A physically and emotionally scarred man returns to his hometown after many years of having lived away in the city. His mother has died and he's there to clean out her home. He also reunites with his first lover, a man who has stagnated rather than thrived in this town. There is so much tender feeling packed into this slim melancholy novella which describes the actions of his days. The tenderness is primarily sore, but it's also warm and sensual. How is it possible to describe the rollicking mixture of emotions for someone who escaped a violent childhood and has now returned to this location packed with personal significance? How can someone feel nostalgic and long to return to somewhere that was the wellspring of fathomless hurt? The narrative moves between his second and first person account as memories invade his present day experiences. There's a moving familiarity he shares with his old lover but also the strangeness of time that has passed while separated and the acknowledgement that their sexual reunion won't lead to a renewed relationship. Tijssens admirably lets the reality of the situation speak for itself and the bittersweet truth of life gradually emerges. The author is also a filmmaker and I great admired the movie 'Close' which he co-wrote. His narratives resist the impulse for confession and instead subtly present ambiguous relationships and conflicted human experiences.
This month marks the centenary of Mishima's birth so it felt like a good time to read his gay coming-of-age modern classic first published in 1949. Reading anything by this controversial author feels tricky when knowing about his extreme political views and dramatic death committing ritual suicide after engaging in a failed coup. That certainly cast a shadow over my experience of this book as the draw towards death is often openly discussed “I somehow looked forward to death impatiently, with sweet expectation.” Yet, I also tried to read this autobiographical novel on its own terms as the author wrote it while he was still in his early twenties. In some ways its shockingly confessional in its male protagonist's raw desire for other men and in other ways he comes across as oddly lacking in self-awareness.
The book presents the tortured musings and philosophical reflections of a young man named Kochan. He feels increasingly alienated and isolated from the society around him to the point where his entire life becomes a performance. Throughout his youth he both desires muscular men and wishes to become them. However, as a boy frequently beset by illness who lives in a society where homosexuality isn't publicly acceptable his desire morphs into violent fantasies and repression. So he learns to present an artificial front to other people: “what people regarded as a pose on my part was actually an expression of my need to assert my true nature, and that it was precisely what people regarded as my true self which was a masquerade.” It's moving how the author describes the process of suppressing same-sex desire and a naturally flamboyant personality which is something many gay people feel pressured to do from an early age. Instead of embracing his nature Kochan becomes fixated on trying to desire and love women. The later part of the novel concerns his relationship with a friend's sister named Sonoko. Unsurprisingly, this doesn't result in a fulfilling romance.
Perhaps if I read this novel when I was younger I would have been more drawn to its often circular thought patterns, convoluted logic and relentless self-absorption. It's only natural that this young man should be so focused on his own preoccupations and desperate desire to understand himself. But a lot of his thought process came to feel repetitive and tiring. Since he's coming of age in Japan during WWII this naturally looms large yet it's something that's infrequently commented upon. Perhaps because he was living through it he wasn't compelled to describe it and life just carried on as normal until points of crisis. Nevertheless, his almost complete lack of interest for these larger events or the welfare of his schoolmates and family comes across as irritatingly callous. At one point it's mentions that his sister dies but this only prompts him to melodramatically reflect “I derived a superficial peace-of-mind from the discovery that even I could shed tears.” I longed to get more insight into his family and the precarious position of Sonoko after she goes on to get married. But, since the narrative doesn't extend any empathy outside the concerns of its protagonist, it was difficult for me to get past the growing frustration I felt towards this inward-gazing conflicted young man.
Nothing tugs on the heartstrings like a tale of tragic teenage love! I finally got to Besson's short novel before seeing the new film adaptation and I'm glad I took the time to read the text first. The story follows famous author Philippe who glimpses a man walking by and suddenly he's swept back to memories of the past. Having grown up in a rural agricultural region of France in the 80s, he was frequently bullied and felt alienated because of his sensitive bookish nature. He was also fully cognizant of his own homosexuality and didn't hide it. His openness means that his handsome, popular and quiet classmate Thomas feels emboldened enough to proposition him for a furtive fumble – basically demanding a series of secret trysts. Given Philippe's powerful attraction towards Thomas he gladly acquiesces to this attention though it's entirely stripped of romance. After a number of meetings and candid discussions they develop a deeper passion for one another.
Philippe naturally wants their relationship to continue believing they can find a place together outside of their provincial home town. However, Thomas won't deviate from his expected familial role continuing his father's business, finding a wife and remaining in their native region. He also believes there is a fundamental difference between them stating “We come from different worlds.” Their split leaves an indelible haunting mark upon Philippe who abruptly loses his first love. After an extended opening section about their teenage affair the story leaps forward to decades in the future when Philippe gradually discovers the shocking truth about Thomas' life. The novel brilliantly calibrates the release of information to surprise the reader and stir a sense of aching longing for those fleeting moments of intense youthful passion. It also cleverly plays with notions of the truth since as a novelist Philippe is a professional liar. But, in choosing to live a more “honest” life that conforms to expectations,Thomas spends his personal life lying about his true self.
The book's structure presents an interesting dilemma for the filmmaker because the later two sections are almost entirely composed of dialogue. If the story was adapted in a straightforward way it'd make for long visually static scenes. However, director/screenwriter Olivier Peyon came up with a clever way to centre this tale in the present using frequent flash backs to Philippe's tender early love affair. The movie builds to a corporate lecture Philippe has been sponsored to give as the visiting literary artist in his native region and through a surprise encounter he learns the truth about what happened to his first love Thomas. Through this interplay between past and present we get a strong sense of the longing and loss which informs Philippe's writing. A more complex drama unfolds in the contemporary time period which also includes a distinct female character who wasn't in the novel. Gaëlle begins as a figure of light comic relief but gradually she's shown to have more depth and complexity as Philippe is overwhelmed by revelations about his past love. It's a highly sensuous and emotional film. It's also very moving how this story demonstrates the way we can feel so much regret even when we've chosen the best path in life.
