Quality 5.0 / 5.0 (highly recommended)
Gay Inclusive? Slightly – One mention of a minor gay character
Gay positive? Very – I love how the gay content is handled

Unusually, in this case I think the sequel outdoes the first book, though it’s close. The sheer creativity, wit and cleverness in this book combined with the engaging writing style make this a pleasure to read.

The novel is a mystery or crime drama, set in an alternate reality where Dodos have been re-created and people travel internationally by means of Gravitubes that go through the center of the earth. A branch of the government deals specifically in time-travel-related crimes.

And, most importantly, books have their own reality, and it’s possible for characters from, say, “Great Expectations” to enter the “real” world of the novel, and for the protagonist Thursday Next to travel into works like “Jane Eyre” or Poe’s “The Raven.” Hence Miss Havisham from “Great Expectations” is actually a major character in Fforde’s novel.

Someone is trying to kill protagonist Thursday Next by using coincidences. Yes, you read right. Death by coincidence. Fforde injects a lot of tongue-in-cheek humor into his work, and there are several laugh-out-loud moments along the way.

The main weakness to the novel is the pacing and plotting – what is ostensibly the main plot seems to take a backseat to the many subplots, so it sometimes feels like the story is just drifting. I enjoyed reading this novel, but I didn’t find myself reading it breakfast, lunch, and dinner as I do when a book is totally gripping. Still, this is a minor complaint on my part, given that the characters are likable, the humor agreeable, and the ideas engaging, and I award the novel high scores in the “Quality” category.

As to the gay stuff…. the author mentions once that the Thursday’s brother (named Joffy, a minister in the Global Standard Deity Church) is gay, including a reference to Joffy’s boyfriend. The scene is a delightful riff, as Joffy and his boyfriend must keep their relationship secret because the boyfriend’s employer looks down on its employees associating with… clergymen. This is the only gay content in the whole book (hence the very low rating in that category), but I love the way it’s handled, so I give it full marks on the positivity scale.

Overall 3.5 / 5.0 (promising but fails to deliver a high-impact story)
Gay Inclusive? Very – protagonist is gay, and the mystery takes him into London’s 18th Century gay underworld
Gay Positive? Mostly – the era is definitely not gay positive, but the author’s treatment of the gay content is.

Set in 1757, Lord John Grey is the head of his family’s household until his elder brother Hal returns from a military appointment abroad. As a result, Grey has some responsibility to protect his cousin Olivia, who is engaged to marry well-to-do merchant Joseph Trevelyan, whom Grey believes to be “poxed” with syphilis. At that time in history, syphilis occupied the role HIV/AIDS does today. Worse, in fact: it was incurable, and contracting the illness virtually guaranteed the most unpleasant sort of death.

Meanwhile, another mystery erupts: it appears that vital British state secrets have been lost and might be sold to the French. Grey is tasked with investigating the crime to figure out what happened, who was involved and how to recover the lost secrets before it’s too late.

I enjoyed reading a gay-inclusive mystery set in a period of time about which I know little. Author Diana Gabaldon has done her research (in fact, she is well-known for her historical research), and I learned quite a bit about the history of gay people in Georgian England. She also includes a list of resources for anyone who wants to dig deeper and learn more.

The mystery is mildly interesting, but unfortunately fails to captivate. I was never sufficiently invested in the characters or events such that the story’s twists would have me on the edge of my seat.

Although generally sympathetic, the main character never comes alive. Apparently Lord John is supposed to be young and handsome, but he reads like he’s 60. Whenever his handsomeness was mentioned, it was always kind of jarring, because I had forgotten he was supposed to be young and winsome. That indicates a characterization disconnect.

Lord John is a secondary character from Gabaldon’s better know Outlander series (which I have never read). Reviewer Susan Scribner of TheRomanceReader.com comments,

I like Lord John throughout the Outlander series he has always come across as sympathetic, complex and slightly tormented, but this story doesn’t shed much new light on his core character. He’s always been a bit of an enigma, and he remains elusive.

