Overall Quality 4.0 / 5.0 (engaging and interesting)
Gay Inclusive? Very – the subject is a gay man and his beginnings in gay porn
Gay Positive? Mostly – a positive tone undercut by negative implications that go unexplored

A fascinating look into a culture and man full of unexpected contradictions.

Jeffrey Schwartz’s documentary explores the evolution of Jack Stillman – a small, unathletic child of Beverly Hills privilege – into Jack Wrangler, who epitomizes rugged male sexuality. The evolution is far from linear. Jack begins in gay porn at a time when pornography was produced for the big screen, and acting was actually expected of the stars. Sometimes adult films could even get reviews in venues like Variety.

Stillman forged Wrangler in the fire of the gay porn business in the 1960s, during the time of the sexual revolution. The gay experience was fraught with peril; the documentary largely ignores that and focuses instead on the sexual openness of the pre-AIDS period.

The documentary strikes me as a bit one-sided in this sense. In fact, with Jack as the chief narrator, the film seems more like an autodocumentary. The overall tone is self-congratulatory, although to his credit Jack seems as startled by his successes as anyone. Still, I can’t help but think there’s another side to this story not being told.

I do deeply appreciate one of the themes of the documentary: a presentation of gay men counter to common stereotype. In fact, he’s one of earliest media images that counters the stereotype of gay men as effeminate sissies; it’s interesting that his image is not just masculine, but powerfully sexualized. Jack Wrangler represents a “manly man” – rugged, handsome and sexual – who is also gay.

Which makes it so odd that Wrangler moved into straight pornography. He had his first sexual encounter with a woman on-camera. He managed to become successful even in straight adult films, including The Devil in Miss Jones 2 and Debbie Does Dallas 2.

He’s also one of the few porn stars to bridge the gap from porn to mainstream theatrical work.

Perhaps most curiously, Jack became romantically involved with vocalist Margaret Whiting, a woman twenty years his senior. They have since married.

I’m not straight, and I’m not bisexual. I’m gay, but I could never live a gay lifestyle because I’m much too competitive. When I was with a guy I would always want to be better than him: what we were accomplishing, what we were wearing — anything. With a woman you compete like crazy, but coming from different points of view, and as far as I’m concerned, that was doable. (1)

It’s a puzzling development in the personal life of an otherwise openly gay man. Watching this portion of the documentary, part of me shrugs it away: to each his own. At the same time, I can’t help but notice that it’s suggestive that gay men can “change” their sexual orientation, and that the image of a manly gay man “turns out” to be straight … or at least turns to a straight lifestyle.

The most interesting-and perplexing-event of his life is his relationship with Whiting. Wrangler is a self-professed gay man who, according to the film, can´t see himself living with another man. As a condition of moving in with Whiting, and subsequently getting married, the actor agreed to give up performing in porn films as well as having encounters with other men. He makes light of it, saying he has a healthy masturbatory life. However, for a generation of gay men who looked up to Wrangler-not to mention the era he ushered in-I have to think this is a slap in the face. Certainly there is not a list of requirements to be considered gay; what fits one person doesn´t necessarily fit another. But a out gay man married to a woman and abstaining from sex with other men? Does that even qualify as being gay anymore? (2)

Again, I return to the point that the documentary doesn’t present “another side” to the story. Despite including interviews with colleagues from his work in porn, the documentary never delves into what it all means.

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Theatrical trailer:

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(1) Brother, Job. “The Anatomy of Jack Wrangler.” The Advocate. 5 November 2008. http://www.advocate.com/print_article_ektid64690.asp (retrieved 30 November 2008).

(2) Vargo, Jason. “Review of ‘Wrangler: Anatomy of an Icon.’” DVDTown.com. 26 October 2008. http://www.dvdtown.com/reviews/wrangler-anatomy-of-an-icon/6426 (retrieved 30 November 2008).

