Finally… I hear you cry. It has taken some time and some sorting, and is still very much a work in progress (but then arent all blogs always), but finally the new improved WordPress version of ‘The Great Gay Reads’ is up and running. In the move some blog posts have vanished, some have appeared and some have been moved, its a little crazy but over the next week or so everything will have been sorted and all should be well.  

As a bit of a thank you to all of you who have been so patient whilst waiting for this blog to appear I have anaged to pull a few strings and have a bit of a competition for you which will be open until next Monday. I have some lovely copies of the first three in the Tales of the City series by Armistead Maupin to give away thanks to the lovely people at  Black Swan/Transworld/Random House (it gets very confusing when you are chasing books and people in publishers hahahaha) you can see them below…

So all you have to do is send the answer to the following question:
“What number was the address that Mary Ann Singleton moved into and who was
her land lady?”

Please email your answer (comments won’t count – though do comment delightfully on the new site as your feedback is very important) to greatgayreads@googlemail.com Good luck!

Det här är en så kallad utmaning jag fick av Emelie på Facebook. Tyckte den verkade lite kul.

Mycket Fritt Översatta Regler: Tänk inte för länge. Femton böcker du har läst som alltid kommer att finnas med dig. De första 15 du kan komma på på max 15 minuter. Bjud sedan in dina vänner att göra samma sak.

Fast jag kom bara på 11! Sparar 4 till senare. Ingen inbördes ordning. Varning för mycket fantasy och långa serier!

The Wheel of Time av Robert Jordan (serie, Sagan om Drakens återkomst i svensk översättning)
En lång jävla oavslutad fantasyserie som jag har läst flera gånger och både hatar och älskar. Handlingen är alldeles för invecklad för att förklara. Men det är typiska fantasyingredienser som några vanliga ungdomar som kommer ut i stora världen och hamnar på upphöjda positioner, ett antal profetior (som uppfylls), en ondskefull makt med ondskefulla underhuggare, ett magikersällskap, osv. Utmärkande för den här serien är dock att den har fler intriger än Desperate Housewives, alla oavslutade, löst hängande i luften, och kanske ett dussin huvudpersoner varav hälften är kvinnor och precis lika viktiga för handlingen som alla män. Det är inte vanligt i fantasy, tänk på stackars Eowyn. Som en liten extra twist på alltihop har författaren gått och dött, så serien, som för närvarande omfattar tolv tegelstenar (det dubbla på svenska) håller nu på att avslutas av en annan författare. Spännande.

Narnia-serien av C.S. Lewis
Det första fantasyrelaterade jag läste, fastnade direkt. Vid omläsning kan jag irritera mig på alla moralkakor och illa dolda kristna budskap, men det är fortfarande en bra serie. Och jag antar att det inte bara var jag som letade efter portaler mellan världarna och icke-existerande garderobsväggar efter att ha läst dem?

Mästaren och Margarita av Michail Bulgakov
Minns typ ingenting förutom att den var humoristisk, skruvad och handlade om djävulen. Och det kan ju räcka! Dags för omläsning.

Girlfriend in a Coma av Douglas Coupland
Handlar om en ung kvinna som hamnar i koma, vaknar upp en herrans massa år senare och har då fött en dotter. Sen typ går jorden under och en handfull människor blir de enda överlevande. Låter helt bisarrt och det är det också. Ännu ett omläsningsobjekt. Han har skrivit en massa andra bra böcker också. Speciellt jPod rekommenderas.

Vampyrkrönikan (En vampyrs bekännelse med fortsättning) av Anne Rice
Jag har aldrig gillat när vampyrer porträtteras som monster som bör utrotas, så jag är glad över den nya vampyrvågen med Twilight och liknande böcker/serier/filmer. Grunden till denna våg lades av Anne Rice med böckerna om Louis, Lestat och grabbarna. Här är vampyrism sex, sex, ångest och sex. Som det ska vara.

Borta med vinden av Margaret Mitchell
Världens bästa bok? Läste den första gången på mellanstadiet, läste om den häromåret och var lite orolig för att den inte var så bra som jag mindes, men den var om möjligt ännu bättre! Handlar om bortskämda 16-åriga plantageägardottern Scarlett O’Hara som tvingas lära sig leva i verkligheten när inbördeskriget kommer och vänder hennes värld uppochner. Och hon är så sjukt, sjukt bra på det! Hon förför män, hon driver affär, hon plockar bomull, hon stjäl sin systers fästman, hon förlöser barn, hon flyr undan en brinnande stad, hon dubbelspelar, och allt hon gör, gör hon för sitt älskade Tara. Dessutom hinner hon med att vara olyckligt förälskad, föda barn, bli änka och gud vet allt.

Sagan om Belgarion av David Eddings
Som jag älskade den här serien när jag var liten. Fruktansvärt stereotyp fantasy, men lättläst och passar perfekt i mellan- och högstadieåldern, som inkörsport till tyngre grejer.

Harry Potter-serien av J.K. Rowling
Jag älskar bok 3, 4, 6 och 7. Ettan och tvåan är för barnsliga och femman är en depressionsdipp. Det är fantasy, det är tonårsproblem, det är dödsfiender med attraktion, det är sex i omklädningsrummet…eller vänta nu, det var nog fanfiction förresten. Men älskar karaktärerna, de går att bygga sjukt mycket storys på. Och sista boken är ju en enda stor blinkning till fanfictionscenen. Gillar att det blir mer allvar ju längre serien går också. Folk dör liksom.

Lilla huset på prärien-serien av Laura Ingalls Wilder
LOVES IT! Läste den hundra gånger när jag var liten, och den håller fortfarande. Om någon har missat, så handlar det om en nybyggarfamilj i USA, mer specifikt dottern Laura, och alla deras flyttar och “äventyr”. Delvis självbiografisk. OBS! Bättre än TV-serien!