That’s problematic when Grey is at the center of the story and occupies nearly every page of the tale. Considering Gabaldon’s exquisite attention to historical detail, I would expect a multilayered character of depth and unexpected internal contradictions. Instead, we find someone who is genteel and devoted to duty, and that’s about it. Even his gayness, which he must keep secret given the social mores of the time period, fails to render him more than mildly interesting.

At the same time, the story hints at repressed passions and an undercurrent of powerful emotions. Perhaps future stories will allow Lord John to unfold more fully as a human being caught in multiple traps: the repressive social standards of the era, the excruciating necessity of maintaining a pristine image in his social class and the painful denial of a loving, committed relationship.

In fact, I was dying for Grey to get some action! I hoped his new valet, Tom Byrd, would develop a requited attraction to his master. But no. Nothing. The most important romance in the novel – which the reader doesn’t really delve into until the end – is heterosexual.

On the whole, I find this book to be promising, but little else. I hope that Gabaldon grows into this genre, and that future volumes chronicling Lord John Grey do him justice.

Overall Quality 4.0 / 5.0 (entertaining, if light, read)
Gay Inclusive? Moderately – two secondary gay characters
Gay Positive? Very – both characters are well-rounded and important to the story

Okay, yeah, I have to admit – the plot is nothing new. Mysterious Monster Makes Mayhem; Sassy Star Saves the Day.

Specifically, the vampires are up to no good – a newly made vampire possessed by a demon begins wrecking havoc on the Mercy Thompson’s small community. It’s up to her, along with her werewolf allies and lone vampire friend, to figure out what’s going on and put a stop to it.

Once again, with textured characters and a involving alternate world, the author brings the story to life. It says a lot about the characters when they each have their own minor concerns that almost rival the main story for interest.

For example, Mercy’s gay werewolf cowboy friend (whew!) Warren returns. At one point, he’s wounded by the Big Bad of the story; and certain members of his pack – sensing weakness in a guy they never really cared for because he’s gay – try to take advantage to knock Warren from his position in the pack. It’s a relatively minor thread, but the relationships (good and bad) that exist between these characters possess a vitality that keeps me turning pages as fast as I can.

On the other hand, the fact that subplots nearly eclipse the main story doesn’t speak well of the main story. Considering Briggs’ inventiveness in her world-building, it’s a bit of a let-down to find the central plot to be relatively formulaic.

Nevertheless, Blood Bound was an immensely entertaining and enjoyable read with an exciting climax and meaty denouement (an improvement over the first book’s conclusion). A great read for a rainy Sunday afternoon.

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See also my review of the first Mercy Thompson book, Moon Called.

Overall Quality 4.5 / 5.0 (fun, engaging story)
Gay Inclusive? Moderately – two secondary (but important) gay characters
Gay Positive? Very – both characters are well-rounded and fully fleshed-out

A supernatural (or urban fantasy) mystery adventure. Mercy Thompson is a sassy, free-spirited, and no-nonsense walker – that is, a shapeshifter who can transform easily from human to coyote, thanks to her Native American heritage. She lives in a world shared by werewolves, vampires, witches, and the fae (fairy spirits, ranging from gremlins to ogres to mythological monsters).

She has an uneasy but generally congenial relationship with the werewolf pack next door. In fact, she finds herself torn between the pack’s Alpha (Adam), and a former werewolf flame (Samuel). The romantic triangle is not resolved in this book – in fact, it’s not resolved until the end of Book 3.

The romance takes second place to the main story – a mysterious attack on Adam’s pack that leaves Adam on the verge of death and his (human) daughter Jesse kidnapped. Who would perpetrate such an attack? And why?

Briggs brings a lot of strengths to the book, including great characterizaton and a well-conceived alternate universe in which magic and supernatural creatures are real. The world-building (seeing how the supernatural elements fit into the “real” world) was just as interesting to me as the main plot. Briggs even manages to work a little social commentary into her world-building. The fae, for example, have recently been outed to the public, and most of them have been moved onto reservations.

Gay-wise, Adam’s pack includes a gay werewolf named Warren (who was a cowboy before he was turned), and his boyfriend Kyle. They are close friends of mercy’s, and both of them are sensible and helpful fellows with meaty parts in all three books.

