1. Introduction
[1.1] In the world of fan fiction, comments are one of many forms of engagement, functioning as both literary feedback and reviews that sustain the community and honor, even canonize, favorite texts. Here I particularly attend to comments and reviews found in the fandom for 1999 young adult (YA) novel Speak, by Laurie Halse Anderson, about an adolescent victim-survivor (note 1) of rape named Melinda. How Speak fans respond to reimaginings of a rape story is significant; studying fandoms dedicated to reimagining YA sexual assault narratives might provide fresh understandings for fan community responses to rape in stories.
[1.2] Speak fan fiction reviews can be understood as gestures toward ensuring that rape culture (note 2) does not thrive in passive acceptance, as many offer careful engagements exercised with restraint, respect, and often even a tentative tenderness. This suggests that trauma-informed responses are evident in distributed mentorship (Aragon and Davis 2019), where they comprise a dynamic, nuanced, and rich advice network. In this project, ally behavior presents in such mentorship, enacted with "moral imperatives of pursuing social justice and validating differences" (DeTurk 2011, 575). However, because reviewers' intentions are unknown, their words represent what I call allyish behavior because their contributions imply support for those affected by sexual violence—ally-"ish" to emphasize the "sort-of" nature of the idea while playing with expressions of allyship.
[1.3] With this in mind, the presence of discourses of celebration, criticality, and vulnerability, as well as pedagogic discourses that wrangle with rape culture, suggests that this fandom functions as a community archive with allyish, critically supportive offerings that surface during distributed mentorship. The Speak community may thus be considered transformative in how it compiles and contributes to knowledge about combating sexual violence and rape culture, which demand new imaginings (Buchwald, Fletcher, and Roth 2005). Speak fan fiction reviews provide nuanced commentary that remains attentive to possible vulnerabilities. Such commentary is also significant labor, be that labor activist, creative, emotional, or instructive. Indeed, fan labor is a critical component of fan studies as well as a feminist concern (Busse 2015).
[1.4] As such, I examined all (at the time of this writing) 888 fan readers' comments and reviews in the Speak book canon across 99 stories on both Archive of Our Own (AO3; https://archiveofourown.org/) and FanFiction.net (FFN; https://www.fanfiction.net/). I selected FFN and AO3 because they are popular fan fiction platforms that are open to the public with no login required to access content (Rouse 2021). FFN in particular, considered a "center of gravity in fan culture" (Winter, Salter, and Stanfill 2021, 3), mostly has adolescent users (Yin et al. 2017)—important when exploring YA fan fiction. Finally, both FFN and AO3 have proven staying power, having been around since 1998 and 2009, respectively. Other formerly flourishing fan fiction platforms from this era have declined in use or have disappeared altogether, like LiveJournal and Angelfire.
[1.5] Speak fandom is largely housed across these two platforms, which I join scholars similarly interested in adolescent literacy learning in using for my own research. Although these sites are by no means perfect (Lammers and Palumbo 2017), they have many affordances. By analyzing fan fiction shared across these platforms, I aim to demonstrate how Speak commentary might be understood as an archive of a particular form of distributed mentorship that acts across many valences. It models strategies for supportive responses to sexual assault stories; provides entry points into negotiating meaningful conversations about survivorship, victimhood, and violence; and establishes sites for nuanced forms of respite from rape cultures that diminish and/or thwart testimony and witnessing.
2. Fan fiction and its commentary
[2.1] Fan fiction is deeply communal, intertextual (Popova 2018), and pedagogical (Black 2008, 2011; Booth and Yung Lee 2021; Garcia 2016; Lammers, Magnifico, and Wang 2022). It is filled with deep emotional engagements (Kelley 2021) and has the capacity to intervene in cultural power dynamics, such as disrupting canons (Chander and Sunder 2007). Indeed, the considerable connections and learning ongoing within fan fiction platforms signals how they are "far from mere shallow repositories of pop culture" (Aragon and Davis 2019, 1). How these platforms cultivate community is crucial, as readers can directly respond to fannish creative expressions in their online forums. While fan fiction is a labor of love, so too is the archive and the community (Aragon and Davis 2019). This is because fan fiction largely operates in what Marcel Mauss ([1925] 1990) famously describes as a gift culture or gift economy. Applied to fandom, a gift economy is one in which "fan cultural production is often motivated by social reciprocity, friendship, and good feelings, rather than economic self-interest" (Jenkins 2013, xxx). Stories and engagement are offered without expectation of compensation; instead, many respond with emotional energy and produce the affordances that Jenkins describes (note 3). The review sections are thus complex spaces where communities are uniquely fostered and negotiated.