Egalias döttrar av Gerd Brantenberg
Omvända världen, könsmässigt sett, där kvinnorna har chefspositionerna och våldtar, och pojkarna heter saker som Petronius, använder PH (penishållare) och så småningom skapar en manskamp mot matriarkatet.

San Fransisco-liv av Armistead Maupin
Det här är en såpa i bokform. Handlar om ett gäng ungdomar i San Fransisco som råkar ut för olika saker. Intrigerna är många, invecklade och oförutsägbara. (Typ en svart kvinna visar sig vara född som vit, en kvinna visar sig vara någons pappa, osv.) Sjukt roligt. Första boken heter Ett annat liv.

It’s weird to write something with no idea who, if anyone, will be reading it.  But nonetheless, I am going to start typing and see what comes out.  Over the last few weeks, more and more I have felt a need to write, or have some sort of outlet to express myself in a creative way.

I used to keep a diary religiously back in 1998 – 2000. Back in a time when I had no Internet access or even an email account, when I was one of the few Brits that hadn’t succumbed to the mobile phone craze that had swept the country while I was working for WDW, and I had moved back in with my parents to save money with the hope to one day get a visa and be able to move back to the USA.  I used to update my diary when I was riding the bus to and from work.  Now 12 years later I can’t imagine a life without the Internet, I have 6 email addresses (2 for work and 4 personal ones – don’t ask!), 3 cell phones (1 work, 1 personal, and 1 British one for when I go home), I own a home (actually it’s the 2nd one I’ve bought and really the bank owns most of it, but I pay the mortgage so I guess that counts), and I have been living in sunny Florida for over 9 years (10 on February 25, 2010).  Amazing how things change.  When I think back to just a fraction of things that have happened over the last 12 years, I can’t help but wonder why I stopped writing in my diary.  To be honest I am a little sad that this time in my life has passed without the same type of record.

I used to love writing as a kid.  When I was younger I always thought I’d be a famous author, but then I also thought I would be an architect, a Jedi Knight and a famous actor, so I guess the urge to write had some pretty stiff competition. I have recently been craving a creative outlet, and have been reading a lot more than usual.  Correction – I am getting back to reading like I used to, but in recent years I just haven’t done this with the same frequency.  I’ve missed this pastime and I am glad it is back in my life.

I am currently working my way through the E. Lynn Harris novels and I am thoroughly enjoying the experience.  I haven’t enjoyed a series of books this much since I first discovered Armistead Maupin’s novels in the summer of 1996.  I read quickly and tend to get fully immersed into a book as I turn the pages.  My mind goes into overdrive and I lose myself imagining the characters and situations.

As I’ve been reading more frequently, I’ve started to remember how much I used to enjoy writing, one thing lead to another, and now I am here.  Hopefully you are here too.  I am not sure exactly what this diary / blog / stream of consciousness will turn into. But hopefully it will be a way for me to indulge a creative streak and to enjoy using a voice I haven’t used in too many years.  Thank you for reading and following along as I get reacquainted.

Milk: A Pictorial History of Harvey Milk. Int. Dustin Lance Black; Forewrd. Armistead Maupin. 2009. 144p. Newmarket Press, $19.95. (978-1-55704-828-8). Gr. 10-12.

In 1977, when Harvey Milk was elected to the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, he was the first openly gay man to be voted into a major public office in the United States. One year later he was shot by a disgruntled man who had resigned from the Board and then killed both Milk and Mayor George Moscone. In the past thirty years, Milk has become a hero to those who believe in human rights for the glbt community. This book is a story of how he changed history through his actions and legacy with an introduction about how his life transformed Black’s life when, while he was growing up in a homophobic Mormon household in San Antonio, heard a recording of Milk’s speech giving hope to young glbtq people. Part I, “The History,” provides a history about Milk’s life, 90 photographs ,and recollections from Milk’s activist friends in his Castro Street neighborhood about his work. Part II chronicles “The Making of the Movie,” released in 2008, written by Black, directed by Gus Van Sant, and starring Sean Penn. Peter Travers, in Rolling Stone, said about the movie: “A total triumph! Brimming with humor, heart, sexual heat, political provocation, and a crying need to stir things up. If there’s a better movie around this year, with more bristling purpose, I sure haven’t seen it. An American classic.” An inspiration to people discouraged by the passing of Proposition 8 in California and the fight about the country to repeal legislative action giving glbt people equal rights. —Nel Ward

Chroniques de San Francisco, vol. 1, Armistead Maupin

Dans un précédent article, je vous ai parlé de ma longue descente aux enfers concernant la lecture. Embourbée dans une vie de devoirs que l’on m’a imposée et que j’ai acceptée sans trop de résistance pour préserver mes acquis, c’est un des premiers loisirs que j’avais abandonnés, avec l’écriture, et celui qui est le plus difficile à me réapproprier, bizarrement. Mais je ne me laisse pas faire, je suis têtue (on se tait dans le fond) et on m’aide bien, à l’occasion, en me mettant dans les mains ce genre de livres, bouquin que j’ai dévoré en deux jours (ça fait une éternité que ça ne m’était pas arrivé).

En bref : Fin des années 70, une fille de province découvre la grande ville qu’est San Francisco, ainsi que ses us et coutumes, faune et habitants. Elle intègre une résidence des plus mystérieuses et libérées. D’autres personnages sont dépeints, se lient et se délient au gré du hasard et le résultat est plutôt réussi, des chroniques humaines, plausibles et attachantes. On se reconnait dans au moins deux des protagonistes, assuré.

