes from the scene are given back to the women to be destroyed, and Tutuola "accidentally" wrecks the camera that the perps used to record their brutality (a figure for the television camera, perhaps) -- these are "evidence no one wanted to process" (pt. 2). As in the TV series itself, it is clear that the specter of Olivia and Alex having sex exceeds the bounds of the detectives' epistemological capabilities, and all signs that indicate this prospect must be hastily recontained.
"Held" highlights the precariousness of the boundaries of consent and perversion that SVU, for the most part, works to shore up. Alex's determination to convince Olivia that the latter isn't a rapist is a key element of the story's plot; when Alex first asserts that she "wasn't raped," Olivia bitterly counters that the hospital did a rape kit (pt. 1). By turning to "standard procedure" to classify their experience, Olivia makes manifest the inadequacy of the juridical infrastructure that provides SVU's discursive framework. Alex, in Lost's version, has decidedly kinky tastes that were sickeningly parodied in her non-consensual submission at the hands of the kidnappers. In the course of confessing her proclivities to Olivia, they have this conversation:
"There's one other thing, isn't there?"That is, any hint of sexual deviance, even on the windward side of consensuality, brings the weight of the sex police's criminalizing logics down upon them. The fact that it takes such an excruciating journey through physical and emotional violation to bring these characters to the point where they can love each other and still say "We're not monsters" (pt. 6) calls attention to the ways the closet architecture operating in SVU, and in its televisual and social context, circumscribes the desires that can freely emerge -- and demonstrates fans' engagement with these mortal constraints in their own readings.
Her breath leaving her body in a panic, Alex tried a joke. "No wonder the perps confess to you."
Olivia almost missed it. She stopped from denying their conversation was an interrogation by only a split second. Instead she responded to the assumption underneath Alex's bantering.
"Alex, you're not a perp."
"Are you sure?" (pt. 4)
If, as I have argued, the sexual violence that SVU investigates is linked to the discursive violence of the border wars that televisual lesbianism epitomizes, "Held" literalizes this connection. The atrocity of the circumstances that bring Olivia and Alex together seems to suggest that the barrier keeping them apart is so potent that it could only be breached by an act of unspeakable brutality. The fact that, here, Olivia and Alex's first sexual experience together is actually an assault recodes the ideologically-charged indictment of slash as "character rape" because it is "a total violation of established characterizations" (Jenkins 466). It is relatively axiomatic in Olivia fan fiction that she and/or Alex are hindered in expressing their desire for each other by their professions or backgrounds -- just as, on the series, any exploration of their personal lives is almost completely precluded. Following the contours of this loaded configuration, "Held" stipulates that Olivia and Alex weren't romantically involved and never communicated their love before they were abducted. Referencing the diegetic restrictions and intensities that draw the outlines of their relationship, Lost writes that, in Olivia's opinion, "Keeping a distance between herself and her investigators could only help Alex maintain her professional integrity," and as a result, "In all the years they'd known one another, last night's dinner [the occasion of their kidnapping] was probably only the fourth or fifth time they'd dined together without Elliot playing the role of the unacknowledged chaperone" (pt. 1). Thus, the despotic vectors that obstruct Olivia and Alex's desire on TV are translated into a fictional labyrinth of agonizing violation and guilt from whence our heroines, in the end, triumphantly emerge.
Giving poignancy to the women's original enforced distance in the story is a recurring motif of each of the characters remembering watching the other. Many of these memories are, in fact, recapitulations of favorite onscreen moments from episodes of SVU: among Olivia's, "the night she and Elliot surprised [Alex] while she was out on a date, her hair up and dressed in a stunning red cocktail dress;... arguing about a case in the hallway outside her office" (pt. 3); among Alex's, "Olivia incongruously dressed in a shimmering black evening dress, standing next to her in front of the window looking into an interrogation room, their fingers accidentally brushing" (pt. 6). The latter passage continues, "Memories segued into fantasies: Olivia and she walking down a corridor and Olivia suddenly pushing her against the wall and claiming her mouth in a kiss, Olivia showing up late one night at her apartment and taking her from behind as she lay sprawled over the dining room table" (pt. 6). That is, observation and imagination, television and fiction, slide effortlessly into one another, often in the substance of a single event: Alex confesses, "The other night when I asked you out to dinner, I was half pretending it was a date" (pt. 3) -- echoing in a more hopeful erotics the rich leveling economies correlating various planes of sexual violence.
As I (along with commentators like Sally Forth and Angie B.) have theorized SVU as a TV program, the elements that conspire to render Olivia unrepresentable as a lesbian onscreen are ultimately extratextual: our culture's pervasive homophobia; the economic imperative to appeal to a mass audience; the gendered hazards bequeathed to television by historical hierarchies and transformations; the insidious ubiquity of the closet. Fan fiction stories like "Held," however, transpose the impediments to Olivia and Alex's romance from outside the text to inside the characters' psyches, reconstituting these oppressions as their individual fears and inhibitions. Even when fics thematize, as they often do, Olivia or Alex's struggle with prejudice or internalized homophobia, these conditions are still located as hang-ups that, while they may seethe with acknowledged violence, can be processed and (usually) overcome inter/personally. Simultaneously, "Held" (and many other stories) also transpose the fans' procedures of watching (obsessive scrutiny of the characters' attire, vigilance for suspect looks and touches), as well as their tendency to fantasize about what they see, into the heads of the characters, converting the viewers' competencies as sex detectives into Olivia and Alex's erotic waltz. What appears is a kind of machine for collapsing TV's divergent registers into each other, a libidinous interface with the perpetual flows of meaning wherein SVU episodes, industry gossip, and fan production penetrate and transform each other -- and it is in this interactive destabilization of the ostensibly obvious perimeters distinguishing text, audience, and metatext that lesbian desire in the televisual sense operates.
