Queer men and women have been passed over and marginalized by history even though they have fundamentally changed its course countless times. It’s time to set the record straight (so to speak), but this “comprehensive encyclopedia” isn’t the book to do it. It’s a shoddy, superficial, ill-researched and poorly written mess.

Of five entries picked totally at random, three had substantial factual errors (Janis Ian – p. 233, Richard Deacon – p. 134 and Jackie “Moms” Mabley – p. 295). Let’s just look at the first one. The entry for singer/songwriter Janis Ian begins, “At the tender age of seventeen, Janis Ian wrote the song she’s been identified with ever since: ‘At Seventeen.’” Ian was born in 1951 and “At Seventeen” was written in 1973 (in her mother’s house, according to Wikipedia – hardly an obscure source), making her 22 at the time but I guess the sentence was too catchy for Stern to let facts stand in the way.

“Twenty five years later,” the entry continues, “the singer/songwriter recorded a beautiful new album and began her publicity campaign with an announcement of her long-term committed relationship with criminal defense attorney Patricia Snyder. Ian and Snyder were married in Toronto, Canada, on August 27, 2003.” End of entry. 62 lousy words. This last part is factually correct, but would have it been too much bother to mention the name of the beautiful new album? And what about “Society’s Child,” the hit that launched her career (and nearly killed it) when Ian was only 14? Her autobiography? I want to know what she did, not where and when she got married.

Consider the palty 100-word entry on Tennessee Williams (p. 493) that spends half of those words listing Williams’ plays and the other half gossiping about his longtime companion Frank Merlo. Stern doesn’t bother to tell us which of Williams’ works won Pulitzer Prizes, but confides that Merlo’s nickname was “Little Horse” (wink, wink) and tells an amusing anecdote about Merlo at a party.

Armistead Maupin (p. 308) gets a whopping 138 words, but at least Stern mentions Tales of the City, his “novelistic series” (wouldn’t it have been easier to say ‘series of novels?’) Two gay icons, Tennessee Williams and Armistead Maupin, get a shade over 200 words combined while the Lindsay Lohan entry (p. 284) runs just shy of 400. Sooooo, Lohan’s Disney remakes, singing career and rehab drama merit twice the space devoted to Williams’ and Maupin’s contributions to gay – and straight – culture.

Yeah. Right.

Not all the entries are uninteresting or inequitable, but Stern misses the mark far more often than he hits it, relying on gossip, unsubstantiated rumor and smarmy stories rather than celebrating the achievements of gay men and women with dignity and grace. He does not empower our culture so much as he embalms it within the narrow parameters of sex, substance abuse and misery usually allowed queer people. That alone is reason enough to give this a pass.

Because if we don’t care enough to take ourselves seriously, no one will either.

Reviewed by Jerry Wheeler

Wired Hard 4 by Circlet Press has a lot going for it if you can overlook the poor copy editing that is scattered throughout some of the pages.   It’s enough to fragment the reader’s enjoyment of some really great stories.

The collection starts off with “When Angles Fall”, by Helen E. H. Madden, a sexy and endearing science fiction story about how one man’s upbringing in a religious “cult” effects how he deals with his dying mother and the future that she leaves him.

One of my favorite stories was Tom Cardamone’s, “Royal Catamite”. It is a wonderful erotic story that pushes the taboo buttons of underage sex and incest, in a way that only Tom can do. Set in an ancient imperial palace, a young boy of 13 is trained in the art of oral pleasures by his father and uncles so that he may one day serve the Emperor.

“I had never had a youthful man and liked the newness of his musk. Fermented from an afternoon on horseback, it was of obvious royal vintage. The divine strength barreled in the hard belly pushing against my nose both humbled and excited me. This joy did not show, however. I am a professional. My tongue became his muscle. I knew for his every thrust when to parry, when to suck. He emptied voluptuous milk into my mouth, which I had been coached to immediately spit into the cloth proffered by the Assistant Sub-Chamberlain. This fluid was rushed to the Royal Falconry where it was fed to His Highness’ favored hunting birds, forming a powerful bond between Emperor and Falcon.”