Overall Quality 4.5 / 5.0
Gay Inclusive? Very – an engaging and moving story of the gay rights movement and one of its heroes
Gay Positive? Very – although a tragic tale, it is fiercely empowering

This is the movie I wish Brokeback Mountain had been.

Don’t get me wrong – Brokeback Mountain was a masterpiece of film-making, and it was robbed of its rightful Academy Award. But I have a love-hate relationship with such movies – beautiful, moving, and important stories that are horribly tragic and unhappy. I’m glad that a gay love story finally hit the mainstream with Brokeback Mountain, but it did nothing to dispel myths like gay-love-is-doomed and bad-things-will-happen-to-you-if-you’re-gay.

Milk also brings a tragic story to the big screen: the assassination of gay rights pioneer Harvey Milk. Yet Milk is empowering in a way Brokeback Mountain was not. Instead of vaguely feeling bad about being gay, I felt inspired, charged up and ready to fight for my rights. Milk also brings to the big screen the struggle not just for equal rights but also for freedom from the physical and emotional violence that gay people have long endured.

Just this week, former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee claimed on The View that gay rights are not civil rights because gay people have not been subjected to a history of violence like black people. Such a willfully ignorant statement is nothing short of appalling; and yet, it is representative of a surprisingly large swath of the population. Many do not acknowledge or do not care about the persecution of gays in Nazi Germany; the institutionalized violence against gay people by police in previous decades and by religious organizations (like the Mormons using electro-shock therapy to “cure” homosexuality); and individual hate crimes that have claimed the lives of people like Matthew Shepherd.

Thank God for Milk, and what a timely film it is. The movie dramatizes Milk’s move to San Francisco and his subsequent rise to the position of City Supervisor (after several failed attempts). Once in the position, a significant portion of the movie details his fight against Proposition 6, which would have enabled the state of California to fire any teacher known to be gay along with any teacher who supported them.

Fast forward 30 years, and Californians once again vote on a proposition of concern to gay rights – Proposition 8, which successfully banned gay marriage (after the California Supreme Court legalized it).

My only criticism of the film falls on the editing, and I’m not sure what the Gus van Sant could have done differently. He’s just covering so much territory in the space of a couple of hours that much of the story gets told in fast-forward. Nevertheless, the movie was engrossing from start to finish, and the phenomenal acting from all quarters – both Sean Penn and Josh Brolin deserve extra mention – imbues the story with life.

Please see this movie. Please take your friends and family to see it. Particularly in the aftermath of Proposition 8’s passage, a lot of people seem to dismiss the gay community’s reaction as sore losers throwing a tantrum because they didn’t get their way. They do not – perhaps because they are not willing to – recognize how a group of people have been systematically oppressed throughout even the history of a country that espouses the values of equality and the separation of church and state.

Milk is a sad tale, but one encoupled with hope. I walked out of the theater both devastated and determined. One thing can be said of Harvey Milk: his hope lives on in those of us who are willing to embrace it.

“If a bullet should go through my head, let that bullet go through every closet door”

- Harvey Milk

Overall Quality 3.5 / 5.0
Gay Content 5.0 / 5.0
Gay Positivity 5.0 / 5.0

The makers of Dante’s Cove apparently took my advice from my comments on Season 1. First, they decided to take the show less seriously and just have fun with it. Second, they managed to introduce some quality changes that improve the overall texture of the show. The result is a welcome transition from sub-par entertainment to full-fledged supernatural gay soap opera.

The central relationships and conflicts still take center-stage: Ambrosius (William Gregory Lee) undergoes a welcome modernization and now goes by “Bro.” He’s desperately seeking to overpower Grace and win (perhaps “conquer” would be a better word) Kevin, whose relationship with Toby (Charlie David) has hit rocky times.

Van (Nadine Heimann), meanwhile, finds she has an affinity for magic, and her desire to learn more both alienates loved ones and leads her to the company of an erstwhile villain.

Season Two also introduces some new elements.