[2.2] Usually, especially among young fans and their readers, primarily positive communities exist (Aragon and Davis 2019). Like fics, reviews "represent forms of voice—the voices of those who have taken the time to read and respond" (Black et al. 2019, 41), and these voices make up an "indispensable component" (Shang et al. 2021, 171), one desired both "in quantity and in quality, which contribute to a fanfiction writer's legitimacy" (Lammers and Marsh 2015, 280) on platforms like AO3 and FFN. Rebecca Black (2011) argues that such participation moves beyond posting for entertainment; rather, these offerings represent sophisticated learning competencies such as collaboration, genre studies work, and peer review. They also function as crucial feedback (Black 2008, 2011; Curwood 2013; Lammers 2013; Magnifico, Curwood, and Lammers 2015). Indeed, there is "a long-standing practice for fan fiction authors to receive help or ask for assistance," such as with "plot development, characterization, background information about the fandom, or a simple grammar and spelling review" (Rouse 2021, ¶ 1.1). Fan fiction platforms therefore boast significant communities, affinity spaces (Gee 2004), and participatory cultures (Jenkins 2006, 2009).
3. Speak fandom
[3.1] Part of the appeal of fan fiction is its "relative 'safety'"—that is, the notion that "the characters, worlds, and plots already exist, and the (often young) writer only needs to rearrange these elements, while adding a few of their own for flavor. There is no pressure, so the writer is free to explore their creativity to its fullest" (Weiler 2019, 16). Understanding fan fiction as largely safe and with "no pressure" is especially significant when considering fan fiction that rewrites sexual assault. Rape stories are often riddled with pressures simultaneously coercive, intimate, legal, and societal; Speak fans then do the difficult work of creatively wrangling with rape culture through a teenage girl's experience of it.
[3.2] Speak has been a sensation for over twenty years. It is award winning, hugely popular with both adults and children, commonly taught, and widely analyzed (Latham 2021; Malo-Juvera 2014; Park 2012). As a result of its influence, a small but significant fandom has been established, mostly on FFN but also scattered across other platforms. This follows a general trend wherein youth often start on FFN, where they experience mentoring as beginners, then later, when they are older, move to AO3 (Aragon and Davis 2019).
4. Theoretical and conceptual frameworks: Feminist archives, distributed mentorship, and allyship
[4.1] Archives are central to fan fiction cultures; consider, after all, that I am discussing one here named the Archive of Our Own—though most fan fiction sites can be understood as such. They can be multigenre archives; they can be more specific; they are sometimes even moderated (Johnson 2014). An archive is a collection of records, like the internet itself; numerous modern technologies allow for memory and preservation work (note 4), and digital archiving "has been most enthusiastically embraced by nonprofessionals—by amateurs, fans, hackers, pirates, and volunteers—in other words, by 'rogue' memory workers" (De Kosnik 2016, 2). Such rogue memory work is significant because it is radical to claim space, create and curate history, and refuse erasure. Thus, the diverse spaces and places of archives broadly are meaningful for fan studies generally, and for my project in particular.
[4.2] Archive theorists have done much work outside my scope here, but I draw from a few key understandings from feminist scholars who explore this notion. Archives are first understood as places of power. As McGregor, Rak, and Wunker (2018) note, archives with feminist activity are rare because "the labour of feminist activism so often goes unarchived, urgent in its moment but forgotten retroactively" (15). (Their work is an attempt to archive, curate, and explore what is being done in response to systemic oppressions such as rape culture and racism ongoing in the Canadian literature community and industry.) My project holds that an archive can be "a site and practice integral to knowledge making, cultural production, and activism" (Eichhorn 2013, 3). The work of Ann Cvetkovich (2003) also informs this project, especially her assertion that "trauma challenges common understandings of what constitutes an archive" (7), because under examination are fan responses to trauma stories. Finally, archives are acknowledged here as unstable entities, "paradoxical as both a concept and a concrete object; the archive is action in the same moment that it is a container" (Wunker 2016, 67).