The collection isn’t without its hard-core kink, and Gavin Atlas delivers that kink in “Slavery by Degree”. Gavin has stretched the boundaries of imagination in his sub-boy fantasy with its fantastical sci-fi technology that any bottom would love!

“Hal began to lift Sky’s legs back into the stirrups. “It’s fine now, but what if someday someone figures out how to remove the port condom? You’ll get your ass barebacked even if these things let you feel practically everything already. They still have transmission errors once or twice a year, and then someone could try to break you out of the mew, take off your ring, and hold you captive. You could be stranded in some bad country and never see home again. If you’re doing this simply to be a slut, you should have just put your ass in the air for men in your home town.”

All of the stories in this collection have merit and make for some great bedtime reading. I must admit that I am not a big fan of e-publishing (and yes, I have ventured there a few times myself so I feel I can say this). For one I hate reading an entire book on my computer, and secondly as a librarian I want to hold the book. I want to feel and smell the pages, yes I said smell.  I also think that the fast and almost instantaneous speed of e-book publishing has caused editors and even some writers to overlook basic editing techniques which ultimately leads to a less than quality product.

Reviewed by William Holden

Dade Hamilton, an outcast at Cedarville High School and occasional plaything of the school “Sexican,” Pablo Soto, gets to live out a bit of every gay boy’s fantasy during the weeks before he’s shipped off to college.  Dade is repeatedly dissed publically by Pablo, who has to keep up appearances for his phobic football buddies and his popular girlfriend.  However, over the final summer, Dade meets Lucy, a teen lesbian visiting from out of town who becomes his first true friend, and Alex Kincaid, a hot and mysterious boy from the wrong side of the tracks who is a sweet-natured drug dealer and too cool and too mellow for slurs to affect him or even be uttered in his presence.  As they say, every kiss is a revolution, and when Alex kisses Dade at a pool party and the world doesn’t end, there is an epiphany for Dade and a bit of bliss.

However, author Nick Burd does a good job keeping the story in the real world.  Problems swirl about Dade, his family, and Cedarville.  While a subplot about a missing young girl is unnecessary, marital discord, his mother’s pill dependency, and the tenuous nature of a relationship that begins a few weeks before college combine to show how little of a teenager’s life consists of anything permanent and dependable and how scary that realization can be.  While the plot’s progression is sometimes slow and the dialogue occasionally flat, Burd’s story hits hard emotionally even while offering Dade hope for the future.  First, the reason why teenage heartbreak is so powerful and dangerous is that someone so young has no frame of reference that allows him to know that he’ll ever recover from the pain.  (Burd reveals this in a way that is both tragic and unexpected.)  Second, when Dade wishes he could “get past” the whole gay thing to a place where it doesn’t matter, Lucy points out that it’s impossible.  “It will always matter to somebody.”  That is so sad and so true.

Reviewed by Gavin Atlas

How does an atheist approach reviewing a book on gay spirituality?

I suppose from the rear would be too cute an answer, so I’ll go with with patience and cautious optimism and leave it there. My atheism stems from an aborted major in Philosophy and Religious Studies in college, but one lesson I learned from those classes is that most, if not all, world religions stress the same tenets – basic caring, kindness and compassion for others, no matter what your differences are.

And on that basis, Salvatore Sapienza’s Gay is a Gift is a gift indeed – a fine offering of affirmation, information and motivation that will raise both your spirits and your consciousness. Livened and enriched by personal anecdotes and practical exercises, Sapienza’s book illuminates one man’s struggle to eliminate the negativity of being gay and replace it with the fine, white light of positivism.

If you are already of a spiritual bent and have reconciled that side of yourself with your sexuality, you may find much of what’s here to be old news. This is more of a primer than a deep exploration of the subject, but simple doesn’t mean simplistic. Sapienza does an excellent job of reducing some difficult concepts down to a layman’s level and everyone can find something to think about here.