A brief explanation why I included the negative stereotypes of heterosexism and gay without agency. The werewolf world is apparently even less accepting of gays than the normal world, and apparently Warren had a hard time of it until he was finally welcomed by Adam. Well, a harder time of it, because some of Adam’s other werewolves still do not deal well with him. It’s great that Adam is not prejudiced, and it paints his characters nicely, but it’s frustrating to see a gay man requiring a popular straight man’s “approval” to be accepted by the rest of the group.

I don’t weight these factors heavily, however. Yeah, I would have preferred if gayness were no big deal in the werewolf world. But even so, Warren and Kyle are two great characters, and Briggs (through protagonist Mercy) clearly cares about them. Major kudos to Briggs for writing them into the story, making them such great characters, and giving them some substantive scenes.

Story-wise, a minor complaint: the story weakens near the end. In part to increase tension, and in part to conclude the novel’s central mystery, the plot becomes convoluted and twisted as it winds to a conclusion. It’s a little hard to follow, and it throws the novel’s pacing off. Still, the author manages to end the book with a bang, and how’s this for a recommendation: I finished the book and immediately went out and bought the next two.

Overall Quality 3.0 / 5.0 (a good story with a couple of serious weaknesses)
Gay Content 2.0 / 5.0 (important gay character)
Gay Positivity 4.5 / 5.0 (would have been ideal but for one major cliché)

Closely tied to the film Star Trek: First Contact, the story opens with a brief prologue following the events of the film. The book’s main story, however, takes place as a flashback set shortly after the Enterprise-E is commissioned. (The Enterprise-D was destroyed in the movie Star Trek: Generations ).

Chiaros, a lone planet located in a desolate and empty section of space called the Geminus Gulf, has applied for Federation membership. However, the Romulans are also vying for possession of the planet and the Gulf. Social instability in the Chiaran civilization gives the Romulans ample opportunity to manipulate local politics and create a dangerous situation for the Federation. And no one can understand why: as far as anyone can tell, the Geminus Gulf is an absolutely worthless territory.

In the meantime, the Federation’s secret spy organization, Section 31, is conspiring with the Romulan Tal Shiar to effectively cede the planet to the Romulans in exchange for some tactical information. As part of their effort, Section 31 contacts Lt. Sean Hawk (played by Neal McDonough in First Contact) to recruit the young and promising (and gay!) officer (1).

Section 31 was created in the Federation charter, and has the ability (largely due to a complete lack of oversight) to take extraordinary, and otherwise illegal and immoral, actions in order to protect Federation interests. Deep Space Nine introduced the organization in “Inquisition” (Season Six, Episode No. 142).

I’ve never particularly cared for Section 31 as a source of drama. In Rogue, I have a couple of issues with it that detract from the reading experience.

First, the raison d’être for the organization rings hollow to me. Michelle Erica Green, writing for TrekNation, states the dilemma well:

“Unfortunately, it’s difficult to make any character sound intelligent while parroting Sloan’s explanations of the reasons for the group’s existence — basically, the argument runs that the Federation can’t maintain its existence under its own peaceful charter, so it needs a top-secret division to break all its rules in the name of saving it, even if that division’s actions (ranging from assassinations to stopping proto-warp civilizations from traveling into space) violate everything the Federation represents” (2).

Second, the two men who work for Section 31 in the novel just seem dumb to me. I mean seriously, how naive can you be to think that the Romulans are going to hand over tactically important information in exchange for possession of what seems to be a worthless world? Have these people never heard of the “too good to be true” principle? Do you think they might be suspicious and try to do a little due diligence before breaking Federation law?

This particular criticism leads me to my mixed feelings on the plot itself. Fundamentally, it’s a pretty good story: multi-layered, suspenseful, exciting, and thought-provoking. It probably would have made a superior movie to either Insurrection or Nemesis.

Mangels and Martin do an amazing job with the established Enterprise crew as well. Each of the characters sound distinct and exactly like they do on the shows, and Mangels and Martin manage to throw in a number of references to the movies (especially First Contact, of course) and the television shows that were a lot of fun to identify.