It's always fascinating to read a re-discovered piece of queer writing. Though Mark Hyatt actively brought out poetry in the English bohemian scene of the 1960s, his novel “Love, Leda” has only been published posthumously this year. It's a fascinating snapshot of gay London life from that period in the time leading up to the Sexual Offences Act of 1967. The book's eponymous hero Leda has no fixed abode and bounces between male and female lovers while earning a bit of cash from low paid jobs in metal work and kitchens. He's estranged from his family and for good reason – when he feels obliged to visit with his parents and siblings there's a horrifically violent encounter with his disapproving father. The narrative veers from moments of raw emotional confession “Sometimes I find that I am humiliated by myself, and my thoughts get out of hand, becoming absolutely evil, and immediately I am nothing” to frivolous fantasies “during the long time of waiting for the train I appoint myself as Jesse James in full drag waiting for this very train and about to steal all the cash belonging to the G.P.O.” Moreover, it's fascinating following him as he navigates the back streets of Soho putting flowers in his hair and dabbing perfume behind his ears while dipping into the lives of outcast artists, dissidents and bored housewives. All the while he consumes countless cups of coffee and frequently lapses into poetic reverie.
There's something refreshing about reading a novel that's so organic and unpolished. That's not to say the book isn't sophisticated because it contains some absolutely beautiful lines, vivid descriptions and thoughtful commentary. But I can imagine the narrative would receive a complete overhaul in a contemporary creative writing class because it's quite chaotic. Some of the passages and lines of dialogue feel disorientating with their convoluted logic. Perhaps if Hyatt had the chance to work with an editor these would have more clarity. But, on the whole, I think it's better that the text has been preserved in its raw emotional form. The fascinating forward and afterward explain how Hyatt came from a working class background and received very little formal education. Learning how drawn the author was to suicide, it's hard not to read the story as autobiographical. There are frank passages describing his sense of alienation. He laments at one point that “I am far too feminine to be living in a man's world.” In another section he reflects how “My own experience tells me that more love goes into the thought of homosexuality than the practice.” Though he may have heated and powerful hookups, none lead to a loving connection.
This leaves him adrift and while he certainly possesses a melancholy streak, he also emits catty asides and biting humour along his journey. He even emanates a pissy arrogance when walking down the street and when someone bumps into him he indignantly muses “Why don't people look where I'm going? Walking into me like that.” There's a wonderful extended tragi-comic scene towards the end of the book when he's charged with looking after two little boys on a seaside trip. It's hilarious how indifferently he tends to them while they consume enormous amounts of sugar and cause havoc. But there's also a sadness to this as he's feeling so estranged from life: “I think I live without knowing myself and I laugh at the world to kill my pain. I cry because I can't understand it and I am constantly in dreams that somehow I hope time will not cure.” It's extremely touching reading such insights from a man so frankly discussing his queer experience from decades in the past and it's wonderful being immersed in this bygone urban landscape of Lyons' tea shops.
This novel is awash with so much sexual anticipation and sensuality it perfectly encapsulates the heady experience of falling in love. It's that feeling when passion becomes all consuming it infuses everything and time is measured by encounters with the desired individual. At the beginning of K Patrick's debut novel its Australian narrator has just arrived in England to work as a matron at a rural girls' boarding school. As she gradually acclimates to the environment and traditions of this old institution, she develops a deep attraction for the Headmaster's wife known simply as Mrs S. The story follows their interactions while building tantalizing suspense with the question of “Will they or won't they?” But it's also an excellent invocation of this emotionally charged environment with the budding egos of the girls and cloistered routines. As more is revealed about the narrator's difficult history with her family and her own discomfort within her own body, her yearning becomes movingly layered with a rich level of psychological complexity. Desire is truly shown in a new light which is both very specific and universal.
The writing in this novel shines with straightforward prose which are so precise and perfectly encapsulate the emotion and personality of the narrator. It's also satisfying how classic the story appears in its texture but how revelatory and new it feels in its meaning. The setting of the boarding school is filled with so many antiquated procedures it's groaning with centuries of routine. Details such as radiators which can't be turned off even when it's hot outside and soggy breakfast toast add to the all-consuming atmosphere of this place. There are also uptight figures such as the Nurse and the local Vicar as well as the doddering Headmaster. Everywhere are the tender personalities of the schoolgirls who sometimes cluster into antagonistic groups and other times drift in melancholy isolation. Their fiery energy is directed at boys, each other and sometimes the narrator: “The girls know about humiliation. They trade in it.” Other than Mrs S, perhaps the narrator's only true point of connection is with the Headmistress who becomes an ally in being a confirmed lesbian. However, their friendship is tinged with the resignation of knowing they only really have each other to rely upon being the most outwardly queer people at the school. Rising above all these other figures is Mrs S whose canny wisdom and prestige allows her to freely move throughout this environment. But she also has a mystery and air of dissatisfaction about her circumstances which adds to the total charm she casts over the narrator.
The narrator's infatuation with Mrs S becomes clear not only through the focus placed upon her, but in the way she describes her relationship with time. She details encounters with Mrs S and how she knows she will compulsively mull over them while mourning for any small detail of that experience which has been lost. This reminded me of Annie Ernaux's book “Simple Passion” in which the author recounts being so swept up in the heat of romance she is thrown out of the present. The mind becomes consumed with memories of past meetings and the anticipation of when they might meet next. Also, certain objects become laced with significance. At one point the narrator furtively conceals a portion of a smashed stained glass window depicting the figure of a woman which she makes a gift to Mrs S. This is filled with unspoken meaning about giving someone's independence back to themselves which may be misjudged by the narrator or misunderstood by Mrs S. Throughout the school there are also reminders of a deceased famous author who once attended this institution. Her strong presence is everywhere but she's essentially unattainable.