[4.3] These larger ideas undergird how archives are potentially rich sites for feminist work, specifically as places where allyish behavior might thrive and permit pushback against rape culture. Let me return to FFN and AO3. These platforms hold great feminist archival potential. As Alexis Lothian and Mel Stanfill (2021) argue, AO3 is often understood as feminist and queer. An example of this is the site's early adoption of the use of content notes to warn of potentially triggering material, especially to signal sexual violence in fan fiction. This practice is in keeping with larger feminist efforts to support victim-survivors from retraumatization, and it importantly provides a mechanism that implements choice and decision power over what readers encounter. However, as Lothian and Stanfill suggest, the feminist aims of platforms such as AO3 need more intersectional and/or abolitionist efforts; they also need to be more responsive with antiracist policies and practices. Indeed, such social justice measures are urgently needed so that promising work—like the allyish distributed mentorship discussed here—continues to thrive in more enhanced, equitable platforms committed to ongoing efforts to revise and reimagine them for diverse users.
[4.4] I use Cecilia Aragon and Katie Davis's (2019) concept of distributed mentoring to better understand the particular community building happening in Speak fandom. Distributed mentorship, theorized during an in-depth nine-month ethnography that explored fan fiction communities, is "where people of all ages and experience levels engage with and support one another through a complex, interwoven tapestry of cumulatively sophisticated advice and informal instruction" (2)—that is, it is "a complex, reciprocal network of advice" (31). It is characterized by seven primary attributes: aggregation, accretion, acceleration, abundance, availability, asynchronicity, and affect. For example, though these attributes are interwoven, considering the intense nature of Speak, affect is especially important for building "positive emotional resonance" (44) in this fandom. This concept is also appropriate because much Speak fan fiction is inspired by its classroom use, as I note elsewhere (Moore 2022a, 2022b). Aragon and Davis (2019) investigate it because of its potential for literacy learning. However, as their research found, "powerful and unexpected developments were occurring in fan fiction communities that had the potential to improve young people's lives far beyond [literacy learning]" (3). That rings true for this project, which shows how distributed mentorship is often enmeshed with allyish work, as Speak reviewers contribute to environments that are supportive of sexual assault narratives.
[4.5] Next, the complicated concept of allyship, which is "laden with multiple, layered assumptions" (Scaramuzzo, Bartone, and Young 2021, 381), is used. Allyship has been importantly contested (Indigenous Action Media 2015; Powell and Kelly 2017; Sheridan 2017). It is understood here as meaningful solidarity work involving risk, particularly if the ally holds power and seeks to work for change despite not directly benefiting from it (DeTurk 2011; Gaffney 2016; Tatum 1994). However, much of the distributed mentorship that goes on in the Speak reviews is understood here as allyish because although it is not explicitly offered in alignment with, for example, antirape activist efforts, it often contains more nuanced, subtler forms of ally communication (DeTurk 2011), conveying community safety, respect for art, and trust. Being allyish is about showing rather than telling; reviews often show evidence of allyship even though reviewers do not explicitly tell readers that they are allies and/or express that their comments are a form of digital activism. Rather, allyish behavior is an interdependent social practice as readers comment to celebrate, encourage, and push fan fiction authors. In many ways, fan fiction largely depends on artist-ally relationships, usually realized in the comment sections.
5. Research process
[5.1] These findings come from a larger ongoing research project that uses feminist critical discourse analysis (Lazar 2007, 2017) to examine fan fiction written in response to YA sexual trauma texts, as I have discussed elsewhere (Moore 2022a, 2022b, 2023a, 2023b). Here, I address a couple further research questions. What is the pedagogical potential of this fan fiction, and what pedagogic discourses emerge in its community commentary? In what ways do fan fiction participatory communities archive stories of sexual assault?