But Section 31’s foolishness undercut the story’s tension and distracted me from fully engaging with the plot. Also, the story takes too damn long to get going. By 100 or so pages in, I was hooked. But it took 100 pages! I probably would have stopped reading if I hadn’t been so interested in the gay content that is so rare for Star Trek.

And Mangels, who is openly gay, and Martin handle the gay content extremely well. A major negative cliché does rear its head. If you’ve seen First Contact, you know what I’m talking about, an unfortunate stereotype that the authors inherit from the movie. I suspect they would have happily opted for a different outcome for the gay character if they could have.

Instead, this book almost serves as a love letter to a character who may be the sole good gay person in semi-official Star Trek canon. They are pitch perfect in their portrayal of Lt. Hawk. They don’t even really comment on his gayness; it’s just part of the fabric of the story and of the social milieu of the Federation. It’s a total non-issue, and they mention Hawk’s partner Keru Ranul as a natural part of Hawk’s life. The authors present Hawk himself as a prodigy, unusually bright and skilled, and clearly possessing a thoughtful and moral nature. He makes an excellent hero.

I mention that Lt. Hawk may be the only good gay character in semi-official Star Trek canon, but I must emphasize the “may be.” It’s not exactly clear cut. For one thing, Star Trek novels do not count as “canon.” Paramount Pictures expects them to adhere as closely as possible to established Star Trek material, and Paramount must approve any Star Trek book project. The vetting process suggests that the books have at least semi-official status, particularly if nothing in the Star Trek canon (the movies and television series) directly contradicts them.

However, Andy Mangels

“admits there were some problems with the Paramount licensing and [he] worried the character’s sexuality might be edited. He goes on to say, ‘Paramount licensing was very quiet about the book’s contents, and made sure that Rick Berman and Brannon Braga (the Trek TV producers) did not see it before it went to press. There was some concern that the gay elements would be forcefully removed if Berman and Braga saw it. Once it was at the printer, it was given to their office. I never heard if there was fallout or not, but the book got publicity all around the world’” (3).

It’s worth noting that Rick Berman, who produced First Contact, released a statement in conjunction with the film specifying that Lt. Hawk is heterosexual (4).

Hawk’s sexuality is not even slightly ambiguous in Section 31: Rogue. He’s gay, happily partnered, and positively portrayed. Yay! Albeit with one pretty serious negative item. I scored a little higher on the Gay Positivity scale than I normally would given that negative issue, but I was so happy with the rest of the portrayal I decided to be a little more relaxed with the score.

Overall, it would probably take a pretty serious Star Trek fan to really get into this story. If that’s you, or if you’re interested in meeting a gay character in the Star Trek universe, I definitely recommend Section 31: Rogue.

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For more posts on all things gay in the Star Trek universe, check out my Gay Star Trek Main Page.

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(1) Does the story sound vaguely familiar? In fact, it’s loosely similar to “The Mind’s Eye,” Episode No. 91 of Star Trek: The Next Generation. In that episode, the Romulans supply forged Federation weaponry to the citizens of Krios in order to destabilize the Federation’s relationship with the Klingon Empire.

(2) Michelle Erica Green, “Section 31: Rogue and Shadow,” TrekNation.com, 19 May 2001, http://www.treknation.com/reviews/books/section_31_rogue_shadow.shtml (retrieved 5 May 2008)

(3) Michael Ricci, “Forbidden Gay Frontier: Where Star Trek Hasn’t Boldly Gone,” AfterElton.com, 20 April 2006, http://www.afterelton.com/archive/elton/TV/2006/4/startrek3.html (retrieved 30 May 2008).

(4) “Gay Trek Rumor Light Years Ahead of Reality,” GLAAD Alert (Archive), 23 August 1996, http://www.glaad.org/publications/archive_year.php?year=1996 (retrieved 5 May 2008).

Lehmkuhl has penned a surprisingly readable account of his experiences under America’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” (DADT) military policy.