Le plus : La diversité des personnages, les traits de caractère remarquablement bien décrits, les rapprochements plutôt bien trouvés, une intrigue simple et efficace. Un tout qui se lit vitesse grand V, parce qu’on veut savoir pourquoi il a couché, pourquoi elle revient, comment elle lui dira, s’il cèdera finalement… ces chroniques font appel à notre sensibilité d’Homme mais aussi et surtout, à notre perfide curiosité qui nous pousse à vouloir tout savoir. Mes préférences ? J’aime beaucoup le chef d’entreprise, sa fille, Mickael… et Jon.

Le moins : la caricature des personnages pêche un peu parfois, même si ça donne le sourire à la lecture pour quelques uns. Et surtout, surtout, la perte de… bref… je ne peux pas dévoiler une partie de l’intrigue, mais sachez que ça m’a mise hors de moi ! Nous avions de grandes choses à découvrir par son intermédiaire ! Sinon, la personne par laquelle on découvre les lieux, Mary Ann Prout Singleton m’agace au plus haut point aussi, heureusement que le livre se tourne de plus en plus vers les autres dès la fin du premier tiers.

Meine Bücher im August…

1. Volker Klüpfl, Michael Kobr – Milchgeld ****
2. Eric Malpass – Schöne Zeit der jungen Liebe ****
3. Armistead Maupin – Stadtgeschichten *****
4. Jana Voosen – Zauberküsse ****
5. Liza Marklund – Kalter Süden ****
6. Rita Mae Brown – Eine Maus kommt selten allein ****
7. Stella Blómkvist – Das ideale Verbrechen ****
8. Ildikó von Kürthy – Herzsprung *
9. Rachel Gibson – Das muss Liebe sein ****
10. Franziska Stalmann – Das rote Fenster ****
11. Judith O’Reilly – Stadt, Land – Schluss ***

Das waren 3.390 Seiten in diesem Monat und fast nur tolle Bücher.

Ich habe mir vorgenommen, das Buch, das  mir am besten im vergangenen Monat gefallen hat, an der Seite aufzuführen.

Absolutes Highlight: Armistead Maupin – Stadtgeschichten
Flop des Monats: Ildikó von Kürthy – Herzsprung

Mal schauen wie der September wird und wer da das Rennen macht.

San Francisco is no stranger to time capsules. One example can be found in Washington Square Park at the base of the Benjamin Franklin statue commissioned by nineteenth-century millionaire and temperance advocate Henry D. Cogswell. The materials placed there in 1879 by Cogswell included personal papers and a sampling of publications that are now housed at the California Historical Society. After the original contents were exhumed in 1979 by then-mayor of San Francisco Dianne Fienstein, new materials replaced them for re-opening in 2079, including a pair of Levi’s jeans, a poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, a bottle of wine (ironic, given Cogswells temperance stance), and a copy of Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City.

Sometimes a time capsule is forgotten and later re-discovered, as had been the case with a copper box filled with coins, photographs, newspaper clippings and other items that had been placed in the walls of San Francisco City Hall in 1913 by then-mayor Jim Rolph and found again in 1997 during renovation work. Selected contents from that collection are exhibited in City Hall’s South Light Court. A new time capsule was placed in City Hall in 2001 by then-mayor Willie Brown, containing a wide range of contents including one of the mayor’s hats, Rice a Roni, a bolt from the Golden Gate Bridge, a piece of the AIDS memorial quilt, a bottle of Anchor Steam beer, menus from the Fairmont and St. Francis hotels, and a video tape from 1997 of the opening of Mayor Rolph’s time capsule of 1913.

Sometimes time capsules themselves contain time capsules, as was discovered in 2001 when the cornerstone of the former Ohabai Shalome synagogue at 1881 Bush Street was opened. Items that had been placed in the cornerstone during the 1895 construction of the building included an earlier time capsule that had been created by a group of San Francisco Jews in 1865. Together, these contents were fashioned into an exhibit at the Contemporary Jewish Museum entitled “Hidden in the Walls”.

I’ve created a Google Map showing the location of time capsules in San Francisco. I imagine there are many that I’ve missed. Do you know of any that don’t appear on the map? Feel free to leave a comment and let me know about them.

For those who are interested, William E. Jarvis has done the only serious history to date of time capsules; and Oglethorpe University in Atlanta, Georgia hosts the International Time Capsule Society.

Armistead Maupin: Der nächtliche Lauscher

Ich muß vorweg nehmen, dass ich ein großer Fan der Stadtgeschichten bin und auch begierig über das im letzten Jahr erschienene Buch „Michael Tolliver lebt“ hergefallen bin. Diese Fortsetzung ist zeitlich 18 Jahre nach dem Schlusskapitel der Stadtgeschichten angesiedelt und war für mich sehr ernüchternd. Es lässt sich nicht leugnen, dass man älter geworden ist und die Welt sich weitergedreht hat. Genau das ist auch bei “Michael Tolliver lebt”  zu spüren und so habe ich das Buch in einer sehr seltsamen euphorisch-nostalgisch-ernüchternden Art und Weise erlebt.

Doch genug der Vorrede; „Der nächtliche Lauscher“ ist bereits 2002 auf den Markt gekommen und ist bis auf eine Randfigur völlig frei von Charakteren der Stadtgeschichten.  Der (Anti-)Held ist der Erzähler Gabriel Noone, ein bekannter  Radio-Moderator, der eben erst von seinem Lebensgefährten verlassen wurde und auch künstlerisch gerade in einer Krise steckt.

Dieser Stillstand durch ein Manuskript durchbrochen, das er für eine Kritik lesen soll. Darin schildert der erst 13-jährige Pete seinen ebenso kurzen wie harten Lebensweg. Als Kind missbraucht und wie eine Ware weitergereicht,  ist er erst zur Ruhe gekommen, als ihn Therapeutin Donna bei sich aufgenommen hat.  Das Ende des Glücks aber ist bereits absehbar, denn der Junge ist HIV-positiv und verbringt viel Zeit in Kliniken.