[5.2] The data collected and analyzed consisted of all fan readers' reviews found in the Speak book canon across both AO3 and FFN during the data acquisition period of September to December 2021. Most Speak fics are on FFN, likely because of this platform's creation in 1998, the year before the novel was released; AO3 debuted in 2008. Because Speak fandom is small, especially compared to other YA novel bookverses (notably Harry Potter and Twilight fandoms), all 888 English-language written reviews of 99 Speak stories were analyzed. Fics and accompanying reviews written in languages other than English were not included in the data set. In addition, ten stories were either not reviewed at all or were inappropriately archived, so I excluded them. Reviews ranged from brief to lengthier sharings; the longest was 342 words. As mentioned, some fics received no or few reviews while others generated many; the most reviewed fic had 118 comments.
[5.3] Because all studied data were freely available, this study did not require approval from an institutional review board. However, I adhered to ethical considerations. While fan fiction authors were contacted, informed of this research, and invited to share comments, questions, and suggestions, I agree with Brit Kelley (2021) that contacting reviewers "is nearly impossible" and that it is "disruptive" to gain their consent, especially because reviewers "generally only respond to emails regarding their own writing" (40). I therefore refrain from citing story titles or including usernames in an effort to protect reviewers' anonymity. Further, most reviewers use pseudonymous usernames or guest profiles, minimizing risk. It is worth noting that fan scholars have necessarily diverse views on research ethics and others might use different approaches; as such, in an effort to contribute to thinking around this subject with transparency, my decision making was also informed by my experiences as an educator and a feminist whose research attends to sexual violence and rape cultures.
[5.4] For analysis, all reviews were put into a word processing document for analytic memoing that captured initial analysis, ideas, questions, and wonderings. Memoed copies were then uploaded into NVivo qualitative data analysis software for two cycles of line-by-line coding analysis. Like Jennifer Duggan's (2017) Harry Potter fandom research, I also found that reviews could be coded more than once; for example, "That was so in character for Melinda!" was coded as both Authenticity and Praise. Reviews were overwhelmingly positive, filled with encouragement (n = 606, 68 percent) and requests for more (n = 255, 29 percent). Very few (n = 7, 0.7 percent) offered harsh criticism, which is in keeping with fannish trends to be helpful and positive; wholly negative responses are considered impolite (Finn 2017). I would argue that only a single Speak comment ("your [sic] an ass") is "flaming"—that is, "hurtful and nonproductive" and "intended to cause emotional injury" (Reagle 2015, 79).
[5.5] I found that the commentary across Speak fandom includes discourses of (1) celebration, (2) criticality, (3) vulnerability, and (4) pedagogic discourses that demonstrate how fan fiction authors and reviewers teach and learn as they wrangle with rape culture. The commentary suggests that Speak fandom produces opportunities for providing rhetorical support for sexual assault narratives, leading to a kind of community archive of allyship—or at the very least, sort of ally-"ish" offerings across the distributed mentorship. I attend to each of these discourses in turn.
6. Speak's celebratory discourses
[6.1] Fannish engagement usually represents a range of responses, from admiration to anger. However, Speak reviews often present discourses of celebration to communicate enthusiasm and support; for example, as discussed, 68 percent (n = 606) of reviews were coded as Praise, 29 percent (n = 255) were coded as Wanting more (as opposed to the code Demanding more), and 4 percent (n = 40) expressed a shared deep interest in Speak.
[6.2] Celebratory comments are largely descriptive and sometimes analytic, often including precise feedback. For example, one appended to a story written from the perspective of Melinda's former best friend reads, "I'm impressed with the way you've portrayed this (as you so awesomely put it) 'bastard of a girl,' resisting the urge to make her redeemable." Other examples include "Very awesome, as well as very well-written […] especially this part…" and "I love your very last line in particular: 'nothing no science could ever explain.'" However, most were more straightforwardly enthusiastic and brief: "simply beautiful," "FANTASTIC," "10/10 would read again!" and "Once again, I am blown away by this chapter!" Some are what Black (2008) deems "OMG standards": a common comment beginning with the acronym for "oh my god." Some include exaggerated excitement: "omgggg this is amazinggg!" and "omg are you like the author in disguise or something?" These OMG comments might also sometimes be understood as a crossover with what I call fangirl comments, which, despite being perceived as "[not] particularly serv[ing any] great purpose" (Lammers 2013, 381), nevertheless convey support and model positive talk—an ally communication strategy (DeTurk 2011).