Though the novel functions as a romance, its deeper impact is about the question of how fully someone can inhabit themselves in such a location. It's a place which is intended to allow individuals to grow but only within the confines of certain borders. Though there's little opportunity for the kind of self expression which would allow the narrator to test out different ways of being she nevertheless finds opportunities to transcend the limitations of how she might be seen. When Mrs S takes her swimming at one point she remarks “If I could choose a different body, I choose this water”. Her expression of self is indelibly linked to her sincere desire and wish to completely envelop Mrs S. Many other characters such as the Headmistress, the girls and Mrs S struggle to find any such outlet so rebel in small and large ways against the constraints of their circumstances. It's a conflict which is thrillingly teased out in this story which is so compelling that reading it becomes its own kind of obsession.
This novel grabbed hold of my heart! It's so emotional but also so well crafted and intelligent. What a special debut novel! The story and plot are so gripping. It contains many surprises and I want to keep this as spoiler free as possible because there are twists that had my heart racing: moments of tragedy, moments of kindness, moments of horror and moments of absolutely beautiful tenderness. This is embodied by an array of well observed and totally believable characters. Many are privileged English schoolboys but within that sphere they are so diverse and fascinating – not least of all the two young men at the centre of this book. And what I think makes this novel so special is not just the historical subject matter of WWI and the people tragically caught in these circumstances, but the way Alice Winn has structured this book. It's so clever and adds so much to the story.
The novel begins in 1914 at an English boarding school in the countryside. We meet seventeen year old boys: Henry Gaunt and Sidney Ellwood. Gaunt has part German heritage and is more reserved, awkward and anti-war. Ellwood is part Jewish and is very popular and enthused to fight in the war. Neither of them are technically old enough to enlist, but, as with many young men back then, this did not stop them. They both love poetry (especially Ellwood who writes and recites it) and they've been harbouring a secret desire and love for one another. We follow as they separately go to war and the consequences of being at the centre of a conflict where millions and millions of lives were lost.
I was somewhat nervous going into this because I thought: do I want to read about war especially focusing on the point of view of privileged English schoolboys? But once I got into the story and got to know these characters I was completely enthralled. Part of what Winn shows so well is the way youth were manipulated into wanting to be remembered and glorified. This is what governments do to get the manpower for war and make young men enlist. At that tender age so many boys can be easily convinced to die for their country in order to be remembered forever. Part of this is national arrogance and believing they'd win the war right away. But there was also pressure from an organisation called The White Feather Movement which I hadn't heard of before this novel. These were groups of women that went around in public and any young man who looked fit enough to fight was handed a white feather to shame him into wanting to enlist. This was controversial even at the time – not least of all because sometimes feathers were given to soldiers on leave or veterans who were seriously wounded. So I was glad to learn about this element and strategy of war. And reading this book has made me want to read and discover more about this period of time.
Winn makes the characters of Gaunt and Ellwood feel so alive with their hesitancy around intimacy, their confused dreams about the future and what is possible for boys in their position with restrictions about what was socially allowed at the time. It was okay as long as the boys were popular and kept it behind closed doors, but they could not love each other openly. It feels so important for gay love tales to be inserted back into history through novels like these because these relationships did happen but they weren't often recorded or allowed to flourish because of social stigma. I won't reveal what happens between them or how their story together develops but it is so beautifully done. There are also many other really fascinating characters. Some are naively gun ho about fighting, some are understandably crippled by fear and the horror of what war looks like. There are bullies, there are hopelessly foolish boys, there are highly intelligent lads, there's a really interesting character with Indian heritage, there's a man from a working class background which contrasts sharply to most of the young men in this book and there is Gaunt's sister who is extremely intelligent and progressive but can't effect change because of the restricted possibilities for women at that time. All these characters are so convincing in their dialogue and actions while also showing the influence that classism, racism, sexism and homophobia has on their lives. The story depicts how these things still have an effect even on the battlefield where soldiers struggle to survive from moment to moment. The novel also demonstrates the tragic gulf in understanding between those who know what it's like at the front verses people who've remained in England. But also, even before the scenes at war the story shows the sinister bullying culture in English boarding schools where young boys are literally tortured in a perverse cycle which is believed to build character.
Something so unique about this novel is how Winn structures the story because it is not just a straightforward narrative but it's also composed of letters, articles and issues of the boarding school's published journal. And this is another reason why I was initially hesitant to read this book because I wasn't sure how these fictional newspaper articles could add to the story. But they definitely do and create such a powerful sense of the brutal consequences of war as some characters that the reader has grown to love or despise or even just know casually are listed under the casualties over time. To see them suddenly removed in black and white like this gives such a strong sense of what it must have been like at the time. But also, the gruelling task of soldiers writing letters to families to inform them of their husband's or sons' deaths while trying to make it personal. It is heart wrenching and so effective.
Running through this novel is the power of poetry. Not just in its creation and the ways it can encapsulate experience like no other but what effect war has upon the creative imagination. It's made me keen to read more by and about great gay poets of WWI such as Siegfried Sassoon. It's also made me keen to read George Eliot's novel Adam Bede. I've read a number of books by Eliot but not that one. And I won't explain how that novel has a role in this novel, but just read this novel and see. There's a really interesting prisoner of war camp section – again, no spoilers, but it's so suspenseful and vivid. And it's so compelling how it elicits sympathy for the German soldiers in this section who were technically overseeing the prisoners but many of these guards were less well fed and less experienced than their prisoners who relentlessly bullied them. Because no matter which side of the conflict these young men (who were still boys really) were on, they were led by their countries into perilous conflict and thousands were slaughtered. There's also a fascinating narrative shift at one point showing the other side of the battlefield and the other boys caught up in this hellish conflict.
It all comes together to create a war story and a love story like no other. And I loved it. There's so much more to say about this novel, but it's a masterful accomplishment. So impressive for a first novel – although, from what I gather from interviews Winn has been writing for a long time. I think it shows that this is a writer who has honed her craft and told a story she feels so passionately about. I don't want to make any assumptions, but I know Winn is married to a man so for a presumably heterosexual woman to write so beautifully about such complex gay characters with depth and understanding and to write about their sexual and emotional relationships so convincingly is stunning. I'd also recommend reading “The World and All That It Holds” by Aleksander Hemon which, coincidentally, is also a story of WWI about two soldiers in love with each other, but it's in a very different setting and it also has a very different style and approach. It's also excellently done. However, “In Memoriam” is a novel that completely captured my heart and I know I'll remember it for a long time.