• The acting from virtually everyone has improved. We’re not talking Oscar material here, of course, but it’s like most of the actors used the break from the show to take a few classes.
• Adam has been recast with an actor with more on-screen charisma (Jon Fleming), and he consequently has a meatier subplot this season, including a rather bizarre love-hate thing with Bro.
• A bit more lesbian action, which makes the show more accessible to a wider audience. Plus, I like all the lesbian characters. They’re fun. Especially the newest cast addition:
• Thea Gill as Diana. I love every moment she’s on screen. She brings a wonderfully quiet, understated quality to the role which provides a nice counter-balance to the histrionics of the other characters. She’s also deliciously mysterious: she has a secret connection to both Grace and Bro. I look forward to seeing more of Diana.

Most Improved Role: Tracy Scoggins as Grace. Yeah, she’s still sporting that ridiculous British accent, but she’s toned it back a little. She’s also toned the character back a lot, thank goodness. She’s no longer the Melodrama Queen, but is slowly growing into a fully fleshed-out character. She displays greater vulnerability and breadth of character than in the first season. I wonder if I’ll start rooting for her.

Most Awesomely Villainous Villain: No winner. I can’t actually tell who the bad guys are supposed to be. Grace seems to be drifting toward the “good side,” with Bro heading into the dark side of the Force. But Bro is an inconsistent character, sometimes wicked, sometimes comical, sometimes wooden, sometimes natural. I guess he’s the main villain, and maybe his villainy just hasn’t matured yet. The show also gives the impression he’s just a really good guy at heart, such as one comical scene where the ghosts of two children tell him there’s still good left in him. In truth, this show is begging for an awesomely villainous villain.

Most Enjoyable Gay Wish Fulfillment: Watching Kevin cry over Toby. Kevin is the hot young thang who comes to Dante’s Cove in pursuit of Toby. But, he’s not quite ready to fully commit, until his own actions threaten the relationship and he faces the prospect of losing Toby. What a fun way to vicariously experience a hot boy so into his boyfriend that he gets all emo and goes to length to keep his man. Runner-Up: Bro seducing “straight” boy Adam. But because, to my mind, the relationship is non-consensual (Adam is under the influence of both narcotics and Bro’s magic), which lends an ugly edge to their “romance.”

Quality 1.5 / 3.0
Gay content 5.0 / 5.0
Gay positivity 4.75 / 5.0

I want to love this show. I really do. I’m a big fan of fantasy and the supernatural, the cast members are smokin’ hot, and it’s gay gay gay! They don’t hold back either; there were moments I wasn’t sure if I was watching a TV show or softcore porn.

I tell myself, this show doesn’t need a coherent plot – it’s got a dueling witch and warlock. It doesn’t need acting – it has man-flesh in spades! It doesn’t need quality writing – it has melodrama!

I can’t help but compare this to Third Man Out, the mystery starring Chad Allen. These shows are both productions from Here! TV. I loved Third Man Out – it was such a high quality production with unabashed gay characters. It’s exactly the kind of gay-themed television I want to watch. Dante’s Cove has the second part of the equation (up-front gay characters and relationships) but not so much the first.

The way the scenery gets chewed, I wonder if they have to replace the sets each episode. Tracy Scoggins (as Grace) can’t decide which accent to use, William Gregory Lee (the warlock Ambrosius) tries so hard to be menacing, Gregory Michael (the protagonist Kevin) spends most of his time in a trance or walking around like a zombie, and Charlie David (Toby, Kevin’s boyfriend) looks perpetually befuddled.

If you were to tell me that the people involved in the show (on camera and behind the scenes) formerly made porn, I’d believe you. Really. Just look at their names. Gregory Michael. William Gregory Lee. Charlie David. All their names are first names! And that spells p-o-r-n!

I’m actually not sure at whom to aim my most serious criticism. Is it the writer, the director or the editor? The show falters most when trying to build up the suspense. Better acting would help, but the more immediate culprit is poor pacing.

