I was wandering the sere deserts of Amazon trying to find something interesting to read amidst the novelty napkin things that look like buttholes and all the other flotsam their highly praised algorithms seem to think I just can’t live without. I did not want an anal napkin ring. I wanted a book
Foolishly, I went looking in the Gay Fiction. All the things I found there made me think maybe butthole napkin rings might be the best thing on offer after all. There is never anything except Coming Out stories and how very hard they were. You know how I came out to my family? I had a tee shirt that said SEATTLE GAY PRESS on it under the regular shirt I was wearing and I got warm and took off the top shirt and suddenly I was out. I mean, it wasn’t like it was some state secret. I just stopped pretending like it was.
Anyway, one of the “books”that was not included in the megalith of Coming Out dramas has this as their description:
Teddie Parks White thinks he’s got the perfect marriage. His husband, Aiden, is a sweet, tender man who works hard to take care of him. They both come home from their jobs in the evening, make dinner together, then watch their favorite television shows on Netflix before turning in.
Does that sound like the makings of thrilling literary adventure? Does it? It sounds more like the start of every “domestic life is a living hell” story ever chiseled out by some bored housewife. Is this where a struggle out of gay ghettos has landed us? Somewhere in the ABC Family Hour?
This is why I keep re-reading Barbara Pym. She wrote primarily in the 1950s when the media was refining this pap as nirvana and Pym regarded it with a wry and suspicious eye. But how many times can you read “An Excellent Woman?” Seems like we’ll be finding out.
How come we have to read about some boy like this fretting that his marriage has lost its magic? I want to read about how he’s debased by a gang of, I don’t know, somebodies. Pirates maybe. I like pirates. Just not zombies.