The narrative is well-presented with simple, conversational prose. It helps that Lehmkuhl details most of his experiences in a dramatic way (showing, not telling) through dialogue and action. This brings his stories to life for the reader, and yields a book that is well-paced and well-structured.

He starts with his youth and adolescence, but the main thrust of Here’s What We’ll Say focuses on his time in the Air Force Academy as a gay man. The multilayered account reveals interesting facts not just about gay life there, but also simply about the world of a military academy. I have very little exposure to the military world, and I enjoyed learning about a strange and unfamiliar universe.

Lehmkuhl’s account sometimes veers into steamy. He doesn’t shy from writing about sexual experiences when appropriate. I found that information to add another layer of nuance, but I’m glad it doesn’t go over the top. This is not an erotic account of a string of sexual encounters in the military.

The author intersperses commentary and philosophical consideration amid his recounted experiences. Who knew Mr. Lehmkuhl has such depth? He writes about the implications and effects of homophobia in general and DADT in particular, and I found his arguments well-reasoned and well-spoken. Yes, of course, I’m biased to agree with him because I already believe DADT is homophobic, but it still says something that he’s able to marshal his arguments in a highly articulate and thoughtful manner.

Nevertheless, Here’s What We’ll Say suffers from some weaknesses.

First and foremost, Lehmkuhl includes a disclaimer at the beginning that some of the experiences he recounts, especially in the last few chapters, belong to other people. While I appreciate his reasoning for taking this approach, it damages the book’s internal validity and external usefulness. Specifically, it renders the book less reputable as a source document. How can I refer to it as a work of pure non-fiction when it’s been fictionalized, and there’s no way for me to tell what’s true and what’s not? I can’t help but think there’s another approach that would yield the same value while helping maintain a greater degree of journalistic integrity.

Additionally, the beginning (his youth and adolescence) goes on a little too long, while the end comes too fast. The finale glosses over many of Lehmkuhl’s more recent and better known accomplishments.

Lehmkuhl seems to have a reputation as an attention whore. This book does not support that assertion. In fact, I wish he had spent more time on his later adventures. Regardless of his relationship with the media, he’s enjoyed some fascinating experiences. I would have loved to hear more about his experiences with Chip; the television show The Amazing Race; and dealing with such a high level of visibility as an out, proud gay man in a committed partnership. And of course, I would have been interested in hearing more about his relationship with Lance Bass. But then, they were still encoupled when this book was published.

I scored high on the Gay Positivity Scale. Clearly, DADT is not gay-positive; but Here’s What We’ll Say is a work of (sort of) non-fiction exploring the issue. I can’t fault the book’s positivity because of a government policy. Rather, I admire Lehmkuhl’s self-confidence and empowered response. The book reveals a man who makes the best of living in a virulently anti-gay atmosphere, and that is very positive.

This novel aimed at gay adolescents recalls 1984’s excellent “The Boys on the Rock” by John Fox, another high school coming out tale. “Rainbow Boys” is a blander, shallower telling, but nevertheless remains an engaging read.

The three protagonists – Kyle, Nelson, and Jason – represent different points along the spectrum of sexuality, personality, and outness. Nelson and Jason are painted in fairly broad strokes – he’s the flamboyant queeny guy, while Jason is a jock struggling with feelings he doesn’t understand or want. And yet both are humanized, completely sympathetic, because Sanchez treats us to all their contradictions. The movie theater scene between Kyle and Jason is a delight of stream-of-consciousness adolescent angst. If Jason as popular high school athlete is removed from my personal experience, I powerfully connect to his fears, hope, uncertainties, and desires revealed in that scene.

Kyle, meanwhile, is the most “normal” of the group (we know this because the author keeps telling us so), and indeed he is the most individualized character in the novel. That is, he is not a “type,” nor is he a cardboard cutout. The same cannot be said of the secondary characters; the parents, friends, and school personalities are all one-dimensional archetypes present in the book primarily to spout dialogue to which the main trio can respond. In other words, they’re more scenery than characters.