This show sits at an uncomfortable fork in the road. Right now, it’s like a bunch of porn stars decided they wanted to do legitimate TV. I’d be a lot more receptive if the show didn’t take itself so seriously and went the route of a supernatural dramedy. Or the show could take the truly suspenseful path and allow the relationships and dramatic threats to develop organically. The latter option would require higher quality acting, writing, and direction, however. Perhaps the show will mature into it.

Yeah, I’ll continue to watch to see how the show evolves. Despite my criticisms, the show is kind of fun in a fluffy way, there’s some great eye-candy, the special effects are surprisingly good, I like the music, the show is totally gay positive, and many of the actors do show promise of growing into their roles. Besides, I love seeing gay cinema busting down the door into yet another genre, and you don’t see any other gay supernatural thrillers out there on TV, do you?

Here’s hoping Dante’s Cove gets either more serious about its premise, or less so.

Overall 2.0 / 5.0
Gay Content 5.0 / 5.0
Gay Positivity 4.5 / 5.0

The series has hit a new low in Season 3.

The events at the end of Season 2 opened the door for the House of Shadows to return to Dante’s Cove and wreck havoc. Meanwhile, Griffen (Jensen Atwood), a representative of the “council of Tresum,” shows up to throw a wrench into everything by taking Diana’s (Thea Gill) power. Kevin (Gregory Michael) is still Ambrosius Vallin’s (AKA Bro, William Gregory Lee) sex slave, but he is desperately conniving to escape and get back to Toby (Charlie David), who in the meantime is being seduced by straight-boy-turned-gay Adam (Jon Fleming).

After the first season, Here! TV started billing Dante’s Cove as a “guilty pleasure.” I’d say Season 2 was reasonably successful in that vein. Season 3 is just bad, however. Not so bad it’s good, just bad.

Awful, cringe-worthy writing. Check. Lame special effects. Oh, yeah. (Season 2 had much better effects, for some reason). Questionable directorial choices. Yup. Clunky, wooden acting. You know it.

Even the sex and nakedness irritated me! They had a sex scene every ten to fifteen minutes. It bothers me that they used it as a substitute for story-telling. If I want to watch porn, I’ll watch real porn. Full-frontal nudity appeared even more often than the sex. Unfortunately, they really only included one “type” of guy – muscle-bound – and I didn’t really find many of the naked guys that appealing.

To tell you the truth, though, the thing that hurts the show the most: there’s no one to root for. Grace (Tracy Scoggins), previously a villain, became my favorite character this season. Thea Gill was wasted, and they didn’t reveal whether Griffen was a villain or hero until last episode or two. Everyone else turned evil, selfish, or stupid; or they were new, and I didn’t have a chance to develop an emotional investment in their character.

I understand that this is a soap opera, and it’s intended to be over-the-top. They’re aiming for so-bad-it’s-good, but they made some poor choices, and overshot.

On the plus side, Grace’s character gets the royal treatment: she has the best, most evocative storyline. Scoggins takes full advantage of it. Atwood brings a much needed low-key performance to the show. It also remains refreshingly gay-positive.

Here’s my wish-list for Season 4 of Dante’s Cove. The writers of Supernatural take over, and Dean (Jensen Ackles) and Sam (Jared Padalecki) roll into town. Can you imagine the possibilities? I can… Mmmmm.

A gratuitous picture of Sam and Dean from the CW’s Supernatural:

Overall Quality 2.5 / 5.0 (Disappointing and inane)
Gay Content 1.5 / 5.0 (Important gay character)
Gay Positivity 2.0 / 5.0 (The character is positive; his fate is not)

How disappointing. Part I of the miniseries is promising, but Part II moves away from Part I’s strengths and emphasizes its weaknesses. Throw in a serious negative gay stereotype, and color me unimpressed.

A virulent pathogen infects a small town in Utah via a crashed satellite; a near 100% fatality rate ensues. The military puts the Wildfire Program into effect, gathering half a dozen top scientists at a secret laboratory to study the pathogen and create a response. Meanwhile, a reporter (Eric McCormack) tries to break the story, while other government and military personnel engage in some vague, never-fully-realized conspiracy.