Gabriel Noone ist fasziniert von der Tapferkeit des Jungen, der ein großer Fan seiner Radioshow ist. Bald schon telefonieren die beiden regelmäßig und eine  ungewöhnliche Freundschaft nimmt ihren Lauf. Gabriels Ex-Freund sät jedoch Misstrauen, denn ihm erscheint die Lebensgeschichte des Jungen zu konstruiert.  Als er dann selbst Gelegenheit hat, mit Pete und seiner Pflege-Mutter zu telefonieren kommt ihm der Verdacht, dass es sich um ein und die selbe Person handeln könnte, denn die Stimmen gleichen sich auffallend.

Gabriel hat zu diesem Zeitpunkt bereits einen Besuch bei Mutter und Kind vereinbart, der kurzfristig abgesagt wird, weil sich der Gesundheitszustand des Jungen angeblich verschlechtert habe. Gabriel macht sich dennoch auf den Weg zu den beiden, um die Wahrheit herauszufinden…

Das Buch hat mich nicht direkt enttäuscht, aber ich habe mir doch mehr davon versprochen.  Man sollte es auf keinen Fall in der Erwartungshaltung lesen, dass man leicht-unterhaltsame Literatur im Stil der Stadtgeschichten bekommt.  „Der nächtliche Lauscher“ ist deutlich tiefgründiger und anspruchsvoller, ohne dabei jedoch in die Tiefen „großer Literatur” vorzustoßen und  speziell der Ausgang der Geschichte hat mich sehr unbefriedigt zurückgelassen.

Gelesen: 10.05.-20.05.

Seiten total: 346

Seiten/Tag:  31,5

Gelesene Seiten 2009: 6.808

It is not easy to get a gay novel published. Possibly our most celebrated gay writer, Edmund White, summed up the situation back in 2007: ‘The market is very small. Only 3% of all people are gay and if you take a diminishing dumbed-down reading public to begin with, and say you are only aiming for 3% of that market, that’s awfully small. So gay novels if they are successful sell 5,000 copies.’

Not an easy job then. The trick, perhaps, lies in judicious marketing. As a leading gay journalist in London (founder of ‘Attitude’ magazine and currently Editor of the gay pages in ‘Time Out’), Paul Burston is a master of knowing what this 3% want. His latest novel, ‘The Gay Divorcee’, is a deceptively light hearted critique of the London gay scene, laced with blisteringly witty repartee and timely social comment. It is probably what many gay readers want and also what they need.

‘The Gay Divorcee’ narrates the story of Soho bar owner Phil Davies who is engaged to be ‘married’ to breathtaking rancid queen ‘Fag Ash’ Ashley. The problem is that Phil is still married to Hazel and is blissfully unaware that he has a nineteen year old son from that union. More crucially, Ashley knows nothing about the first wife. The story charts the shenanigans in the tumultuous six months leading up to their impending nuptials and is set against the bitchy, incestuous, often terrifyingly hedonistic gay ghetto.

Burston neither aspires to nor pretends to write gay literary fiction, (he has said that he often finds White’s prose pompous), and if any comparisons are to be drawn with current gay luminaries it would be with Armistead Maupin. He shares the same gift for vivid characterization through snappy dialogue enthused with a heartwarming appreciation of the intricacies of humanity. Central character Phil is every bit as vulnerable, complex and lovable as Maupin’s Michael and Burston’s achievement is to reflect the hopes, dreams and fears of a new gay generation in his struggles.

Maupin chronicled the social and sexual fluxes of San Francisco during the heady days of gay liberation. The darkness of the closet was in the past and AIDS had yet to decimate an entire community. His work was enthused with a real joie de vivre as the characters exalted in different ways to explore their freedom and build novel ways of relating and forging a new queer aesthetic. The backdrop for Burston’s work is entirely different; his characters are often jaded and there is a real sense that the London gay scene has reached the end of the line.

This is unsurprising since Burston has often been critical of the scene. Perhaps his stance is best summed up in an interview with Homovision in which he says that there is more to gay culture than spending the night in ‘a railway arch in Vauxhall.’ The infamous railway arch in question comes in for quite a lot of flack in this novel, along with the GHB overdoses and general decay of beauty and lost opportunities that it seems to represent. There is a sense of nostalgia, rather reminiscent of the world Maupin depicts, as the fragile character Martin remembers a time when men had sex in beds instead of saunas and actually spoke to one another as opposed to gaping at anonymous body parts on Gaydar.

These are issues that mean a lot to Burston – he confronted them unblinkingly in an article in ‘Time Out’ in 2007 entitled ‘London’s gay scene in crisis.’ His achievement in this novel is to package questions that may be unpalatable to many in what appears to be a light, comic read ; the criticism comes in the odd throw away remark and the motif of an anonymous, hysterical ‘Blog’ lampooning the self destructive ‘gay glitterati.’

The book is structured in short, easy to digest chapters and its action is fast paced. The aim is to appeal to the frenetic lives of gay Londoners who can grab a few pages on the tube between work and the next bar or spa where they can then grab the next guy in the sexual McDonalds that is the gay scene. What they may not expect in between is to be subtly questioned about the motives and implications of their behaviour.

We need to find new ways of talking about what is going on in the gay community, only then can problems be addressed and solutions found. Burston is our chief advocate here – he pioneered gay literary saloon Polari and in February his House of Homosexual Culture debated bare back porn at The South Bank Centre. While there is an undeniable sense that London’s scene is struggling in this novel, there is also the suggestion that it can extricate itself from impending catastrophe.

