In the Dream House
Machado’s story is depicted in a highly unconventional form, as her memories and experiences are interwoven alongside references to movies, books, songs, and television series, many of which are not queer. Examples include Star Trek, Finding Nemo, and the movie Gaslight… Although these may not be overtly queer, Machado directs her focus onto a particular aspect of a reference and finds a way to relate it to her experience.
The sheer number of references represents the ways in which Machado had to draw on small scraps of media in order to try to understand her experience: “I have spent years struggling to find examples of my own experience in history’s queer women” (227). This search culminates in her memoir, In The Dream House.
Her queerness plays a major role in the difficulty of this search: “Our culture does not have an investment in helping queer folks understand what their experiences mean” (139). Machado, however, spends the entirety of her memoir trying to do just that.
Machado notices that because of the minimal queer representation existing in media, many stories have been absent from the narrative, like abuse in queer relationships. She takes issue with this absence of representation in the short chapter/fragment titled, “Dream House as Queer Villainy.” This fragment explains that queer characters have been historically coded into movies and media as villains. This is certainly problematic, but Machado argues that the issue with this historical coding is the fact that those characters were the only representations of queerness onscreen: “When so few gay characters appear on-screen, their disproportionate villainy is—obviously—suspect. It tells a single story… and creates real-life associations of evil and depravity” (47).
She argues that the issue is not the queer villains but the disproportionate number of them. A possible solution to this issue is an increase in queer representation, in general, which will allow more diverse stories to be told: “Queer villains become far more interesting among other gay characters…They become one star in a larger constellation; they are put in context…by expanding representation, we give queers the space to be—as characters, as real people—human beings” (47).
Similarly, this relates to Machado’s message about abusive queer relationships. When the only queer story being told is an abusive one, this certainly sends a negative message. But when there is a vast universe of queer stories, these stories of abuse can be seen as representing a more accurate picture of humanity, without being centralized and viewed as being problematic in themselves. She acknowledges that “queer folks need that good PR; to fight for rights we don’t have, to retain the ones we do” (47), but still agonizes over how many stories similar to hers have not been represented in queer canons for the sake of appearing to be “bad press.”
Machado wants readers to understand the reality of abuse: it can happen to and from anyone. She explains, “Women could abuse other women. Women have abused other women. And queers needed to take this issue seriously, because no one else would” (200).
Overall, Machado hopes that future generations of queers will be able to see themselves reflected in media, whether that be positive or negative representation: “I imagine that one day, I will invite young queers over for tea and cheese platters and advice, and I will be able to tell them: you can be hurt by people who look just like you” (232).