A quote on the back cover suggests “Rainbow Boys” is for high school students what “Heather Has Two Mommies” is for the toddler set, and I agree. The book never tries to be more than what it is – a simple tale of three guys all struggling to find their way in a confusing and unfair world. That’s everyone story, but it’s wonderful and affirming to find it told from a pink perspective. Ultimately, don’t read this if you want a thought-provoking story or an in-depth character study, but do pick it up if you’d like to enjoy a quick, easy, and charming read clearly aimed at younger readers.

Addendum:

The similarities and differences between “The Boys on the Rock” and “Rainbow Boys” intrigue me. The latter book was published nearly 20 years after the former, and indeed the story reveals some important shifts in social attitudes. Specifically, Nelson and Kyle more easily accept their gay-ness, and they have resources available to them (such as a gay youth support group) that would have seemed unthinkable to the protagonist of Fox’s novel. And yet, it is dismaying how little the basic plot has strayed over nearly two decades. It’s still such a struggle for many gay youth to accept themselves, and gay people still face so much hate and violence. But both books are powerful tools to help gay kids by showing them that they are not alone or abnormal.

Summary

Mélusine is a Paris-esque city, set in quasi-Medieval times. A magical creation, the Virtu’, helps protect the city and its central structure, the Mirador. But evil Malkar destroys the Virtu’ by using the power of one of the principal viewpoint characters, wizard Felix Harrowgate, against his will. Unfortunate, Malkar’s actions drive Felix Harrowgate insane; and no one believes that Felix didn’t willfully destroy the Virtu’ himself. Meanwhile, the second viewpoint character, Mildmay, a thief, lives among the poorer sections of the city, called the Lower City. Through Mildmay, the reader comes to better understand the culture and contradictions of Mélusine.

Clearly, “Mélusine” comprises the first act of a larger story. The novel traces one important storyline (Felix’s madness), but the central issues – Malkar, the destruction of the Virtu’, the ensuing chaos in Mélusine – await the next book(s) for resolution.

Quality

At its heart, “Mélusine” is a character study focusing on two divergent fellows with a secret connection: the wizard Felix Harrowgate and the thief Mildmay the Fox. Monette does an absolutely fantastic job of characterization. These characters breathe. Jasper Fforde has written a series of clever, tongue-in-cheek mystery novels which postulate that characters from books actually have a real existence in some kind of alternate dimension. Characters like Felix and Mildmay have enough breadth and depth I can imagine them in that vision, with lives outside the scope of this book.

The reader penetrates deeply into their histories and psyches; but the author doles out the information in a natural, organic fashion. It rarely feels that she’s “telling” about these guys as opposed to “showing.” Her lovely grasp of language benefits the character study: Felix and Mildmay, though they come from similar backgrounds originally, occupy different social strata at the time of the story. Monette paints that fact vividly, from the way they speak to the way they think. Felix and Mildmay are two of the most interesting fantasy characters I’ve met. I think it also says something that I enjoyed reading about Mildmay, the straight character, as much or more than Felix, the gay character. Usually it’s the other way around, because I tend to automatically identify more with the gay characters. Of course, that may have something to do with Felix being insane for most of the book; and Monette conveying the madness quite effectively.

Ah, but the beauty of her character study doesn’t stop there. The deep and well-presented characterizations provide a foundation for Monette to explore relationships in all their multitudinous forms. We encounter romances that sour, that end in tragedy, that go unrequited; rivalries exploited, intensified, resolved; attacks that are vicious, other times half-hearted, sometimes ignorant; aid rendered out of love, self-interest, or even revenge; familial relationships which bloom, twist, and fail. The most interesting, and unexpected, relationship exists between Felix and Mildmay.

Of course, the novel has its weaknesses. It’s truly dark fantasy as it not only incorporates dark themes but also portrays acute suffering at length. In fact, I had to take a break from reading the book after about 100 or 150 pages because the beginning is just so bleak. Poor Felix. But after I resumed reading, I realized the beginning is the worst as far as that goes.

I can’t say I’ve read too many novels where my favorite part was the middle third, but that’s the case with “Mélusine.” The beginning is important in introducing the characters and the conflict. But the middle really settles into some exciting and suspenseful action. The last third was tedious at points; much of that portion follows a journey across a country, and it gets repetitive and old. Monette’s meticulous attention to detail did not serve her so well here; she would have done better to edit this section so the action would have moved at a faster clip. The ending picks up, though, and I was satisfied with the conclusion. Although, as I’ve already indicated, not all the plot questions find resolution.