The key to this is communication as this is the only way that the characters fathom out some sort of survival for themselves. Interestingly, the gay action is counterpointed by the staunchly heterosexual conservatism of Wales and the mystery shrouding the Bridgend teenage suicides which no one is discussing. Whether Burston becomes the new Armistead Maupin is yet to be seen. He has, however, nominated himself to be one of the scene’s spokesmen for the noughties. It’s a vital role that may prevent us surrendering to the danger of apathy.

Major Tom is a character created by David Bowie, an spaceman who reached the sky above and turned into an icon. Tom is also  the most important artist related to Gay Art, or better homo erotic culture, the real Icon of the XX century is Tom of Finland.

I was a kid when I first saw, one of his works and the importance of this was that I could see that a homosexual relation could be something beautiful, interesting and nice.  Men and women have fantasies in a world where everything is possible, and most important: Two men can be manly when they are together, having sex or loving each other.

Drawings, comics, stories and this guy is an influence for lots of designers, photographers and artists worldwide, past, present and future, for sure. This year Taschen published “Tom of Finland XXL” by Dian Hanson, which includes  six decades of Touko Laaksonen, Tom’s real name with texts of Camile Paglia, John Waters, Armistead Maupin and Tood Oldham, describing the importante of Laaksonen work in our society.

At Taschen web site we can also check a video called Bigger is Better , based on the book.

by Boris Borkai (borisborkai@rocketmail.com)

legendary gay author Edmund White at home in Paris

Last week a friend challenged me on why I read so much gay fiction. ‘Why read that ? It’s so depressing’ he claimed. ‘It’s all coming out stories, AIDS memoirs or undiluted angst.’ I was in a pub at the time and, perhaps unsurprisingly, was unable to form an especially coherent retort. His words were still swimming in my fuzzy head the next morning, however, as I picked up my latest gay novel, and began to ponder the confrontational question with something near the depth it deserved.

 In some ways I can understand where my friend is coming from. Gay novels of the 1950s were often unremittingly bleak, focussing on the tragic destiny of gay men, often resulting in inevitable death (James Baldwin’s ‘Giovanni’s Room’ comes to mind.) Yet surely coming out, angst and AIDS are inescapable in gay literature simply because they are intricate parts of the gay experience. Gay men have to come out on an almost daily basis . Likewise, the spectre of AIDS is unavoidable and it is, perhaps,  inevitable that these issues will lead to more than a modicum of angst !  The task of the gay writer, then, is to present these themes in a way that highlights the positive aspects our lives, the hope that can be gauged from the seemingly insurmountable.

The book I picked up that following day was Edmund White’s seminal history of post gay liberation New York  ‘The Farewell Symphony.’ I consider it to be one of the benchmarks of gay literature. The novel charts the struggles of a gay writer (essentially White), as he attempts to forge a new queer aesthetic in a time of monumental change. In close to five hundred pages, White creates a near perfect portrait of the furious hedonism that defined that era, as his narrator struggles to piece together a coherent life. The novel’s structure mirrors the fragmentation at the heart of gay lives – it is an intricate tapestry of personal histories, cultural anecdotes and the inexorable quest for discovery and transience through sex. The author takes the dark motifs that every man grapples with and gallantly shows how one man patterns out a unauthordox yet workable lifestyle. The end result is utterly exhilarating.

Far from being depressing, the best gay novels take us on a journey, inspiring us, as they show us how cruel realities can be transformed into life changing strategies for survival. Look at Armistead Maupin’s life affirming ‘Tales of The City’ and its depiction of a tolerant gay ‘family’, or even Alan Hollinghurst’s ‘The Line of Beauty’ – which despite its unflinching portrait of the hypocritical AIDS ravaged 1980s, concludes with its narrator becoming rich in self knowledge.

 When Hollinghurst’s novel won the booker prize in 2004, the puritanical ‘Daily Mail’ inevitably fumed. How could a piece of fiction depicting drug taking, gay sex and AIDS gain such a coveted literary accolade? What the paper’s esteemed critics failed to do was to look beyond these themes and examine their treatment; the ways in which they structure the story and influence characterisation. As readers, we too must be wary of dismissing the more desolate issues that form such an important part of our personal histories. True, they are not always palatable, but they are often the scaffolding around which we are able to communicate and fabricate an authentic, if alternative life. And, after all, as Edmund White reminds us true ‘beauty is so often twinned with melancholy.’

I have to admit that I am not the biggest re-reader of books; I know that some readers will visit a particular book each and every year without fail. I am not one of those people, I suppose in my head there are so many books coming out (excuse the pun) all the time that to read and re-reading means that you are missing out on some possible new gems that you haven’t had the joy of finding before. There is also the worry that you might not love the book as much as you did before, and that could mean losing its charm forever. However doing this project is making me do just that. The first books I am due to re-read are Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City series and I am a bit nervous about it.

When I was in my late teens about ten years ago the Tales of the City along with Edmund White’s books were the ones I dipped into as I came to terms with being gay. In that sense they meant double to me and I honestly believed they were teaching me everything I needed to know for my gay life as I grew up… not quite the case. I wanted a best friend like Mary Ann Singleton that I could have crazy adventures with. I wanted a landlady just like Anna Madrigal that would be nosey enough that I knew she cared and kooky enough that we could become friends to. I totally immersed myself into the world of Barbary Lane and didn’t want to leave.

So with the end of Pilcrow not it in too far distant future, as am reading it fairly fast (it is very big) but not so fast I miss anything or come to the end too soon, I am getting a bit pensive about heading back to Barbary Lane, ten years older, ten years more of experience in life and ten years more cynical. I really hope it either takes me back to those days, or that I find even more things to love about it that maybe I didn’t quite get last time. I suppose time will tell.