For example, in a discussion on the question of Jesus’ sexuality, Sapienza states the following:

“…I don’t mean to imply that Jesus was gay. It is interesting to note, however, that a disproportionately large number of the most highly conscious spiritual teachers in the history of the world were men and women who refused to partner with the opposite sex. If marriage and procreation are so sacred, then why did the majority of the most spiritually aware individuals on the planet refuse to partake in either?”

Now, that’s a question I’d like to put to the Westboro Baptist Church, if they could only understand it.

Modeled after Jack Canfield’s Chicken Soup for the Soul series, Gay is a Gift has an inclusive bibliography that will lead you to more specifically detailed reading on the subject. It’s a short, eminently readable summation of spirituality that will uplift, encourage and start you down whatever path you choose.

So help me G … well, you know.

Reviewed by Jerry Wheeler

Howard Cruse didn’t invent gay comics, but it’s hard to imagine gay comics—or underground comics, period—without him. Since the mid-‘70s Cruse has been creating stories that are textually and visually rich as well as homopolitically fearless. This wonderful volume brings together his Gay Comix stories as well as miscellaneous work he’s done for the Village Voice and other markets.

Don’t look for Cruse’s Wendel strips from The Advocate here, because they have been collected in their own volumes. Instead, expect a mind-boggling survey of gay history and culture, packed into a mere 100 pages.

Realizing that not all of us have been along for the whole ride, Cruse gives helpful commentary on some minor and major figures—for example, Ron Reagan (the president’s son), George Segal (the sculptor), and Jesse Helms (the asshole). And he gives real insight into the challenges he’s faced. For example, how do you introduce the topic of AIDS in comics? Answer: with compassion, truthfulness—and, yes, humor.

What a long, strange trip it’s been—and how lucky we’ve been to have Cruse as one of our countercultural gurus. And there’s more good news: a new edition of his beloved graphic novel Stuck Rubber Baby will be coming out next June. Another reason to look forward to the balmy days of summer.

Reviewed by Wayne Courtois

Are you ready to party like it’s 1979? Though their settings are contemporary, the stories in the porno comic collection Nightlife bring back the glory days when guys would meet and fall into bed with each other just…like…that.

What’s that you say? You do meet guys and fall into bed with them just…like…that? Well, I hope you use condoms, like the gym bunnies in Nightlife do.

This book of stories-without-words has two major things going for it: (1) it’s high-end porn, from the estimable Bruno Gmünder publishing house—a class act; and (2) the men are lovingly, breathtakingly drawn by Bastian Jonsson. Seriously, these guys are so hot, you’d have to be dead and cremated to not react to them. At the same time, they have a cuddly kind of warmth and charm that makes me want to put them in my mouth, like a big old handful of jelly beans.

(Sigh) All that’s missing is a bottle of poppers. Oh wait, that’s so 1979…!

Reviewed by Wayne Courtois

Self-described gender-jammer S. Bear Bergman is an very courageous individual, though I suspect ze would react to that by turning red and looking down at hir shoes while muttering something self-deprecating. But The Nearest Exit May Be Behind You, a collection of essays on being trans, negates any argument you might have about Bear’s intestinal fortitude.

Courage fairly drips off these pieces, but it’s not the stern John Wayne type. It’s a common sense, do-what-you-have-to-do type ballsiness leavened with humor. Oh yes. Bear is a very funny writer indeed. So funny you almost forget there’s a point to be made. Almost.

My favorite example – both of Bear’s writing and hir attitude – is in “New Year,” where ze and a friend are having dinner at an Indian restaurant and find themselves the object of impolite conversation from a nearby table. I would have gotten pissed off and confronted them, but Bear just bought their dinner, a stunningly simple act that not only disarmed the louts but made them think. Beautiful. I can’t think of a better reaction.