I encountered two more serious weaknesses, as well.

First, Felix and Mildmay get the lion’s share of the author’s attention and consideration. Secondary characters sometimes get the puppet treatment, i.e., they exist to serve the plot. As a result, they make sudden choices that do not make sense in terms of their history. For example, one of Felix’s romantic interests rejects him bitterly at a certain point; it’s an important plot development, but it doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t fit the romantic interest’s personality, or his relationship with Felix. Similarly, another character advocates for Felix, but then suddenly turns around and becomes an antagonist, and it doesn’t make any sense to me why. It’s just what the plot called for.

Second, a related complaint: the plotting itself is occasionally contrived. Again, the author really focuses on characters and relationships, with the plot taking second priority. Certain scenarios that arise hold a strong whiff of, “because that’s what needed to happen.” Even if it’s silly and/or out of place. The worst example comes towards the late middle section of the book, when the author needed to separate a group of characters from each other.

Gay Content

This book falls into a relatively new breed of genre fiction where major gay characters and content populate the novel without any indication of anti-gay sentiment. In other words, gay relationships are fully accepted components of the social milieu, with no adverse consequences to the characters who pursue them. Some novels in this category, like “Swordspoint” by Ellen Kushner, never even mention the word “gay.” “Mélusine” does distinguish between straight and “molly;” nevertheless, no one seems to care whether a person prefers opposite-sex or same-sex romantic partners.

I really enjoy that laid-back and easy-going approach to including gay characters, a far cry from the attitude that a story should only incorporate gay content if it’s somehow directly and explicitly relevant. That attitude, while sometimes understandable, inherently differentiates gay relationships from straight ones, which creates a slippery slope into value judgments about the relationships. At best, it creates a gay-as-issue-of-the-week situation. It’s also artificial; gay people don’t show up in real life only when expected or when “relevant.” We’re just a part of the social fabric of civilization, like it or not. It’s nice and refreshing to see that kind of portrayal in a fantasy novel; but it’s the fact that the author has apparently decided not to incorporate social and institutional homophobia into the representation that really makes a novel like “Mélusine” stand out in terms of gay positivity.

That helps compensate for the fact that the main gay character, Felix Harrowgate, has a really awful time during the novel. Ordinarily, a gay character being put through the ringer recalls one of the two fundamental stereotypes that play out with disproportionate frequency in media portrayals of gay people: if you’re gay, bad things are going to happen to you. But the way homosexuality fits into the framework of the world of “Mélusine,” it’s easy to recognize that the bad things that happen to Felix (and there are a lot of them) in no way relate to his being gay. That’s incidental; it’s just part of who he is. It’s also very important to note, lots of bad things happen to the other main character, who’s straight; so the author is not singling out the gay character for mistreatment.

I’m still including this novel in the category “The Victimized Gay.” Even though Felix is not victimized because he’s gay, it’s still another image of a disproportionately large pile that says, “Bad things happen to gay people; sucks to be gay!” But the way Monette handles homosexuality in the novel largely offsets this stereotype, so its impact on the Gay Positivity score is muted.

I can’t exactly call “Mélusine” a gay fantasy novel; and I really like that. It’s a mainstream, wide-release fantasy novel with major gay content that’s treated on parity with the heterosexual content. That alone is an innovation. Kudos to Sarah Monette and her publishers.

Overall

I definitely recommend this book. Despite its weaknesses, it’s a strong story with a fascinating array of characters. If you like dark fantasy, you’ll enjoy the book from the get-go. If not, steel yourself for a hardcore first 100 pages or so before the story really turns into an engaging action-adventure.