“Ghost Town” is the story of Keith, a young gay man from Taiwan who moves to Germany but eventually goes back to the hometown and family he vowed never to returned to. He's just been released from prison and there is an ongoing mystery as to the circumstances surrounding his incarceration. It also follows the lives of his siblings and parents who've all experienced big disappointments in life because of the repressive conditions and limited opportunities of their provincial Taiwanese village. The premise of this novel had a lot of potential, but I found the structure of the narrative very jarring with its shifting points of view and time lines that constantly jump back and forth. This meant that it was both repetitious and confusing. There are a lot of characters so it's challenging to keep track of them all. There's also too many plot lines to adequately do justice to the complexity and nuance of the subjects raised including domestic abuse, suicide, mental health issues and public shaming. As such, I found it difficult to feel emotionally invested in this book. It was perhaps too ambitious of the author to try to present such a panoramic account of this family and it might have worked better if he'd focused on a single point of view.
Though Keith seems to be at the heart of the story he's strangely absent for most of the novel as we only get brief glimpses of his life and cryptic clues as to the traumatic events he's experienced. It's only toward the end that he comes to the forefront and by this point the story rushes through an explanation of violent events which could have filled up the entire book. Keith is a writer who has been published and achieved some success. The explicit details about gay life within his work has shocked some people from his native village and further ostracised him. So it's almost paradoxical that there are so few overt gay experiences shown in “Ghost Town”. There's a lack of descriptive power in his cruising and first sexual encounter with T, a man Keith meets and marries in Germany. It's noted how “they caused the little bed to quake” but while having sex Keith also gets a new idea for a novel and bizarrely muses on the sound of termites. Because the events he survives are rushed through they also often lacked plausibility.
The most effective scenes were when all the siblings were reunited. Here the dialogue between them felt authentic because it was often awkward and infused with a deep familiarity for each other's personalities. I liked that the narrative points of view varied between the living and the dead. However, I felt this could have been developed further to add more poignancy and it reverted too frequently to banal statements from the deceased such as “Is it good to be a ghost? I say it's great.” There were interesting side characters such as a gay couple who operated a bookshop and got arrested after a betrayal. As the case with most threads of this novel, their storyline could have been expanded upon more. Overall I think this book tries to contain too much so, in the end, it adds up to too little.
The vivid intensity of both love and war are majestically captured in Aleksandar Hemon's sweeping historical novel “The World and All That It Holds”. The story begins with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo, the incident which famously initiated WWI. This is witnessed by pharmacist Rafael Pinto who goes out into the streets after making a romantic overture towards a calvary officer. It's an occurrence which permanently changes the course of this poetic and fanciful man's life as thereafter he's conscripted and thrust into battle. There he meets and begins a passionate affair with fellow soldier Osman. We follow Pinto's rootless existence over multiple decades as he is nationless and desperately struggles to survive. The gritty details of conflict are paired with the ardor and enduring bond between these two men in an evocative way. These accounts are infused with Pinto's religious sensibility as a Sephardic Jew – not in a dogmatic way but which expresses the soulful feeling of this emotional individual. It's an integral part of his heritage so informs the way he frames events and the world around him. In doing so, we view this period of history through a striking new lens and witness the story of a uniquely epic romance.
The act of storytelling takes a central role in the novel. This occurs on multiple levels from Osman's charismatic ability to entrance fellow soldiers with his tales to the frame surrounding this book explained in the epilogue. Though Pinto only briefly glimpsed the shooting of Franz Ferdinand he eventually tells and retells the story so many times it acquires many dramatic flourishes. This is a natural consequence when any lived moment subsequently becomes one of historical importance. He comments “I can confirm, from personal experience, that we are always late to the history in which we live.” What might have felt random and fleeting at the time takes on a seismic meaning when we understand what followed. So we follow Pinto as he's haplessly swept into events to do with migration and civil unrest over the decades. As the burden of exile mounts he falls into despair reasoning “God was invented by the lonely people, by those who could not bear to think that no one would ever care about them, spend a thought on their loneliness. We are not chosen, what we are is terribly lonely and unloved.” Rather than faith, the only thing which prevents him from becoming completely disconsolate is his enduring loving connection to Osman and the duty he feels to care for the girl who might be Osman's daughter.
It's refreshing to gain a different view of such large scale conflicts from a point of view not often explored in historical accounts. This is especially true when it focuses on individuals without any particular political conviction who nevertheless become the casualties of war as in the novel “At Night All Blood is Black”. Hemon's novel posits that alongside the bloodshed and madness, passion was also possible. This is portrayed in the encampments where such clandestine sexual meetings between men occur as an open secret or something which is unimaginable to others. Rather than fetishising such experiences, the novel shows Pinto's fierce longing for such sensuality amidst the brutality. It seems only natural that intense encounters between soldiers might turn into loving and sustained relationships. Sebastian Barry also portrayed a same sex relationship which blossoms amidst battle in his novel “Days Without End”. Though that story came with a welcome message of hope, it's more likely true that most homosexual love affairs which occurred in such circumstances ended in tragedy. Though Hemon's novel fully embraces the likely fate of his characters it also shows how transcendence can be found in beauty and passion.
I'm a sucker for a story involving a fabulous but sinister grandmother and “The Hungry Ghosts” has one who is absolutely fascinating to read about. Set in Sri Lanka during a time of civil war, the protagonist Shivan describes his early life when he and his impoverished mother and sister were forced to move in with his grandmother Daya Nona. This is an intimidating older woman who is kind of a cross between Ebenezer Scrooge and Miss Havisham. The story plays out a bit like a Dickensian tale as Shivan becomes the favoured grandson of this irascible and tightfisted lady who begins instructing him on how to manage her many rental properties. He appears to have good future prospects but as he becomes a teenager the political unrest in the country reaches a degree where it becomes unsafe for Shivan and his sister to remain living there. Though their mother is Sinhalese their deceased father was Tamil, an ethnic minority who were severely persecuted amidst the conflict. Added to this is Shivan growing awareness of his own homosexuality. Despite Daya Nona's objections, the trio move to Toronto where they experience difficulty establishing new lives as immigrants. The narrative relates the story of Shivan's life from a point where he's independently established a good job, apartment and relationship but he must make a crucial decision between his hard-won present day existence and the country he's left behind with all its painful memories.