[6.3] Overall, these brief, bright comments provide platforms with airy, light, and friendly atmospheres—a distinct departure from the canon text and several fics; words such as "cute" and "sweet" were offered thirty-four times and twenty-one times, respectively. One reviewer even expressed admiring confusion as to why a fic only had a single review. Many also celebrated how the canon text and its author had affected them. One reviewer had "just finished the wonder that is Speak the other day," and they "of course" "rush[ed] off to find fanfiction that relates to it," deeming the fic being reviewed "a jewel." Another admitted to fanning so intensely as to be chastised by their mother for reading Speak "too many times." Because they were not actually allowed to read it "for a while," they read its fan fiction instead.
[6.4] In addition to this overwhelming praise, many reviews demonstrated peer support, expressing eagerness to read additional chapters; they subsequently requested updates and/or additional stories. For example, "update" was offered 104 times, "please" came up 168 times, and "more" was typed 181 times. As such, alongside praise came pleas for more art, often couched in compliments. For example, one reads, "I love this so much…I want to print it and keep it on my bookshelf." In these ways and more, the reviewers very much "support one another's growth as writers" (Aragon and Davis 2019, 28). More specifically, Speak reviewers support authors specifically addressing sexual violence, with these encouragements creating a celebratory chorus. Such reviews serve as motivation for exploring violent experiences that are all too often silenced and/or shamed, which is perhaps especially poignant for many of those offered before 2017, or shortly after Tarana Burke's #MeToo movement exploded into popular discourse. Even now, tackling rape culture on the internet is highly fraught, and as much research shows regarding antirape digital activism, many experience difficulties (Jane 2017; Mendes, Ringrose, and Keller 2019; Keller 2019). As such, although the celebratory discourses in Speak fandom might consist of short, simple, and/or subtle offerings, they are nevertheless meaningful, indicative of a supportive palimpsest of possible or allyish communication and mentorship.
7. Speak's critical discourses
[7.1] Criticality surfaced through how fans valued authenticity; offered constructive criticism, suggestions, and requests; raised questions; engaged in intertextual work; and mused on the writing process in their reviews. In addition to much of this criticality functioning as generative and generous offerings that hold allyish possibility, such work is also pedagogical through the commenters' digital literacy instruction (Lammers 2013). After all, "teachers and editors have long recognized the difficulties in responding to writing about severe trauma" (Walker 2021, 235). Considering how likely it is that many Speak fans are adolescents (Moore 2022a, 2022b), as well as how much Speak fan fiction begins in or is inspired by English language arts curricula, it is meaningful that so many have engaged in this intimidating work.
[7.2] Much emphasis is placed on capturing the essence of a canon text; "A lot of the way readers and writers make meaning from fanfiction is through similarities and differences with the originary work" (Popova 2021, 32). Many reviewers appreciate when authors "respect the chemistry" and "understand why the original was good in the first place" (Kessel 2019, 37). This is especially evident in Sherlock Holmes fandom—so much so that an "anxiety of authenticity" influences some to stay true to the original plot and narrative organization (Nyqvist 2017). This attention surfaces in reviewer comments regarding degrees of authenticity and to what extent authors managed to capture characters and tone; nearly 13 percent (n = 112) of Speak reviews addressed this issue. Many spoke of Melinda's unique voice, made up of sharp insight and wit, especially regarding adolescence and gender dynamics; indeed, Melinda "finds her strength despite her lack of a traditional voice" (McGee 2009, 176). Speak reviews include brief comments regarding authenticity such as "It feels so true to the characters" and "You captured her thoughts so well." However, others were more critical, such as one fan who lamented, "Most of the fan fiction of Speak I think sucks because they create a Melinda character who Speaks freely and openly right after the book ends. I cannot imagine that sort of transformation overnight for her. Selective mutism is a complex mental health disorder and the chances of a voice switch being flipped is slim."
