Librarians speak out

The New York Times recently interviewed dozens of attendees at the American Library Association's conference in Chicago, and published this compendium of short profiles. As the article notes, these librarians came from rural towns and major cities, elementary schools and universities, local branches and big government agencies.

Speaking as someone who worked in college libraries at a small institution (Centenary College, undergraduate) and a large one (George Washington University, grad school), I loved this heartwarming piece! It reminds me of so many librarians I've known over the years. So I wanted to share it with you all, even though it only has one interview centered on LGBTQ literature:

"A boy checked out a graphic novel about two boys who fall in love. He told me he’d never felt seen before in our tiny conservative Texas town. He was getting bullied and targeted for being who he was. The next year, when he went to high school, he sent me an email saying that having access to books like that made him feel seen and validated. He went on to shine."

Amanda Hunt, Central Texas school librarian

Thread weaving

When I posted the next two items, about Marlon James' novel, The Disappearers, and Nicholas Bogg's biography, Baldwin: A Love Story, I didn't know that the two authors have been partners since at least 2022 and live together. It's a small world, after all! 😃

Novel of the decade?

"With this novel about gay experience and murderous homophobia in Jamaica and elsewhere during the 1980s and ’90s, [Marlon] James has written a masterpiece, the novel of the decade and possibly of the century thus far."

That is how Dwight Garner opens his rave for Marlon James' latest novel, The Disappearers, in his New York Times review. Later, he says: "This is another way of saying The Disappearers was one of the signal reading experiences of my adult life. It sank knives deep into my heart. I’m still in recovery from it."

Although they generally haven't been quite that effusive, most other critics I've read concur with Garner's praise. One exception: Adam Mars-Jones, writing for the London Review of Books: "Somehow the book’s fierce purpose has been adulterated. Its portrait of a cruel society loses authority by including a made-up bogeyman, a hate figure exempted from any attempt at understanding. This does significant damage to a book whose harshness is only bearable if it is telling the truth."

Some of you may still recall our lively discussion back in 2020 of James' previous novel, A Brief History of Seven Killings, which had similar heft and ambition. Some of us loved it, while others found it a joyless slog. I note that history because I will be nominating The Disappearers for next year's reading list, and anticipate it may elicit similarly passionate reactions. (Not that that's a bad thing! :-)

Fortune and Men's Eyes

Last year, I nominated Nicholas Boggs' magisterial biography of James Baldwin, Baldwin: A Love Story, for our reading list. It didn't get quite enough votes to make the cut, but I may put it forward for consideration again this year.

I'm finishing it now, and wanted to highlight a serendipitous connection between the bio and Marlon James' latest novel, The Disappearers (see the post above this one for more details about that). In the novel, a group of gay eight young black and mixed-race men in Kingston gather in private, in 1988, to rehearse a dangerous play: John Herbert’s “Fortune and Men’s Eyes” (1967), about prison life and degradation and sex acts, both desired and not. (One character refers to it as “Lord of the Flies with big people.”) Most if not all the actors are closeted gay men.

Believe it or not, James Baldwin directed a Turkish-language production of the play in Istanbul that ran from 1969 to 1970. Boggs' coverage of the episode in the biography is a tour de force.

Inspired by that coincidence, I really wanted to nominate Herbert's play for our reading list, but it's not in print and used copies are priced at $60 and up. Let us hope the Marlon James connection will spur some enterprising publisher to reissue the play. 🤞

Good news, BookMen shoppers!

As those of you who read Paul Rudnick's I'll Take It (which we discussed on July 1) know, the novel ends with the protagonist's family sticking up the L.L. Bean flagship store.

In real life, that location later closed for two years to undergo a $50 million upgrade. But Ted Coltman was kind enough to share this announcement that it is once again open. Thanks, Ted!

Let us all hope that the two-year closure of the Kennedy Center that its board just voted to undertake will be equally successful.