I was glad to already have some understanding of the recent conflicts in Sri Lanka after reading novels such as “The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida” and “A Passage North” which encouraged me to research more about the deep-set political divisions in the country which led to much bloodshed. The complex and tragic situation has been fought for decades with periods of egregious discord and genocide. Though it mostly occurs in the background of Selvadurai's novel it influences and effects the lives of its characters to such a degree it's necessary to be aware of the stakes involved. The novel explains this somewhat and helped broaden my understanding even further. It's extremely effective how the larger conflicts within the country suddenly become very personal at a certain point in the story and how some individuals used the larger political strife for their own personal gain and advancement. This increases the characters' complexity as they find themselves caught between opportunity, loyalty and justice.
At the centre of this tale is Shivan's conflicted sense of being as he obtains certain freedom and safety in Canada, but longs for his homeland. At one point he remarks: “Rising in me was a great longing to be back in Sri Lanka and also, paradoxically, a revulsion against being there. These two irreconcilable feelings pressed tight against each other.” These feelings are very connected with his grandmother who is both his supporter and partly responsible for inhibiting his freedom. It's impressive how their relationship develops more and more layers as revelations are uncovered and events dramatically unfold. Equally, it's poignant how the novel shows that parts of the gay community in Canada which Shivan desperately wants to join is plagued by racism which makes him feel even more cruelly ostracised. Though it's moving how the story roots the reader so strongly in Shivan's first person point of view, the narrative wobbles somewhat as we switch in some sections to the mother and grandmother's perspectives. I'm not sure if we're meant to believe these are their actual thoughts/experiences or Shivan's projection of their points of view. While I understand the author wanted to give a balance to the story and delineate these figures' states of mind it confuses the novel somewhat.
Another aspect of the novel running alongside Shivan's personal account are Buddhist stories which his grandmother relates to him. These act as parables which comment upon the characters' actions and decisions. I enjoyed how this sense of storytelling becomes so infused with his sense of being. Of course, I felt very sympathetic to Shivan since he is naturally bookish and it's pleasurable how he drops in the names of many titles and authors he reads. Alongside the strength of his character, the evolving dynamics of his relationship to his mother and grandmother are very compelling. However, the tensions between Shivan and his longterm boyfriend feel more inscrutable. This becomes the most prominent aspect of the later part of the novel and makes the book less satisfying than if it had stuck more closely to Shivan's immediate family. Nevertheless, I greatly enjoyed this tale which evocatively brings to life two very different and distinct environments and a boy caught between them.
It's challenging to read about a protagonist who does absolutely despicable things but who still comes across as sympathetic. Like many young gay men living in a predominantly homophobic society, Arsim gets pressured into entering a passionless marriage with a woman to appease his family. In the city of Pristina during early 1995 he has a fling with a handsome aspiring-doctor named Milos. This gives him a taste of a life separate from his poor neglected pregnant wife Ajshe. However, sexuality isn't the only thing preventing these men from openly declaring their love. Arsim is Albanian and Milos is Serbian. With xenophobia and open aggression towards Albanians on the rise, Arsim is painfully aware the country is reaching a crisis point. This breathtaking novel depicts his troubled journey grappling for an independent life beyond his dire circumstances and actively harming people along the way.
Statovci takes an interesting approach to showing the consequences of The Kosovo War not by portraying the battle itself but characters affected by it before and after the conflict. Where the novel “At Night All Blood is Black” powerfully portrayed the process by which a soldier can be dehumanized on the battlefield, “Bolla” shows how individuals come to lose their empathy for others from the strain of living under horrifyingly tense circumstances and living with shell shock in the aftermath of war. The author does this through three narrative strands which alternate between an account of Arsim's life, a series of cryptic journal entries (whose author and meaning becomes clear as the novel progresses) and short fable-like passages about negotiations between God and the Devil. This third strand poignantly emphasizes the grey line between good and evil. Though this novel begins as a tale of forbidden romance it gradually morphs into something more complex and sinister showing how the urge for survival can totally corrupt an individual.
There are many deeply thoughtful and poetic passages in this book. For instance, amidst Arsim and Milos' intimate conversations it's remarked how “reality follows the lies we tell ourselves.” Amidst the larger conflicts, this statement applies on both a personal and national level. I was also taken aback by several shocking moments in the novel which emphasize the pernicious danger which exists for gay men in both liberal and conservative countries. The risks come from both outside and inside the gay community as well. Statovci takes care to show not only the painful consequences and isolation felt by gay men but by other characters such as Arsim's long-suffering wife.
Yet, for all the deep meaning and emotional draw of this tale I did question some inconsistent aspects of the story. At one point a character goes to prison for quite a serious crime. However, a year spent in jail is basically portrayed as a relaxing reading holiday. Certainly some prisons are rougher than others but it seemed unrealistic that it was such a tranquil experience. Similarly, once this character leaves prison having spent a year in a solitary cell, it's noted that “It takes me a while before I get used to the lack of things to do, the absence of human touch”. Would this really be a new sensation after having spent so long behind bars? Perhaps details such as this have more to do with Hackston's translation from Finnish but I do wish some aspects of the story had been developed more. Nevertheless, the originality and complex pathos of this novel are so impactful and striking. Statovci is clearly an extremely talented young writer and I'm eager to read his previous two novels as well as anything else he publishes in the future.