My complete and utter favourite book of last year was undoubtedly The Mitford’s: Letters Between Six Sisters, I don’t think I have ever enjoyed any non-fiction as much in all my reading years. At the time it wasn’t the Mitford’s that appealed to me it was partly the fact it was letters between sisters but more the amount of time that the letters spanned, all that history. It wasn’t until reading the letters that I started to twig just who the sisters were, I had heard of Deborah and Nancy before only I knew Deborah as the owner of Chatsworth House which is just down the road from my Gran’s and Nancy as an author most authors raved about. At the time I got the book there was also a TV show on Unity and the rumours of her affair (and pregnancy) with Adolf Hitler. As everything about them became more and more unusual and the more letters I read I gained a bit of a fascination which has resulted in this…

Now four of these are new additions to the collection as I received In Tearing Haste from the delightful John Murray before Christmas, The Pursuit of Laughter and A Life of Contrasts from the lovely Gibson Square just after Christmas and Decca: The Letters of Jessica Mitford from the very kind people at Orion only yesterday, naturally I haven’t read any of those yet. I have in fact of that whole collection only read ‘The Letters’ and The Pursuit of Love, the rest have all come from some very good routing through charity shops. There are still so many I am missing though; Nancy’s biographies as well as The Blessing and Jessica’s books on Death in America etc, to name just a few. (I also should thank Mitch as she bought me The Letters for Christmas after my Gran, yes you naughty thing, ‘borrowed’ mine and then said I had given it to her lol – well you can have it now.)

I now have one more mission for 2009 is to read all the ones that I haven’t read yet but own. Plus there are many more coming, I actually have a PDF proof version of Deborah’s next book, but I am not allowed to say anymore than that.

Dovergreyreader looked at Mitfordmania when she reviewed A Pursuit of Laughter by Diana Mosley and it brought up some rather heated debate on Diana as a person. I don’t condone her like for Hitler I don’t even attempt to understand it, but what I was always taught in history was to look at both sides and someone who saw both sides of Hitler and one of the biggest events in our worlds history was Diana and though I don’t agree with her ideals I will be interested to hear her side of things if that makes sense. The other question that was raised was ‘are there too many Mitford based books on the market?’ I would say no, I actually think that some of their own books need to be reprinted rather than so many books about them in all honesty. I can understand the fascination though, they knew a wide range of famous people and indeed some of histories most renowned faces and through their love of letters and essays have captured years and year’s worth of history. I just wonder what Debo makes of it all as the furore around her and her sister is going and she is living to see it?

On a slightly different note another series of books I am going to make it my aim to read (well re-read in some cases) arrived yesterday also The Tales of the City Series by Armistead Maupin….

I first read the first three or four (or possibly five) of these about 8 years ago and wanted a land lady like Miss Madrigal, and strongly believed when I moved to London I would make some of the best friends in the world and they would be diverse and wonderful and everything would be fabulous. I would say half of that wish came true. I very rarely re-read novels I have read so it will be interesting to see what I make of these almost ten years down the line! I will keep you posted. I am currently debating if I should read all of them with no stop-gap, but am worried I will get Maupin Overkill, any advice?

This week the website Amazon has been under fire for what they are referring to as ‘an embarrassing and ham-fisted cataloguing error’ which saw 57,310 adult and gay and lesbian books removed from its listings. As a wannabee (and currently shamefully unprolific) fiction writer myself, I have been following the unfolding story in the press with a mixture of bewilderment, fear and good old fashioned outrage. The net result is that it has left me pondering what all this might mean for the future of gay literature and the degree of freedom society has to define, categorise and possibly even censor it.

On Tuesday, the site apologised for the debacle and claimed that a ‘glitch’ was responsible for erasing authors ranging from Gore Vidal to E.M. Forster. This was in stark contrast to their previous statement in which they explained that they were stripping sales ranking indicators of titles they considered to be ‘adult’ material, meaning that these books would no longer show up in a search. Unsurprisingly, the drastic ‘backtracking’ came after an avalanche of complaints.

Craig Seymour was just one of the authors to full victim to Amazon’s ‘error’, which resulted in the erasure of his memoir ‘All I Could Bare: My Life in the Strip Clubs of Gay Washington DC’ from the site’s charts. He details his own struggle with the Seattle-based firm on his blog (http://craigspoplife.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-amazonfail-timeline.html) It makes for fascinating reading as he describes the way that Amazon persistently failed to give him a straight forward answer when he asked why his work was no longer visible on their site. In what was either a feat of monumental incompetence or calculated evasion of the issue, the ‘Earth’s Most Customer-Centric Company’ shunted him from one department to another. Is it any surprise that the legendary Gore Vidal scathingly asked ‘what kind of a childish game is this?’

After tomes of utterly frustrating, non-sensical responses, Seymour was finally told that ‘in consideration of (their) entire customer base, (Amazon) exclude ‘adult’ material from appearing in some searches and best seller lists.’ Here we get to the crux of the matter – in Amazon’s eyes gay literature is nothing more than ‘adult material’ or to use a more familiar word - pornography. If the jury is out on exactly how they define adult material, what does seem to be clear (to quote bestselling author Jeanette Winterson), is that they are making ‘a value judgement.’

Their explanation reeks of the kind of ignorance that we have come to expect from such a corporate giant. Evidentially, their ‘entire’ customer base does not include gay men and lesbians. Had they levied more importance to this segment of their market and conducted sufficient research one presumes they would have a deeper understanding of what exactly constitutes gay literature. Instead they choose to clump the likes of one of our greatest writers, E.M. Forster, in the same category as erotica and then explain his omission in this succinct, simplistic, outrageously arrogant statement.