But beyond balls, Bergman’s also has incredible writing chops. Consider this passage from “Rule of Two,” about walking with hir husband, two obviously gender-fucking beings, down the streets of their adopted hometown:

“And how do I dress myself to go out with him? In love, in a cloak of the stupid, hopeful optimism of fresh love, which I imagine will protect me from both the wind and the weather like every other idiot in love has ever imagined.”

If you can read that without a tear in your eye and a catch in your throat, you’ve never been in love, my friend.

That’s not to say there aren’t a few instances where Bergman loses focus or belabors a point, but ze compensates with the sheer sassiness of pieces like “The Velveteen Tranny” or “When Will You Be Having the Surgery?” or the exploration of manners and masculine expectation “Not Getting Killed, with Kindness.” At Bergman’s best, ze brings a smile to your lips, a lump to your throat and a thought to your frontal lobe – a tough hat trick at best.

So if you’re in the mood for a read that makes you laugh at the same time it pokes at the tender areas of what it’s like to be an outlaw in a land of outlaws, spend some time with S. Bear Bergman’s The Nearest Exit May Be Behind You.

And if you ever get to Denver, Bear, please let me buy you a drink. I’d love to meet you.

Reviewed by Jerry Wheeler

This blog’s inaugural post was also the inaugural issue of Icarus: The Magazine of Gay Speculative Fiction, and it’s only fitting, for a number of reasons, that we take a look at the Winter issue of that magazine on the last day of the year.

Berman’s most obvious talent (other than the fine writing he does on his own) is finding and nurturing the talent of others, and the Winter issue of Icarus includes stories by two writers new to queer spec fic: Robert Joseph Levy and Rodello Santos. Levy’s contribution is called “Choose Your Own,” a delightful little diversion that stops at multiple points to give the reader different reading options which takes the story arc in different directions.

Santos’ story is more traditional. “Sleep in Winter, Dream of Spring” is a poignant, medieval tale about a prince who falls in love with a minstrel who has been enchanted by a warlock such that he falls into a coma-like sleep at the first snowfall of winter. Will the prince kill the warlock and awaken his love? And will a kiss do the trick? Only a churl would tell.

The other two stories are strong entries as well: Chaz Brenchley offers “Walking at the Speed of Light, More Slowly,” a reflective piece about a boy and his mother and the stranger they invite into their home. Thoughtful and engaging, Brenchley’s story has interesting insights such as the following:

“We are a liminal people. If you would seek the heart of England, seek it at the margins. Those borderlands where we press against other folks’ spaces, or against the sea.”

I never thought of England that way.

My favorite, however, has to be “Ne Que V’on Desir,” a story by Tanith Lee writing as Judas Garbah that concerns the brief encounter between two men who meet on a train – one of them perhaps not quite a man. What impressed me most about this tale is its appeal to the sense of smell and touch. Lee’s language is beautifully expressive, and though this is the first piece of hers I’ve read, it certainly won’t be the last.

When you add to these terrific stories the artwork of David Gilmore, Tara Upchurch and Genevieve Gougeon, reviews of Berman’s Wilde Stories 2009 and John Simpson’s The Ghosts of Staunton Hall as well as other features, you’ll find Icarus’ Winter issue will keep you warm on the coldest night.

Pink Zinnia by Franklin Abbott is a beautiful example of all these things.  His collection, an interesting blend of stories and poems spoke to me in a way few have been able to do.  Franklin creates from the heart in every word and phrase.  His prose is warm, comforting and yet at times startling in what they expose you to and make you feel.

The collection opens with Burial in Birmingham, a beautiful story about the death of Franklin’s paternal grandmother.  Scattered throughout the collection are his thoughts, told in interesting style and prose.  From touching stories of his travels, to thoughts of AIDS, politics, faith and love, each one is distinct and separate; yet somehow connected to one another by the experience of one man.

Franklin’s style is simple, and it’s in that simplicity that he can pull you in and make you think of your own life and experiences, and perhaps to feel something once again.

Reviewed by William Holden