As much as I loved Douglas Stuart's debut novel “Shuggie Bain” and its complex portrayal of a mother's addiction to alcohol, I was left longing to know a bit more about Shuggie himself and what it's like to be a young working class gay boy in Scotland. There are many touching scenes with Shuggie and it primarily focuses on his perspective, but it's really the story of his mum Agnes. So I was thrilled to find that “Young Mungo” is almost exclusively about Mungo himself. Superficially the two novels might seem similar as they include characters from the same socio-economic background in the 1990s who are also wrestling with issues to do with poverty, addiction and toxic masculinity. However, the characters in “Young Mungo” are distinct and deal with the challenges they face in very different ways. Another issue which is touched upon in “Shuggie Bain” that I wanted to read more about was the sectarian conflict in Glasgow between Catholics and Protestants. This clash is also brought centre stage in this new novel because Mungo is born into a Protestant family and gets drawn into the resulting street violence with Catholics. Moreover, it's the queer 'Romeo & Juliet' story I always longed to read because Mungo falls for Catholic teen James. The result is a beautiful and devastatingly moving romance that's also about a personal quest for acceptance in a community that cannot accept or allow difference.
The novel is cleverly framed around a fishing trip that Mungo's mother forces him to join in order to toughen him up. The two older men who lead him into the wilderness grow increasingly sinister and there is a building tension to this storyline intercut with scenes leading up to this expedition. Gradually we get to intimately know about the struggle of this young man who was named after the patron saint of Glasgow. Naturally Mungo is severely teased about his name. However, he's also made to feel severely self-conscious about his nature and mannerisms which don't conform to the macho walk of other “Proddie boys”. The author poignantly describes this pressure to conform: “This swagger was a uniform as ubiquitous as any football top. It had a gangly forward motion like a big-balled, bandy-legged weasel, head swung low, eyes always fixed on the prey ahead, ready to lunge with either a fist or a silver blade. Mungo tried his best to wear the uniform but he felt like an imposter. It was a poor imitation.” It's so powerful how the language Stuart uses in this description is laced with the potential violence simmering beneath the surface.
When this violence actually occurs in the story it's brutal and horrible, but it's certainly not simply for dramatic effect. Given the real life cruelty so many young men like Mungo have experienced and continue to experience this depiction feels both pointed and relevant. For some people reading a physical copy of the UK hardback in public will be a challenge in itself. The cover photograph by Wolfgang Tillmans which depicts two men kissing might stir adverse reactions from some who notice it and this potential might make some readers self-conscious about holding the book up, but I feel like this adds to the provocative statement this novel is making. For those who have trepidation about reading such a proudly gay story with an in-your-face cover I think it's also important to note that this is a novel that balances its sexual scenes with an exquisitely delicate tenderness which anyone can relate to. Equally, its violent scenes are balanced with endearing humour and a welcome message of hope. Nor does it simply present a cast composed of heroes and villains. Mungo's mother, brother and the men who take him into the wilderness are nuanced individuals whose cruel and unfortunate actions spring from a mixture of selfishness and the overwhelming pressure of their circumstances. It's also poignant how his spirited sister Jodie faces her own troubled journey as a clever young woman being used by a married man.
I have a particular personal appreciation for how this novel presents the way James, a rural gay teen in the 90s, longed for platonic connections with other gay guys and how he found this through a party line phone service. It was something I could really relate to having grown up in the same pre-internet era when I had to find innovative ways of making such connections with a dispersed small pool of individuals under the fear of being found out. Though there's so much about this novel's craft I admire, it's this kind of detail and the beauty of its central love story which really tugged at my heartstrings.
This group of short stories by Indonesian author Norman Erikson Pasaribu has a playful, metafictional vibe while evoking many vivid characters and situations that contain a great deal of emotional heft. Many focus on the points of views of characters related to or connected with homosexuals whether it be a mother grieving for her son who committed suicide, a man whose close friend turns out to be gay or a woman who snoops through the underwear drawer of her son's husband. The feelings of marginalization and isolation which accompanies much of gay life is approached at arm's length. This sense is carried through the opening and closing stories which are in many ways about the nature of fiction itself. The first story begins in a creative writing class. The final story concerns a woman aware she is being written and finds empty space when she tries to transcend the borders of what is constructed for her. All this ties into the presence of religion throughout the stories and questions concerning omnipotence, destiny and God. These tales collectively give a fascinating insight into Indonesian life and individuals sidelined by mainstream society.
As with many collections of stories, there were some which stood out as stronger than others. Perhaps this has to do with the way there is an almost equal division between ones which depict specific realistic situations and others which self consciously play with narrative voice to verge more into the supernatural. I felt the strongest of the later category was ''Welcome to the Department of Unanswered Prayers' where the an individual is inducted into the bureaucracy of heaven. I would have loved to see stories such as 'So What's Your Name, Sandra?' and 'Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam' developed into longer narratives. I think it's easier for me to feel an immediate connection when the presence of the author's hand isn't so strongly felt. Though I really appreciate that the truth can't always be approached directly, I wasn't able to connect as strongly to stories which seemed like they were in direct dialogue with certain texts or aspects of Indonesian life I was unfamiliar with. That's not necessarily the storyteller's fault, but it's perhaps an inevitable consequence of reading about a foreign culture. So I really appreciated that the Tilted Axis Press edition of this collection included at the end a discussion between the author and translator where they described some of the references Pasaribu played off from and his writing technique. I enjoyed the author's innovative approach to these tales and would love to read a full novel written by him.
It's so exciting and refreshing reading new fiction which fully represents the complexities of modern gay life. There are romantic moments in “Love in the Big City”, but it certainly doesn't romanticize queer experience. Nor does it wallow in oppression or resentment. Instead it faithfully represents the point of view of a young Korean gay man named Young as he navigates family, friendship and various relationships (some are mere hookups while others are knotty emotional entanglements.) He struggles to complete his education and hold a stable job. Many nights are spent drinking, clubbing or chasing tricks on gay hookup apps. On his first night's leave from compulsory military service “the only three things floating around in my brain were iced Americano, Kylie Minogue, and sex.” He's overweight and aware of where he falls in the pecking order of a cruising culture that classifies men based on superficial physical attributes. His contemporaries have developed more stable jobs and relationships, but he's entirely unapologetic about following his desires and instincts even if it leads to his own undoing. The result is a riveting account of the pleasures and pitfalls of intimacy.