[7.3] Although this reader enjoyed this fic, they critiqued the fandom's seemingly neat handling of Melinda's ability to overcome her trauma, disclose her attack, and Speak up against her rapist. Another reader was blunt about the author's creative embellishments, noting, "Laptop? Blackberry? Yahoo? Come on, did you even read the book? Check the date! That stuff shouldn't be in the story. And you don't do her personality right, she's super annoying." Fans' attention to authenticity is important because it might be indicative of their respect for and carefulness with an adolescent victim-survivor character. Unfortunately, rape disclosures are frequently not believed or are blamed, much like in Speak. This context casts Speak fan readers in a slightly different light, suggesting that their solidarity with the original story perhaps goes beyond concerns around artistic choice. There might be a kind activist attention in their witnessing of these fresh versions of Melinda's trauma story.
[7.4] Other constructive criticism, suggestions, requests, and questions also appear, demonstrating considerable engagement (n = 103, 12 percent). Much of this criticality was exercised with an ethics of care. For example, one reviewer wrote: "But if you can, I'm really sorry for saying this, it sounds so rude but could you please make David more like David? I mean you know like a brainiac and possible future law material. Would David really cut class? Oh my God, I'm really sorry this sounds so, so bad but please know that I honestly love the story apart from the cutting class thing." Here the reviewer seemed to perseverate as they request a shift in writing, apologizing with "please" twice each; they conclude with a plea for understanding their enjoyment. In many such moments, feedback is offered in an apologetic, couched, and generous way to combat potential discouragement. Reviewers also offered suggestions politely and with enthusiasm; examples include: "perhaps some description or dialogue in between the stark exposition would help texture this piece a little. Either way, I enjoyed it" and "Next time try and proofread a bit more but other than that you are doing really great!" Some constructive criticism was offered as questions, conveying an invested interest: "Woah, why did David suddenly pin Derek?" and "How come Melinda forgot her Japanese after her obsession with Manga?" Some questions invited personal connection and community building: "Are you into, like, supernatural novels and stuff like that? :D" This also leads to another way in which readers engage in criticality: making intertextual connections. Texts that readers likened Speak fics to included Stephen King's Carrie (1974), Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series (2005–8), Wendelin Van Draanen's novel Runaway (2012), the musical Wicked (2003), the film Finding Nemo (2003), and music by bands like Jimmy Eat World and Flyleaf.
[7.5] Finally, some (n = 19, 2 percent) mused about the writing process. Likely understanding just how vulnerable it is to share writing online, many of these critical comments were validating. While some were shorter, supportive snippets such as "You're amazing at writing," others were more involved. One instructs, "That was a great poem. You have a gift. Use it well." Another likened the writing to that of Laurie Halse Anderson herself. A teacher left an encouraging review, musing about the politics of teaching intense books, and concluded with compliments and coaxing the author to write more. Therefore, encouragement and praise far outweighed any overly critical responses. What constructive criticism did surface was usually communicated respectfully and sometimes sheepishly. As Aragon and Davis (2019) argue, "This positive atmosphere stands in stark contrast to the vitriol found in many other corners of the internet. It also provides a welcome oasis for youth" (106). The distributed mentoring also seems especially allyish here because encouraging writers to continue writing about sexual trauma is also supportive of contributions to rape culture discourse.
8. Speak's vulnerability discourses
[8.1] Discourses of vulnerability arose, especially because 10 percent (n = 90) of reviewers made self-focused comments. Reviewers sought personal and community connections, expressed sincere gratitude, engaged in nostalgia and/or memory work, and offered embodied responses. This indicates how fan fiction allows and indeed encourages boundaries between authors and readers to break, especially because fans often function as both (Thomas 2011), and for communities attentive to sexual violence to be built. In considering how "readers' use of fanfiction is indeed precarious because of the violent material it often contains" (Vischer Bruns 2021, 27), as well as how fan fiction is written in response to a popular story about rape, the vulnerability exhibited becomes especially meaningful.