Rest in poetry, Edward Field

The Sept. 7 New York Times reports the passing of poet Edward Field at the age of 102.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I'd never heard of Mr. Field, something reading his obituary quickly made me regret. So I reached out to our friend Philip Clark to ask whether he knew him, and Philip has kindly authorized me to share his response to the news with you all here:

"Gosh, Steve, I'm so sorry to hear this, and thanks for letting me know. I knew Ed, superficially: I asked him to submit poetry and published a piece of his in The William and Mary Review when I was its poetry editor as an undergraduate. I also did a small feature on him in Velvet Mafia later on, and we exchanged a few e-mails over the years about this and that. He gave a wonderful reading years ago at Westbeth, the artists' building in NYC where he lived, at the time with his longtime partner and collaborator Neil Derrick. I mean, everyone knew how old he was, so this isn't unexpected, but at times, it seemed like Ed would outlive everyone.

"I lost track of him a couple of years ago, and he didn't reply to my last e-mail (inquiring about something related to either the writer Alfred Chester or poet Ralph Pomeroy, if I recall correctly), but he was vibrant and productive until then. His last book that I'm aware of--Voyage to Destruction: The Moroccan Letters of Alfred Chester--which he edited, and which is another fascinating contribution—was published in 2022, and when I contacted him about it, he was still feisty.

"His poetry is very accessible, so he'd be a good choice for infrequent poetry readers. Frequent pop culture references; he's credited as one of the first, if not the first, to do this. Take a look at his poem "Mae West," for example, which must be online somewhere and is my favorite of his. If his memoir, The Man Who Would Marry Susan Sontag (which isn't him—that's a reference to Chester), is in print, it would also be a great choice."

And here, in Mr. Field's honor, is that poem (first published in the July 15, 1974, issue of The New Yorker):

Mae West

She comes on drenched in a perfume called Self Satisfaction

from feather boa to silver pumps.

She does not need to be loved by you

though she’ll give you credit for good taste.

Just because you say you love her

she’s not throwing herself at your feet in gratitude.



Every other star reveals how worthless she feels

by crying when the hero says he loves her,

or how unhoped-for the approval is

when the audience applauds her big number —

but Mae West takes it as her due.

She knows she’s good.



She expects the best for herself

And knows she’s worth what she costs,

and she costs plenty.

She’s not giving anything away.



She enjoys her admirers, fat daddy or muscleman,

and doesn’t confuse vanity and sex,

though she never turns down pleasure,

lapping it up.



Above all she enjoys her Self,

swinging her body that says, Me me me me.

Why not have a good time?

As long as you amuse me, go on,

I like you slobbering over my hand, big boy.

I have a right to.



Most convincing, we know all this

not by her preaching it

but by her presence — it’s no act.

Every word and look and movement

spells independence:

She likes being herself.



And we who don’t

can only look on, astonished.



Octavio Roca, who also noted the news, drew my attention to this passage in the NYT obituary:

"Then, in the mid-1950s, Mr. Field met the poet Frank O’Hara. Their brief love affair altered the course of Mr. Field’s life and work. 'Frank O’Hara showed me the way,' Mr. Field wrote for outhistory.org. Mr. O’Hara’s ability to write easily and unselfconsciously as a gay man gave Mr. Field the courage to follow his instincts and loosen up with his own writing. The result was a breakthrough in his poetry."

Based on all that, I'm inclined to nominate something by Field for our 2027 reading list. Both Amazon and Alibris sell used copies of several of Field's books, so I've ordered a couple of them to check out his work for myself. Stay tuned!

Additional reading re: Albee & Chabon

All modesty aside (LOL), I believe we maintain a high standard for all our literary discussions. But last night's session, on Edward Albee's play "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?," felt particularly lively, and worthy of the source.

In that connection, Mike Mazza recommends Michael Y. Bennett's book about the play, which is part of Routledge Publishing's Fourth Wall series, which it bills as "short, accessible accounts of some of modern theater’s best loved works."

Then, looking ahead to our October and November discussions of Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, Mike brought in an authorized comic based on the novel, Michael Chabon Presents. . .The Amazing Adventures of the Escapist, Volume 1. As the blurb explains:

"Leaping onto center stage from the wings of comics history comes that dazzling Master of Elusion, foe of tyranny, and champion of liberation: the Escapist. Operating from a secret headquarters under the boards of the Empire Theater, the Escapist and his crack team of associates roam the globe performing amazing feats of magic and coming to the aid of all those who languish in the chains of oppression. The history of the Escapist's creators Joe Kavalier and Sam Clay was recently chronicled in Michael Chabon's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. Now the best of the Escapist's adventures are collected into one volume for all to enjoy."