The structure of this novel is satisfying in how it's divided into four parts where each begins with a particular moment in time. This thrusts the reader into a pressing dilemma Young faces. Then the story tunnels back to describe how Young got to this moment and what results from it. I admire how this draws the reader into his particular experience since it often feels like he just falls into situations, but we gradually see how he comes to particular points in his life based on his personality and the circumstances that he lives under. There's also an unflinchingly honest quality to his account which veers from defiant to self-deprecating. In fact, at times he verges on the maudlin in how he feels “life had always been eager to fail my expectations, no matter how low I set them.” It's a tone of writing which feels like a mixture of Jean Rhys and Brontez Purnell – two very different authors but their prose equally expresses a relentless commitment to romantic/sexual pursuits despite feeling it will inevitably end in heartbreak/emptiness. At one point Park observes: “is love truly beautiful? To me, love is a thing you can't stop when you're caught up in it, a brief moment you can escape from only after it turns into the most hideous thing imaginable when you distance yourself from it.” The way he captures experiences fuelled by this bittersweet belief is paradoxically life affirming.
Of course, there were parts of this novel that made me want to bitch slap the narrator. He insistently tries to maintain a relationship with an ideologically-driven man suffering from internalized homophobia who can't love him back. But he also treats his most consistent relationship with a sweetly-devoted responsible man too frivolously and actively pushes him away. All the while Young is fully aware he's making bad choices and acknowledges “my whole life was basically a series of not-clever moves”. It's infuriating behaviour but his character is written in a way which made me entirely sympathise with him and care about his welfare. So it's especially alarming when he doesn't use protection during one sexual encounter and contracts HIV – which is something he can barely openly acknowledge and calls his Kylie, but it’s not something which defeats him. However, he can't avoid the practical difficulties it causes in getting the right medication, having sexual encounters and passing medical exams for certain jobs he tries to get. It's arresting how the story deals with this issue and other long-lasting consequences of his affairs.
I found it touching reading in the translator's note how strongly Anton Hur identified with Park's writing as a Korean gay man. Though there were some specific geographic and linguistic references which I had no knowledge of, I certainly appreciated getting a brief insight into Korean gay life. There were also so many points of reference concerning gay popular culture and a homosexual mentality that I strongly identified with and recognized. It reminded me of reading the nonfiction book “Gay Bar” where drinking holes in different regions and countries are described as having a unique character but all exert the same feeling of being a gay-specific space. Similarly, entering Young's perspective seeking pleasure and companionship while struggling with issues to do with marginalization and poor self-esteem will certainly ring true for any gay man in the world today.
Since I've been reading more 19th century fiction in the past year I have been hungering for a contemporary writer to utilize the particular kind of authorial voice often found in these classic books. I'm sure this has been done in other recent novels but going into Emily M Danforth's “Plain Bad Heroines” I was thrilled to find it includes a narrative voice that self-consciously interjects and steers the story. It only shows up occasionally so as not to be intrusive but it does add another dimension to the story and there's something so playful and comforting about this “dear reader...” style of telling where we all agree to sit down to lose ourselves in a riveting, imaginative tale. Of course, it's a technique that's most commonly and potently used in ghost stories and gothic tales so it's ideally suited to the content of Danforth's creepy and darkly playful novel. The text is also beautifully illustrated with evocative drawings making it feel even more like a Victorian novel.
This book is partly a historical novel about a fictional New England boarding school for girls called Brookhants which briefly existed at the beginning of the 20th century. A number of girls are found dead amidst mysterious circumstances which gives rise to rumours and local legends. Interspersed with this tale is a contemporary story about a Hollywood film being made about the deaths of these girls and the supposed curse upon this school. As the book progresses and we move slyly between the past and present, there are numerous twists and turns in the plot which skilfully tread the line between the supernatural and the realistic. The story thrillingly shows how certain characters utilize or exploit this grey area for their own purposes. It's such a richly immersive read for its atmospheric detail that gives the spooky ooky factor while also making me desperate to know what happens next.
One of the great pleasures of this novel is that it's awash with literary references in a way which adds to and enhances the plot – as well as giving little sparks of joy for book geeks like me. Titles such as Henry James' “A Turn of the Screw”, Oscar Wilde's “The Picture of Dorian Gray” and the (problematic) work of HP Lovecraft are dropped into the story. There's a reference to Willa Cather's 'Paul's Case' which prompts the author to step in to encourage the reader to seek out this famous queer short story. A modern day character named Merritt has written an account of the Brookhants deaths which is being used as a basis for the film. Her profession means many literary allusions are naturally dropped into the story as well as her planned project to write an alternate version of Truman Capote's infamous unfinished book “Answered Prayers”. Most of all, Danforth incorporates into her story the work of the writer Mary MacLane who became notorious for the openly bisexual and feminist autobiographical books she published at the beginning of the 1900s. I must admit that I initially assumed Danforth had invented this author and her book “The Story of Mary MacLane” but she was a real writer and I'm now very keen to read her work.
As well as honouring Mary MacLane who is now relatively unknown the spirit of her books and ideas serve as an important part of the plot. Some girls and women at Brookhants avidly read MacLane and are inspired by the “forbidden” content and opinions they find there. MacLane's emotional and sexual bonds with other women serve as a touchstone to a queer sensibility which validate the girls' own same sex attraction and/or feminist feelings prompting them to form a club of plain bad heroines. This naturally leads more conservative characters to try to suppress and forbid her text being read. The story also toys with the idea that MacLane herself is a mischievous haunting presence. I love how this highlights the vital importance of queer antecedents and how their influence can wreak the most marvellous and riveting havoc to the established order.