Written in 1914, Forster’s groundbreaking novel ‘Maurice’ was published posthumously in 1971; oppression and censorship inhibited it hitting the bookstores any earlier. To make it invisible in 2009 belittles not only Forster’s struggles as a gay writer but those of all LGBT people who fought for recognition between 1914 and 1971. Do those decades really count for nothing? In what they are passing off as a technical ‘glitch’ Amazon has succeeded in insulting and erasing our entire heritage.

In a 2007  interview in London, Armistead Maupin explained that when his best selling series ‘Tales of The City’ first appeared in the ‘San Francisco Chronicle’ in the 1970s, the editors placed a chart on the wall so that they could compare the ratio of gay characters to heterosexuals. The last thirty years have seen unprecedented acceptance of gays in the mainstream media, so much so that it seems almost incomprehensible to us now that such a method was ever used.

What is terrifying about Amazon’s actions is that they have not even used such a ‘yardstick’ to aid their judgements. There has been no cautious, deliberation here – just an obliteration of a whole cannon of literature. As Gore Vidal scathingly remarked ‘why don’t they just burn the books? They’d be better off and it’s very visual on television.’

What we have seen in the last week, however, is I think, even more dangerous. The feelings, desires, hopes and wars of our personal histories have been eliminated quickly and quietly in a web of deceit and confusion that was at first unnoticed and would have gone unchallenged if not for the alert, inquisitive minds of writers like Craig Seymour. Whether this is all part of a sinister, calculated move is, perhaps, impossible to prove. It is all too easy and fruitless to expound conspiracy theories. The mindless categorisation we have seen, however, highlights the blistering lack of knowledge of and willingness to understand an alternative body of work and the lives it reflects.

If as Vidal suggests, there was a bonfire of all of the gay books in the Amazon warehouse, I am not convinced that people would even understand exactly what was being destroyed. Gay lives are far more intricate and complex than an endless haze of graphic sex. We need to be read, studied and considered. May be this cannot happen until our literature is given a less peripheral place in schools and universities. Let them know exactly what we are about, and appreciate our differences before they make the decision to pulp or burn us.

Well after clearing out my study and spending hours sorting all the boxes of books I own guess what happens? Yes I get a deluge of deliveries from some wonderful publishers (Penguin, Bloomsbury and Random House) that has turned the house into even more of a library. Not that I am complaining mind, I am in fact incredibly pleased I just wont know where to start once I finish Pilcrow I have such a variety to chose from next it worries me, there is the promise of more on the way too. Now unlike last time I did an incoming blog, I am not going to give you the synopses of each book that has arrived as it would be go on and on and on, I am just going to give you a list as I will be reviewing them all anyway in the coming weeks…

How I Paid For College – Marc Acito
If Beale Street Could Talk – James Baldwin
Earthly Powers – Anthony Burgess
The Boys – William S Burroughs
Breakfast At Tiffany’s – Truman Capote
In Cold Blood – Truman Capote
Other Voices, Other Rooms – Truman Capote
Summer Crossing – Truman Capote
My Side of the Story – Will Davis
Maurice – E.M. Forster
Carol – Patricia Highsmith
The Folding Star – Alan Hollinghurst
The Spell – Alan Hollinghurst
The Swimming Pool Library – Alan Hollinghurst
Goodbye to Berlin – Christopher Isherwood
The Berlin Stories – Christopher Isherwood
The Indian Clerk – David Leavitt
Sarah – JT Leroy
Fall on Your Knees – Ann-Marie MacDonald
Death in Venice & Other Stories – Thomas Mann
Babycakes – Armistead Maupin
Maybe the Moon – Armistead Maupin
Significant Others – Armistead Maupin
Sure of You – Armistead Maupin
Kiss of the Spiderwoman – Manuel Puig
Before I Knew Him – Anna Ralph
The King Must Die – Mary Renault
The Mask of Apollo – Mary Renault
The Praise Singer – Mary Renault
Funny Boy – Shyam Selvadurai
Now is the Hour – Tom Spanbauer
Hotel du Dream – Edmund White
The Flaneur – Edmund White
The Passion – Jeanette Winterson
The Stone Gods – Jeanette Winterson

Right off to get reading. Am hoping we will have something a little special for you tomorrow!

Thank you very much to Anthony who emailed and put me in the direction of the book about gay books Gay Fiction Speaks. It arrived this morning fresh from Amazon and though fairly expensive for this (and anyone who is looking for gay fiction and more about the author who wrote it) blog its going to be really good companion and will hopefully point me in the direction of some authors and books I haven’t discovered yet. Here’s the blurb for you all.

Today’s most celebrated, prominent, and promising authors of gay fiction in English explore the literary influences and themes of their work in these revealing interviews with Richard Canning. Though the interviews touch upon a wide range of issues — including gay culture, AIDS, politics, art, and activism — what truly distinguishes them is the extent to which Canning encourages the authors to reflect on their writing practices, published work, literary forebears, and their writing peers — gay and straight. Edmund White talks about narrative style and the story behind the cover of A Boy’s Own Story. Armistead Maupin discusses his method of writing and how his work has adapted to television. Dennis Cooper thinks about L.A., AIDS, Try, and pop music. Alan Hollinghurst considers structure and point of view in The Folding Star, and why The Swimming-Pool Library is exactly 366 pages long. David Leavitt muses on the identity of the gay reader — and the extent to which that readership defined a tradition. Andrew Holleran wonders how he might have made The Beauty of Men “more forlorn, romantic, lost” by writing in the first person.

Prizes One thru Nine. The Celebs Knockin’ Their Chakras

and…The Shining Stars…Celebs Rockin’ Their Chakras.

