Free The Lost Library: Gay Fiction Rediscovered by Christopher Bram, Tom Cardamone, Michael Graves, Jameson Currier, Larry Duplechan, Sean Meriwether, Wayne Courtois, Andy Quan, Michael Bronski, Philip Gambone
pain, for any of them. There was uncomplicated lust. They were using one another’s bodies, but thoughtfully; it was simplistic to call it selfishness.” Like the hero of John Rechy’s The Sexual Outlaw , Cole Ruffner seeks anonymous sex at the baths or in public parks, both as a sexual release and as an act of defiance against a society that prosecutes homosexual acts as criminal. Cole’s attitude is very different to those of closet case Bud or Cole’s parole officer Mr. Schultz, who insist that straight marriage is the solution to all of their problems.
Almost three decades after I first read it, Something You Do in the Dark is still a powerful and provocative reading experience. Having matured a bit since then, I don’t perceive straight society with the same anger or frustration that Cole and I felt in the 1970s. Perhaps, if he had survived his misfortunes, Cole would have mellowed a bit, too. Though Something You Do in the Dark is dated to some extent, in many ways it is as relevant as it was when Dan Curzon first wrote it. Gay men still get arrested in public parks and at the baths, though now the officers of the law have added “AIDS prevention” to all of their other excuses. Prison conditions in America today are, if anything, worse than ever, and “sexual offenders” are branded for life by our crime-obsessed society. And closet cases like Bud continue to use religion and a fraudulent marriage as crutches. On the other hand, a book like Something You Do in the Dark is taught in gay studies courses (by Curzon himself and others). Today’s Cole Ruffners seek and enjoy a supportive GLBT community that helps them in their hours of need. And many gay men — Curzon included — now enjoy stable, long-lasting relationships, even if state and federal governments refuse to recognize “gay marriage.”
After making allowances for its time, and in spite of its less-than lovable protagonist, I enjoyed Something You Do in the Dark as much now as I did when I first read it. Like Curzon’s other great novels — 1978's Among the Carnivores and 1984's The World Can Break Your Heart — Something You Do in the Dark is a hard-hitting novel that tells it as it is, not as we want it to be. This novel’s (and its author’s) refusal to compromise is perhaps why it has been out of print for much of the past 35 years. Most recently republished by Curzon himself through his own IGNA Press, Something You Do in the Dark deserves to be back in print, and to be read by a new generation of avid gay readers.
Melvin Dixon: Vanishing Rooms
Dutton, 1991
Ian Rafael Titus
I bought my paperback copy of Melvin Dixon’s Vanishing Rooms on September 8, 1994. I remember this because I used to deface books by writing my name and the book’s date of purchase on the inside front cover (I no longer commit such crimes against books, except for the occasional highlighting of reference texts).
An ad in the Voice Literary Supplement first drew me to the book. In one of the blurbs, Melvin Dixon’s novel was favorably compared to James Baldwin’s writing. I had read Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room and Another Country ; never before had I experienced such unflinching prose dealing with same-sex relationships and interracial desire. To a young black male who had dated and slept with white men, those books, especially Another Country , were a revelation. Baldwin created complex, breathing characters whose explorations of race and sexuality mirrored some of my own concerns about gay interracial attraction. Vanishing Rooms promised to pick up where those works left off.
Set in 1970s New York City, the novel (first published in 1991) is narrated in alternating chapters by three characters: Jesse Durand, a black dancer whose white boyfriend Metro is beaten, raped and murdered by teenage thugs; Ruella McPhee, a black dancer who falls for Jesse as she provides a haven for him to work through his grief; and Lonny Russo, a troubled 15-year-old
Almost three decades after I first read it, Something You Do in the Dark is still a powerful and provocative reading experience. Having matured a bit since then, I don’t perceive straight society with the same anger or frustration that Cole and I felt in the 1970s. Perhaps, if he had survived his misfortunes, Cole would have mellowed a bit, too. Though Something You Do in the Dark is dated to some extent, in many ways it is as relevant as it was when Dan Curzon first wrote it. Gay men still get arrested in public parks and at the baths, though now the officers of the law have added “AIDS prevention” to all of their other excuses. Prison conditions in America today are, if anything, worse than ever, and “sexual offenders” are branded for life by our crime-obsessed society. And closet cases like Bud continue to use religion and a fraudulent marriage as crutches. On the other hand, a book like Something You Do in the Dark is taught in gay studies courses (by Curzon himself and others). Today’s Cole Ruffners seek and enjoy a supportive GLBT community that helps them in their hours of need. And many gay men — Curzon included — now enjoy stable, long-lasting relationships, even if state and federal governments refuse to recognize “gay marriage.”
After making allowances for its time, and in spite of its less-than lovable protagonist, I enjoyed Something You Do in the Dark as much now as I did when I first read it. Like Curzon’s other great novels — 1978's Among the Carnivores and 1984's The World Can Break Your Heart — Something You Do in the Dark is a hard-hitting novel that tells it as it is, not as we want it to be. This novel’s (and its author’s) refusal to compromise is perhaps why it has been out of print for much of the past 35 years. Most recently republished by Curzon himself through his own IGNA Press, Something You Do in the Dark deserves to be back in print, and to be read by a new generation of avid gay readers.
Melvin Dixon: Vanishing Rooms
Dutton, 1991
Ian Rafael Titus
I bought my paperback copy of Melvin Dixon’s Vanishing Rooms on September 8, 1994. I remember this because I used to deface books by writing my name and the book’s date of purchase on the inside front cover (I no longer commit such crimes against books, except for the occasional highlighting of reference texts).
An ad in the Voice Literary Supplement first drew me to the book. In one of the blurbs, Melvin Dixon’s novel was favorably compared to James Baldwin’s writing. I had read Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room and Another Country ; never before had I experienced such unflinching prose dealing with same-sex relationships and interracial desire. To a young black male who had dated and slept with white men, those books, especially Another Country , were a revelation. Baldwin created complex, breathing characters whose explorations of race and sexuality mirrored some of my own concerns about gay interracial attraction. Vanishing Rooms promised to pick up where those works left off.
Set in 1970s New York City, the novel (first published in 1991) is narrated in alternating chapters by three characters: Jesse Durand, a black dancer whose white boyfriend Metro is beaten, raped and murdered by teenage thugs; Ruella McPhee, a black dancer who falls for Jesse as she provides a haven for him to work through his grief; and Lonny Russo, a troubled 15-year-old
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