[8.2] First, a handful of reviewers made self-focused comments where they seemed to want to either express personal connections or seek out community connection, with some mapping out lived experiences onto the stories and in their offerings. Sample comments in this vein include: "I don't miss middle school either," "[the story] made me feel the exact same emotions that David was feeling," and "I've never read a story that made me feel so distant from my life." As Cristina Vischer Bruns (2021) discusses regarding a popular Sherlock Holmes fan fiction author, some comments the author received on her violent slash fic became "troubling" (24) because comments sometimes included disclosures of addiction, mental health struggles, and trauma. In addition to these confessional sharings, some fans sought connection by asking that their own fan fiction be read and reviewed, noting commonalities between fics and requesting private messages: "Maybe you could message me back. We could chat. Thanks."
[8.3] Other discourses of vulnerability emerged through more sentimental and/or intense expressions, such as through gratitude, nostalgia and memory work, and embodied responses. While many reviewers offered quick appreciation ("Thank you very much for this story"), others added more; for example, one seemed almost apologetic or bashful, writing, "I would thank you again, but it'd probably annoy you. Nevermind, I'll do it anyway. Thank you for writing." There is a self-consciousness here, but one overrun by admiration. In another, a comment reads like a stream of consciousness punctuated by ellipses before concluding with, "What I'm trying to say is thank you." This is indicative of how many reviewers express gratitude through reviewing, even if they might seem rambling, reactive, or rushed. Additionally, some reviewers exercised vulnerability by sharing their senses of nostalgia for reading Speak and engaging in memory work by recalling their first experiences of reading the canon text, with remarks like "it took me back," "I haven't read this book in probably 15 years but I immediately remembered it, because you nailed the tone," and "I was completely immersed back into the world of Speak in this chapter."
[8.4] Finally, some fans offered more embodied responses, expressing experiences of felt sense while reading. Short examples include: "I feel so much pain for Melinda," "How can you do this to my feels, man?" "IM DYING," "I laughed so hard," "I felt it in my stomach," "your poem sent shivers down my spine," and "It made me feel the exact same emotions." Several reviewers used asterisks to convey physical reactions including, "*kisses computer screen*," "*cheers*," "*regains composure*," "*shudders*," and "*glomps*." The asterisk, which has many uses, is symbolically significant here because it "provide[s] direction to human life" (Barca 2015, 157)—in this case, physical responses to fan fiction. Such embodied responses demonstrate narrative immersion and offer vivid points of connection. This also communicates that they value embodied ways of knowing, such as the understandings that emerge from trauma experiences.
9. Pedagogy about rape culture
[9.1] Aragon and Davis (2019) argue, "Clearly, a great deal of knowledge formation, learning, and discovery are taking place online, and young people are creating new ways to learn from and teach one another" (45). Later, they ascertain that in their research, they found that "authors also learned life lessons beyond writing from participating in fan communities" (62). This is true in Speak fandom, where some pedagogic discourses about rape culture surfaced, suggesting that the digital space of the commentary sections of fan fiction written in response to sexual assault narratives are significant places for connecting with and contributing to a community that takes rape culture seriously and aims to transform it through storytelling. These discourses especially emerged through implications or direct disclosures of trauma in reviews, effectively portraying reviewers' validations regarding sexual assault/and or rape culture.
[9.2] A few reviews included either explicit disclosures of trauma or implied familiarity with Melinda's experiences of bullying, neglect, and rape. In the same vein as Judith Franco's (2013) research on EastEnders (1985–) fan fiction inspired by its sexual abuse story lines, a few Speak fans identified with the injured (in this case, traumatized) female character. Said another way, a few comments perhaps "speak to hidden histories of violence" (Ferreday 2015, 32). This especially seemed to emerge when reviewers made note of narrative elements that rang true (or not) to them, based on their own testimonies and witnessing. For example, reviewers shared, "Nice story. It speaks to me in a way," "[this poem] really meant something to me & I can kind of relate to it," and "I have been bullied in real life and cyber many times (another sad face)." These are moments where distributed mentoring grows especially allyish; offering connections and kinds of disclosures is a vulnerable act that validates this art, might empower others to exercise such vulnerability, and strengthens community. A few reviewers explicitly spoke to how fan fiction resonated because either they or a loved one has contended with sexual trauma. One actually critiqued the depiction of rape in the canon text, finding the fan fiction to be more successful: "I kinda hated Speak…being a victim myself…I don't think they portrayed it right, however I'm kinda in love with this story!" Another remarked that a fic helped them better witness the trauma testimony of a friend: "Wow. I don't think I've ever read such a moving poem about this subject. I have a friend going through this, and your work really helped me to feel what she must be going through. You should try and get this published other places, too, so it can help more people. Thank you."