The novel wonderfully plays upon Hollywood tropes and conventions as much as it does on literary ones. The film being made about Brookhants isn't a conventional one as it's about manipulating the public's desire for the production to be cursed as much as it is for creating a cinematically tense story about a legendary curse. The mythology surrounding the creation of films such as 'The Shining' and 'The Omen' is consumed as tantalizingly as the movies themselves. When the director in the novel tries to manipulate the actresses and writer to create hype for the production things don't go exactly as planned. It's satisfying how Danforth draws out the tension of whether the creepy scenes you're reading about are really happening or an elaborate hoax. This is another fascinating way this novel asks questions concerning what we want to be true and what's actually true whilst producing a really fun story.
Overall, “Plain Bad Heroines” is such a joy to read and I was glad for its relatively high page count which allowed the author to fully flesh out the complexities and many layers of its delicious plot.
When I was learning about history in high school I never thought to question where I could find out about the lives of gay people from the past. It strikes me as strange that I didn't question this even though I was out as a teenager and craved to learn more about gay life. But I think the way our received knowledge about the past is framed contributes to why it doesn't even occur to us to ask about marginalized individuals whose stories aren't included amidst the grander narrative. I've deeply appreciated how some recent novels such as “A Place Called Winter” by Patrick Gale and “Days Without End” by Sebastian Barry introduced gay lives and gay love stories into specific historical settings. These are periods of time in which we know little or nothing about the lives of queer individuals because any records of these identities and relationships were either too dangerous to keep or were purposefully erased. But (of course) gay men existed and loved each other in these times from the past! Since we can't recover what's been lost the only way to reintroduce these lives into the narrative of history is by fictionally imagining them there.
In school I certainly had a lot of lessons about the history of slavery in America and the Civil War (although a lot of the shamefully grim reality of what happened was no doubt withheld.) But, again, I didn't think to question where gay lives fitted into these historical accounts. Some might consider it crass or redundant to ask this when so much about the lives of America's African American ancestry was maliciously and purposefully destroyed. Some might even feel exhausted by the prospect of reading another slave narrative when so many books have already covered this heinous but vitally important era of US history. But, as Robert Jones Jr said in a wonderful interview he gave with Brit Bennett: “If there were 20 million enslaved people there are 20 million stories to tell and not every story is told.” So, yes, there is both a desire and need for a fictional story of two enslaved black men who are in love with each other to be told and I'm grateful Jones has done this in his artful and extremely moving debut novel “The Prophets”.
The main story literally begins with a roll in the hay as Samuel and Isaiah, two slaves on a remote Mississippi plantation primarily work and reside in relative solitude within the property's barn. If this seems romanticised we're soon made aware of the cruel reality of this hellish place. What it vitally establishes is that there is an intense desire and love between these two men which would otherwise blossom naturally if it weren't for their enslavement. Their relationship is made all the more precarious as the white masters and other enslaved people on the plantation become aware of their romantic and sexual connection. Their reactions to this knowledge vary and Jones conveys in a fascinating way how the judgements made upon them aren't simply moral or religious, but also have to do with the commercial loss of two strong and healthy black men who won't produce babies in the breeding programme designed by the plantation owner. The physicality of their relationship also inspires feelings of admiration, confusion, kinship, desire and envy among the many inhabitants which further complicates the ways these men are alternately befriended, betrayed, used and punished. Equally, Samuel and Isaiah themselves have different ways of admitting, denying or suppressing their desire for each other in these dire circumstances. This story delves deeply into the full complexity of the issues at stake and the emotional snags that would have resulted from a same sex relationship such as this.
At first I felt dismayed the narrative didn't stick solely with Samuel and Isaiah's perspectives because I wanted to feel and know more about the dynamic of their relationship. Yet the lives of the other black inhabitants of the plantation are written in such a compelling and vivid way I was so drawn into their individual stories as well as how their actions impacted upon the male couple. I was also concerned about going into the point of views of the white plantation owners and overseer (or toubab men and women) because I was concerned Jones would feel the need to portray them somewhat sympathetically as most novelists feel it's a necessary part of the fiction writing process that you must have empathy with all your characters whether they are good or villainous. I didn’t want to feel sympathy for them because American history is too often dominated by white perspectives. The author approaches this dilemma in a compelling way showing how they would logically justify their dominance over fellow human beings, but also shows their wilful ignorance and despicable abuse of power. I came to feel it was necessary to allocate space for their viewpoints because otherwise it'd be too easy to dismiss them as simply evil. In doing so, Jones creatively shows the way the religious, political and economic ideologies of the time reinforced and perpetuated this system of exploitation.
The novel also ambitiously reaches back in time to portray the ancestry of Samuel and Isaiah which they are unaware of because no records were kept. Patriarch Paul's book which logged the slaves’ arrival at the plantation is presented in the story in a way which is so memorable because its details are so thin. The story depicts the inventive way in which the community of the Kosongo people in Africa was organized to show the markedly different frames of mind from a non-Western perspective. Voices of the prophets also emerge from beyond the grave to advise and comment upon Samuel and Isaiah's bond. This beautifully gives the sense that these men who love each other are cherished and held in a way they aren't in real life. It's another aspect of the narrative which felt somewhat distracting at first but then came to be necessary as it gives some welcome relief from the more difficult aspects of this story. The novel is not difficult in terms of readability. The language is not overly-complicated and though the plot is filled with many characters and layers it's relatively easy to follow. What's difficult to read are the scenes of horrific violence and the surprisingly insidious degrees of malice exhibited by different characters. Yet, that I was unaware of the many specific ways enslaved people in America were systematically abused and kept in bondage is another reason why this book feels necessary. Because it was so harrowing also meant I felt intimately involved in the story. The final sections of this novel are startlingly dramatic and I was thoroughly gripped wanting to know what the fate of the many individual characters would be. The conclusion is both surprising and very moving.
I can only imagine what impact reading this novel would have had upon me as a teenager in my burgeoning understanding of our lost gay history and how valuably it'd have contributed to the formation of my own gay identity. I'm glad “The Prophets” exists now to inspire a newer generation and hope that it's taught alongside texts about the history of slavery in America. I know this makes it sound like I'm recommending this book because reading it is a worthy experience, but its characters are so compelling I felt intimately involved in their lives and stories. Reading this impressive novel is an absolutely absorbing and enlightening experience.