Having never read The Andromeda Strain by Michael Crichton, I cannot say how closely the plot adheres to his original story. I suspect it diverges quite a bit.

Part I of the miniseries does a great job of maintaining and building tension and suspense, emphasizing the laboratory portion in a sort of Center for Disease Control-style CSI. The reporter and government conspiracy aspects come across as pure fluff from the very beginning. The bevy of false-start subplots doesn’t help. Unfortunately, Part II dwells more on the fluff than on the lab; and events in the lab take a definitive turn for both formulaic and speculative-in-the-extreme as the story winds to an eye-rolling conclusion.

The miniseries includes a gay character: one of the medical scientists, Major Bill Keane (Ricky Schroder). I am impressed with the inclusion and the way the script handles the inclusion. When discussing family relationship with another doctor, Keane comments, “If you don’t ask, I won’t tell.” The other doctor then opines that the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy is ridiculous.

His sexuality plays no role in the conflict. I have heard the inclusion criticized according to the “relevance” argument. Keane’s sexual orientation is not germane the plot, therefore, that exchange should not have been included. But that necessitates that any time a gay character shows up in TV or film, their sexuality has to become part of the drama. That’s overdone, and negative by implying that being gay is such a Big Awful Thing that it must cause tension. It’s refreshing to see a gay character included just for the sake of diversity.

*** Moderate Spoiler Warning – To explain the Gay Positivity Score, I have to divulge something that happens near the end. I do not spoil the resolution to the primary conflict. Please stop reading if you don’t want to know. ***

Major Keane dies at the end. Another character also dies, but only because he has to retrieve something from the Keane. I find no compelling reason in the plot why any of the scientists had to die. I was so irritated by the development I nearly stopped watching then and there.

Two overarching stereotypes appear over and over again in the portrayal of gay people. If you’re gay, either you are bad, or bad things will happen to you. Through sheer repetition, it associates “gay” with “bad,” and inculcates the attitude that gay is worse than straight, instead of just different.

The situation is improving as TV and film produce more diverse and balanced portrayals of gay people. But the negative stereotypes persist, thanks to efforts like The Andromeda Strain.

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.

Yawn. The first book in the Simon Kirby-Jones mystery series, “Posted to Death” (2002) was a cute, mild mystery. The follow-up “Faked to Death” is plain boring.

In the story, Simon finds himself at a writer’s conference involving more than its fair share of scheming. In fact, the most obvious chicanery affects him directly: Simon is an author who writes under a couple of pen names, including Dorinda Darlington. To his surprise, a “Dorinda Darlington” shows up to participate in the conference, only to wind up murdered. Our hero Simon must unravel the web of deceit and blackmail to uncover the truth.

The only point of interest in the story that kept my attention was the sexual and romantic tension between Simon and his assistant, the young and hunky Giles Blitherington, who has a massive crush on his employer. Simon recognizes Giles’ appeal but feels discretion is the better part of valor, at least for the moment. Particularly given that Simon is a vampire, and he’s not sure how Giles will react to that news.

But he’s a vampire the way a castrato is a man. Simon takes pills which eliminates his need to feed on blood and weakness to sunlight but also eliminates his ability to change shape or move with preternatural speed. In fact, his vampiricism affects the story in only one respect: he doesn’t want to be shot because he doesn’t want to have to explain why there would be no blood and why he wouldn’t die. In fact, I think the story would have been much more interesting, edgier, if Simon had more traditional vampiric characteristics. But then, maybe it wouldn’t be a “cozy,” a sub-genre of mystery that emphasizes light-heartedness and little-to-no violence.

This book shares one weakness with its predecessor. It’s set in England, and most of the characters are English, but the protagonist Simon and another character (Ashford Dunn) are American. But they still talk like Britons. For example, Ashford using the word “potty” at one point to describe someone as crazy or loony. “Potty” is not American slang, and I found it distracting that the American characters don’t sound American to me.