[9.3] This comment demonstrates how many fans have experienced allyish distributed mentoring through "emotional support […] which has helped them navigate difficult periods in their lives" (Aragon and Davis 2019, 62). In an analysis of the hockey RPF community, Milena Popova (2021) notes that comments "invite the reader to consider the emotional and material impact that the rape and the resulting experiences are likely to have on the complainant" (101). This last Speak comment also invites readers to have similar considerations and recognize the pedagogical possibilities of the story and encourage the author to circulate it further. These comments seem to hold resonances of feminist energy in how they extend attention to sexual violence and rape culture, allowing users to build on the foundational work of fan fiction authors responding to Speak and "politicize the personal […] by making it visible" (Clark-Parsons 2021, 2).
[9.4] Several reviewers also applauded authors for aptly capturing Speak's intense subject matter: "I love how she [Melinda] doesn't blame herself for anything that happened." Here the reviewer contradicts the common reaction of victim-survivors blaming themselves, and sharing this is a kind of allyish distributed mentoring. The reviewer has educated themself, and their comment might educate others. Another reviewer praises the story for its "realism," and a third commends the author: "I'm really pleased to read something where a rape survivor is able to carry on and have a normal life with people who love her, and whom she trusts. So many writers treat the subject of rape pretty clumsily, but you avoided that nicely."
[9.5] This reviewer is right: rape is often treated clumsily in mass media and popular culture, where it is all too often used as a plot device to amplify drama. As such, they "make explicit, rhetorical efforts to promote social change" (DeTurk 2011, 579) with their allyish post that also instructs how to address this subject matter with nuance. Relatedly, one reviewer notes an author's restraint with "I like how you just hint," refraining from "divulg[ing] every detail." Two others still seemingly resisted the common ableist impulse to jump toward a healing journey for victim-survivors, with one gently critiquing, "Maybe show that she's still in progress. Like, she's still having some nightmares or something (after all, it's only been one year)." The second remarks: "I like how Melinda is still on her way to recovery and not all of a sudden talking and her perfect self again like these other stories."
10. Conclusion
[10.1] It must be mentioned that a single comment stood out as sinister. An "Andy Evans" (the rapist in Speak), commented on one story: "Melinda is mine." Although this reply is thankfully an outlier, it is an upsetting reminder of rape culture's insidiousness. It is hard to see role-playing as a rapist as anything less than threatening. Speak fandom is not free from harassment or violence, demonstrating how fan fiction platforms remain largely hostile places for many.
[10.2] And yet. The Speak reviews chart over two decades' worth of efforts done by (likely) mostly adolescents to express excitement and validation for reimagined sexual assault stories with care and consideration. This is especially important because the reviews produce evidence of what Lindy West (2019) claims: that "young people are here and strong and smart and fierce and they do not intend to die. They are artists and scientists and leaders, and we must show up and fight for them, and with them, every day until we die" (251). Indeed, many young people have influenced the larger societal discourses surrounding rape culture (Keller 2019; Ringrose and Renold 2012; Mendes, Ringrose, and Keller 2019). Obviously, young people are also critical, creative fans too, and as I argue here, many Speak reviews are reflective of these qualities in readers, and their efforts can influence how future fans might use an ethics of care in response to fics that attend to sexual violence.
[10.3] Overall, this project draws from understandings of feminist archives, allyship, and distributed mentorship to analyze community building, meaning making, and negotiation across the platforms that house Speak fandom. These comments and reviews demonstrate how fan fiction platforms can be generative for feminist consciousness building around the topic of sexual trauma because Speak fans can produce, rewrite, and connect testimonies, both real and fictive. Speak fans are attentive to the possible needs and vulnerabilities of the authors, characters, and readers; further, they function as a crucial support for fannish creative works through the activist, creative, emotional, and instructive labor that they offer. This project also shows how Speak fans engage with AO3 and FFN in ways that present as trauma informed, thereby showcasing the affordance of platforms/archives with increasing feminist capacities.