In the introduction to Far Out: Queer Science Fiction and Fantasy, which we'll begin discussing tonight, editor Paula Guran generously cites several anthologies that helped pave the way for hers. Alas, most of them are out of print (but available from used book dealers), but I couldn't resist sharing the, um, striking cover of the first book on her list: Kindred Spirits: An Anthology of Gay and Lesbian Science Fiction Stories, edited by Jeffrey M. Elliot (Alyson Publications, 1984).
While looking online for information on something else I've now forgotten, I discovered a fascinating essay in the Feb. 28 Yale Review: "Three Queer Writers on Craft and Cruising." The writers in question are Garth Greenwell (whose novel, What Belongs to You, we discussed in February 2017), Richie Hofmann and Carl Phillips (whose poetry collection, Silverchest, we discussed in February 2016). They convened over Zoom last November to discuss "queer subjecthood and literary craft--specifically, whether the two subjects were interrelated or disparate. Is sexuality merely a theme, or might it also comprise a stylistic mode? Can a 'queer aesthetic' be said to exist?" Their discussion also touches on many other topics, including sonnets, morality and why syntax might be the sexiest thing of all.
Back in November, I announced that Rebel Santori Press was about to release Invisible History: The Collected Poems of Walta Borawski --edited by our very own Philip Clark and Michael Bronski, the poet's partner. As the press release noted, the collection "marks the return of a singular poet, Walta Borawski (1947-1994) for new generations to enjoy." Philip will be giving the first D.C. reading from the book at Little District Books on Sunday, May 7, at 6:30 p.m.; see this EventBrite page for details. You don't have to RSVP, but it helps the bookstore to know how many attendees to plan for. Books will be available for purchase and signing at the event.
If you'd like to know more about Walta and his poetry in advance, here is a Facebook page devoted to it. You can also check out this review on the Out in Print blog, which has called Invisible History one of the 10 best books of 2022. It is also one of four finalists for the Publishing Triangle's Thom Gunn Award for Gay Poetry.
Vincent Slatt, who recommended the non-LGBTQ book we'll be discussing this coming Wednesday--Dinaw Mengistu's The Beautiful Things Heaven Bears--was kind enough to suggest some questions we might ponder as we read the novel:
"The P Street stroll has heavy allusions to James Joyce's Ulysses and Bloomsday. Is this a stretch? Is it well done? Has the stroll become a literary trope?"
"For gay men who have strolled these Washington, D.C., streets for years and remember what they were like in the 1980s (or before): Do Mengistu's observations have a distinctly straight perspective? If we walked this strip now, how would we describe it? Are there other parts of the city about which we'd like to read similar accounts?"
"Gender, race and class represent the crux of the heterocentric patriarchy that works to oppress LGBTQ people and workers generally. Are there aspects of gay liberation, or even liberation theology, that are echoed in the community relations Mengistu describes in his novel?"
"Is the author tone-deaf on class warfare? Or does he contribute a unique perspective on the subject? Do the capitalists among BookMen lament of celebrate how the protagonist operates his store?"
Lee Levine was kind enough to draw my attention to this 2022 Guardian interview with Ocean Vuong, two of whose books we've discussed in the past few years: On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous and Night Sky with Exit Wounds. As Lee notes, there are some obvious parallels between Vuong and Anthony Veansa So, whose Afterparties short story collection we began reading last week. The two writers are both gay Asians who knew each other, were just four years apart in age, and hailed from adjacent countries with overpowering historical legacies. Both men used drugs, but Vuong survived his addiction; So, alas, did not.
And during our discussion of Afterparties, conducted via Zoom, Mike Mazza shared a link to this previously unreleased interview with Anthony Veansa So. Unlike the author, we know that he would die just a few months later from a drug overdose, which gives his words an elegiac quality. I found this quote particularly telling: "I'm very drawn to thinking about how people can be saved from the logical extension of trauma: death, essentially. The idea that because of trauma, because of the past, life could become unbearable for someone, and the future could seem like a non-option. So how do you actually strive forward into the future? How do you help people do that? That's what I mean by saving, to be blunt. I think writing can be part of this, insofar as it's a reimagining of what different paths people could follow and be shaped by and saved by. In some sense, I guess I want reading to save people."
My thanks to Ernie Raskauskas for alerting me to novelist Thomas Mallon's March 11 interview on "Fresh Air." I didn't get to tune into the program on WAMU, but here is the transcript. As I noted in my Feb. 15 posting (see below), Mallon's latest novel, Up With the Sun, tells the story of Dick Kallman, a closeted ex-actor who, along with his partner, was killed during a robbery in their New York City home in 1980.
I am grateful to Lee Levine for alerting me to this 2021 New York Magazine cover story on Anthony Veansa So, whose short story collection Afterparties we will begin discussing on March 15. In addition, Vulture included So in this roundup of 2021 National Book Critics Circle award-winners. What a shame an author with so much promise died at the age of 28.