“Swordspoint” is one of my favorite gay romances, despite the fact that the emphasis falls on 17th-century-esque political plots rather than the romance. Richard St. Vier is a dashing and unparalleled swordsman, and Alec Campion is a sarcastic ex-university student who’s not quite what he seems. In some ways, their romance is hard to understand: they’re SO different. On the other hand, the author – who has an amazing grasp of detail – paints their relationship with a visceral sense of longing and belonging. One reviewer comments,

“Alec’s cold and cruel humor is just what Richard needs to get out of his emotionless funk and feel a little. Alec arouses his protective instincts, and Richard’s slow loss of control over his feelings is one of the things that make their relationship so compelling. Richard’s only anchor in his life is his swordsman codex – he will live and he will die by swordspoint – and following how Alec makes his simple black-and-white principles turn topsy-turvy is fun” (1).

It helps that their relationship is the only genuine one in the book; every other relationship turns around money, power, and self-interest. Their romance also enjoys a certain equitability that I really liked. Richard saves and helps Alex, constantly protecting him and at one point avenging his honor: “[a professional killer] who brutally mutilates the man who [violently mistreats] Alec before running home to make tormented love to Alec (all the while covered with blood) – how can this not be sexy?” (2). And in return, Alec saves and helps Richard when the tables are turned, and Richard finds himself facing the gallows in a world of nobles and politics that the poor swordsman doesn’t know how to navigate.

Richard makes for an engaging romantic hero. He’s a trained killer: he does something we would, in real life, find distasteful; yet he practices his craft under a fairly rigid moral code that fits acceptably into the social milieu in which he lives. In fact, he values his honor and reputation above his craft, tending to turn away potential jobs if they don’t fit his moral system. Besides, who wouldn’t want to have a lover who, after someone abuses us, goes out and “gets” them? Well, okay, that’d be kind of psycho in the real world; but in an escapist fairy tale? The entire romance novel industry turns on that very ideal!

Yet even the appeal and strength of the romantic relationship wouldn’t be enough to make this one of my favorite novels if Kushner didn’t have the writing goods to back it up: an intricate and compelling plot, deep but subtle characterization, and a fantastic attention to detail saturated with a wonderful command of the English language. I should emphasize, though, the romance takes second place to the main plot: the machinations of a certain noble aiming at (what else?) self-aggrandizement at the expense of his rivals. It’s wonderful fun watching the convoluted plot unfold step-by-step, and then watching it unravel through counter-machinations by other parties. Until the very end, the reader is never quite sure how things are going to turn. Add in the atmosphere and colorful characters, and we have a winner!

One caveat, though: most of the book details Machiavellian plotting, interspersed with exciting but relatively brief fight sequences. The result is a book that may not appeal to fantasy fans who prefer more adventuring and more action.

Regarding the positivity score, I see this book as an early forerunner of a relatively new breed of gay-interest genre fiction in which gay content figures largely (though perhaps not centrally) but is treated as completely morally neutral. The word “gay” or “homosexual” never even occurs in this book; neither does anti-gay attitude figure in anywhere. There seems to be an understanding, especially among the nobility, that one must still marry even if one’s desires lie with the same sex in order to beget children. But otherwise, no one makes an issue of same-sex interest at all, one way or the other. It’s just there.

At the same time, the book manages to avoid falling into stereotypical traps. It’s not that bad things don’t happen to the gay characters, but they’re offset by (1) it’s obvious the bad things don’t happen because the characters are gay (which is a necessary but not sufficient condition for a high gay positivity score), and (2) the bad things tend to be tempered. For example, if the book didn’t have the ending it does, I wouldn’t score it as being nearly so positive, because it would just be another book reinforcing a stereotype. Instead, the bad things fit in perfectly with the scope and nature of the book’s plot, helping to flesh out the characters and build tension, suspense, and excitement.

The 2003 edition includes three short stories involving Alec and Richard. “The Swordsman Whose Name Was Not Death” makes a very nice epilogue to the novel. “Red-Cloak” is quirky: very brief, a sort of swordsman’s ghost story. “The Death of the Duke” is odd and sad, and the weakest of the three stories.

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(1). Anonymous. “Swordspoint by Ellen Kusher,” (no date provided), http://www.mrsgiggles.com/books/kushner_swordspoint.html (accessed 29 July 2007).
(2) Ibid.