(Iti’s Note: What is a “Chakra”?  A purse to be on a waiting list for?  A sneaker from Japan? No to both and you can’t buy or beg, you already have them. Celebritis…They’re Just Like Us! They have these Energy Wheels too! Go here to see what they wheely are, Google or Wiki it)

Celebs Knockin’ Their Chakras:

First Base Root Down (?) Chakra Prize to Chris Brown…Hey Root Down Brown, ala the BeeGees, ask yourself…how deep is your Love?

La Sexy (?) Second Chakra Prize to Kate Moss…knocked up anew or non?

The Sheer Will Power (?)Third Chakra Prize to Madonna…for power tripping and power walking another new man-boy-love to mandatory Kabbalah, this time model, Jesus Luz.

The True Love (?) Fourth Chakra Prize to Salma Hayak and Francois-Henri Pinault for romantically becoming civilly married on Valentines’ Day to nicely erase the past nasties.

The Fifth Gettin’ Creative (?) Chakra Prize to Mickey Rourke for his little puppy at his 5th chakra, so adorable but alas no lucky charm to claim the wrestling of an Oscar.

The Third Eye Higher Vision(?) Sixth Chakra Prize goes to Jessica Biel for her clever take on the everyday, ho-hum accessory, the colestomy bag…Take it Higher, Higher, Higher Honey! To the heights of Chic!

The Power and Glory (?) Seventh Chakra Prize goes to Beyonce for her Back, her Bootie, her 7th grade dance moves and Most of All the worst- supporting actress dress on the whole wide, wide girl…ooooooooopppppsss…I mean in the wide, wide world.

The Star Power (?) Eighth Chakra Prize to  Amy Winehouse, a beautiful girl and voice who landed again in the hospital again due to the drama of drugs again and divorce again.

The Coupla-Lovers (?) Beyond “Really…It’s All About Me” Knockin’ The Big Star Ninth Chakra Award goes to Sean Penn for dodging Robin’s adoring gaze as he bolted up to get his Oscar and then horribly did not thank her.  A 9th chakra knockin’ bedroom scene no doubt followed later…

Celebs Rockin’ Their Chakras:

La Second Chakra Sexy Prize to MIA,who gave birth right after her Grammy performance.

The Sheer Will and Power Third Chakra Prize goes to Agyness-Deyn for her demure, white power portrayal of the Queen Mum for new magazine, LOVE. Speak No Evil, Hear No Evil, See No Evil.

The True Love Fourth Chakra Prize is awarded to author, Armistead Maupin who told his story again to Time Out NY magazine about finding his true love boyfriend through Daddyhunt.com and then chasing him down the street which then led to marriage…and BTW nice carriage house, boys.

The Big Voice Fifth Chakra Prize we award to to Shepard Fairey…for standing up to ho-hum Associated Press. Score one for free love and images.

The Sixth (Big Third Eye) Chakra Prize goes to JR, the Parisian street artist whose third eye vision sees beyond fame and money and shines over favelas and war-torn places for the love of humanity. (and he did make a bunch of cash at Sotheby’s in a down market…kudos kiddo!)

The Fame and Glory Seventh Chakra Prize Jade Goody  a British actress who is dying from cancer and will die online to raise money for her sons for life and immortality via the Internet.

The Star Power Eighth Chakra Prize goes to Jochen Zeitz for activating Puma Vision and  The Three Faces of Puma.

Triple creatives at one company? Hussein Chalayan and Alexander McQueen and now Mark Coetzee?  Go Jochen Go.

Ninth Big Star, Beyond “Really…It’s All About Me” Chakra Prize to Leonardo DiCaprio, the actor/activist was honored with the International Green Film Award by Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev at the Cinema For Peace ceremony in Berlin, Germany.

I wish I could remember the name of that sleazy guy who ended up having sex with the ugliest man at that party.

I don’t remember which book the episode took place in – I guess it was before AIDS though. And even if I did remember I don’t know that I’d have that book still. And I’m too lazy to look anyway.

But maybe you could help me readers? And I will even incentivise you.

On the first reader who tells me the name of that guy, I will perform the sex act of their choice*.

*Must be aged 18 or over to enter. (Higher in some territories see full terms and conditions for details). Sales tax applies. Reward has no monetary value. Airfares not included. Sensation of pleasure not guaranteed. Our insurers will pull our cover if you give me a disease or injure me so don’t do that. If you are a really sick fuck we will get our lawyers to check things out then get back to you maybe next year. You must also supply the book and chapter in which the answer is found so we can verify you are not cheating by making any old name up.

I love the Tales of the City books by Armistead Maupin.

It’s a long time since I read them though so maybe it doesn’t happen quite like this.

But my memory is that there was a party and among the guests a sleazy guy – I forget his name.

And how we knew he was sleazy was that his MO at a party was to proposition the most beautiful woman at the party, get turned down, try the second most beautiful woman, and so on until he got to the ugliest woman. Then he’d start with the most gorgeous man and keep going until finally he got off with the ugliest man at the party.

And I liked this, both because its funny to think of that guy and because I thought “You know I could be that sleazy if I wasn’t so scared of AIDS. Mind you it would still be pretty sleazy even if I did stop at the third ugliest woman.”

And a couple of days ago I was planning on writing a post about how reading this blog might be like watching that guy as he tries to get his cock sucked.

But today I find I am happier if I let the woman at the top of the list occasionally flutter her eye lashes at me in between dazzling the other guests than if I ask “Know many people here?” to the next target on the list.

Still, it probably would amuse her to watch me make my way down that list don’t you think? Could be pretty funny. Could turn her on too.

You might like that too mightn’t you?

Maybe I am more (ummm what’s the correct word? that’s it) promiscuous when it comes to getting my cock sucked than I am when it comes to  my affections.

So maybe this blog won’t be so different after all.

If things work out I get a pair of lips around my cock.

And you, dear reader, get to watch.