On the positive side, the reader will find no gay angst or other negative gay portrayals here. A few of the secondary characters evince some anti-gay attitudes through a thinly veiled comment here and there, but they’re very minor points.

See also:

James, Dean. “Posted to Death” (2002)

Summary

Long, long ago in a galaxy far away – oh, wait, wrong story. Actually in an alternate universe, or in the future, humanity lives in a galactic milieu shared with various sentient species. One of those species has introduced humans to a metaphysical experience called the Dream, a sort of collective telepathic experience. Those who can access the Dream are called the Silent; and in many parts of the politically splintered universe, the Silent are slaves and property.

Our erstwhile hero Kendi was a Silent slave himself, until he was able to join the Children of Irfan, a quasi-religious sect that seek out other Silent. And in this novel, they have a very specific target: a rogue Silent with powers never before seen. Several different parties desperately seek the rogue Silent, many hoping to use his powers to their own advantage. Will the (mostly) selfless Children reach him first?

And of course, the poor fellow comes from a family of many secrets, some of which threaten to tear the Dream apart, literally.

Quality

Dreamer benefits from a very strong, vivid opening sequence. But gradually following that, the story loses steam and focus. The novel has two basic acts: first, find the ultra-powerful rogue Silent; second, save the Universe. The first act is considerably more interesting than the second because it’s more character-driven. In fact, the focus shifts from Kendi in the first half to various secondary characters in the second. Meanwhile, a handful of minor characters introduce potentially interesting or meaningful subplots, which never go anywhere. In other words, the book starts with a razor sharp story and involving characters, but then the storylines get sloppy. I enjoyed some of the twists, for example, events on the home world of the Children of Irfan took me by surprise. But ultimately, the story winds down to a relatively weak ending.

Gay Content

For me, the most compelling reason to keep reading was Kendi, an engaging and gay protagonist. One of the subplots centered on his strained relationship with a former boyfriend, Ben. I really wanted to know how it would work out for them.

And Harper handled the gay components of his novel quite deftly, particularly considering he’s straight. I found the lack of gay angst in this novel quite refreshing! I grow tired of authors (or filmmakers, or TV producers) who say they’ll include gay characters only when it’s appropriate to the story. Kendi and Ben are gay, and it’s just who they are, the same way I’m gay, and it’s just who I am.

At the same time, Harper doesn’t treat their gayness as an artifact, i.e., pointing out at the beginning of novel, “Look at me, I’m innovative, I have a gay protagonist!” and then never mentioning it again. No, in fact, as author and blogger Brent Hartinger observes, “The series goes into great detail about his childhood, his feelings of being “different,” and his stormy relationship with another man. It’s integral to the story, not mere window-dressing” (1).

Harper and his editor clearly have a pleasantly low-key attitude about including gay content. In an interview with StrangeHorizons.com, Harper describes how he approached his editor Laurie Anne Gilman:

“Will Steven Harper become known as ‘that gay SF writer’?” I asked [Gilman]. “The label doesn’t bother me, but I’m worried about sales.”

“Gay characters don’t hurt sales these days,” she said. “Do what you like” (2).

Overall

On the whole, it’s a decent story. I mildly recommend it on its own. But if you’re hungry for a science fiction tale with gay characters handled very positively, definitely pick it up.

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(1) Brent Hartinger, “Book Review: Dreamer by Steven Harper,” AfterElton.com, 24 January 2007, http://www.afterelton.com/blog/2007/01/25/book-review-dreamer-by-steven-harper (20 July 2007). By the way, I love the AfterElton website; I highly recommend you check it out.

(2) Mahesh Raj Mohan, “Interview: Steven Piziks,” StrangeHorizons.com, 6 October 2003, http://www.strangehorizons.com/2003/20031006/piziks.shtml (20 July 2007). Note that “Steven Harper” is a pseudonym.