BOOK REVIEW: THE PRETTIEST STAR

For starters, I'll admit that I long to read more fiction set during the days of the AIDS crisis. There's so much inherent drama and tragedy in a time period when many thought that the deaths of young, gay men were a sign of God's wrath. The stakes were so high, the tension easy to draw upon. Still, it takes a skilled writer to craft a compelling story arc with diverse characters.

The Prettiest Star (Hub City Press, 2020) begins in New York City and I settled in, looking forward to reading about gay life in The Big Apple as AIDS crashes the party. Thus, I was startled when things soon shifted to small town Ohio, the story moving forward from the perspective of young Brian's mother, Sharon, and his fourteen-year-old sister, Jess. Sharon is deeply religious and the town is a conservative place where people rarely venture too far afield. (Sharon's never been on a plane.)

After a six-year absence, Brian writes a letter to his parents, saying he has AIDS and wants to come home—for how long, it's unclear. Neither Sharon nor Brian's dad, Travis, is keen on the idea. What will the rest of the family think? What will the town think? AIDS?! Is it even safe?

Author Carter Sickels does a masterful job in capturing the sentiment of the time—the fear, the ignorance and the sobering reality that being gay was still a source of great shame and hatred. He also shows that he has done his research on AIDS, describing how it overtakes Brian with specific symptoms and pride-busting humiliations.

Lettie, his grandmother who has always adored Brian (and who isn't given enough credit about things she knows), is a vital force, diving in and supporting Brian and offering a model of love and acceptance for the more tentative (and more torn) Sharon and Jess while also standing up to the hate from the people of her church and town. This isn't her story (nor is it that of Brian's brash NYC friend, Annie). Lettie and Annie are 100% Team Brian. They don't have much growing to to.

Brian though must come to terms with the death of his partner and his own full acceptance of being gay—it was so much easier in the city—while now having AIDS. Jess, a self-conscious teen, is often embarrassed by her brother whom she used to adore and follow like a puppy dog. It's hard for her to be noticed much less heard. Sharon, a preacher's daughter, has the most growing to do. She's got a husband who can't accept what Brian's become and who can't stand up to his loud, homophobic brother. Travis is basically AWOL. Sharon could lean on Lettie, but there's an undercurrent of jealousy there, Brian always seeming to have an easier relationship with his grandmother; she could confide in Annie, but Annie's just too out there, nothing like what anyone's used to in small town Ohio.

At times, I wanted more of Brian's voice. I suppose I hoped for more direct conversations between him and his mother, but Sickels opts for more realism than drama. Much of the ongoing tension within any family comes from all that remains unsaid. It's a challenge to write from three points of view (Brian, Sharon and Jess) and Jess's perspective feels a little too insightful for her age. Sure, many teens are "wise beyond their years," but even the way things are phrased doesn't sound like a teen's voice. It's a minor criticism when the story is so well told.

The Prettiest Star brings back to mind so many things I had forgotten about AIDS in the 1980s. To be sure, for a long time, I wanted to forget. Now, however, I need to remember and this novel helps to do just that in a compelling way.

IT’S STILL COMPLICATED

Coming out is, for many of us, a long process. There is no right way, despite the directions provided at sites like wikiHow.com . Each person who comes out has a different story. Stories, actually. (It's not like we come out to everyone all at once.) Some stories are comical (if only in retrospect), some affirming, still others are disappointing, even tragic.

I first came out twenty-five years ago, choosing my best friend as a potential supporter who deserved to know the truth. We sat in my darkened living room, each of us in a separate beanbag...more comfy than the card table chairs. She said she'd wondered. She said she accepted it. She said she supported me.

And then she didn't contact me for several weeks. (When we chatted last year about it, she denied this account, but I had stumbled upon my old journal entries. Reading my anguish from the time brought a fresh flood of tears.) The reason why coming out is such a big deal is because you can never predict the response.

Relationships are on the line.

When the reaction is less than positive, it is easy to assert that the person is not a good friend/relative. I've heard it many times: love should be unconditional.

Even as we tap on the shoulder of 2011, coming out can be complicated. I know it took me years to come to terms with my homosexuality before I ever talked openly about it. How is it that we grant ourselves a prolonged period before self-acceptance but expect instant acceptance from others? It is a process for both people in the conversation. While initial rejection stings, whether or not things can grow from there depends on how people act on both sides of the coming out drama.

I have had many positive experiences in coming out, but I've also had my share of rocky episodes. For me, silence has always been the most difficult. Without conversation, how can there ever be enlightenment? Questions are good, even if the first ones are offensive. When I came out to my parents, my mother immediately blurted, "Can't you abstain?" Over time, her questions became more thoughtful. My sister, by contrast, still refuses to talk about it, with me or with my mother. I like to think that my sister is the one who is now barricaded in the closet.

I learned a long time ago never to judge how one person interacts with his or her family. There's too much personal history, much that the person may not even be able to articulate. We can't all be Brady Bunches, Cleavers or Waltons. Each family dynamic is unique. The same goes for coming out. Who and when depends on the individuals involved. All the rest of us can do is share our stories, offer our congratulations when the experience is positive and provide support (through more listening than advising) when coming out feels more like coming undone.

Come out, come out wherever you are...but only when it truly feels right to you.

In the Name of Pride

The second annual Pride Dance in my local community occurred last night. Last year I went alone and remained proud for twenty minutes before making a beeline to the car and heading home. This year I brought a friend from Vancouver and we stayed for an hour. I was the one insisting we leave. He found the event to be what he thought it would be and seemed positive. I, on the other hand, felt it was what I expected, yet felt disappointment.

When it is my own community and a rare opportunity to meet as a group of gays and lesbians, a sense of hope builds. Logically, I know that the gay people in my area are already coupled up. They smartly got there lives in order before moving to a quiet rural or small town setting. Romantically, however, I wonder if a handsome stud with whom I have perfect chemistry will appear and sweep me off the dance floor. I know it won’t happen, but I hope it will.

The dance is done. I am still single. When will the next opportunity arise? Do I need to move back to the city? Can I afford to move back? Can I afford not to?

I realize the dance was more than a chance to meet Mr. Right. It was also a time to chat with other gays and lesbians and build connections, possibly friendships. The venue with loud music—Did they really think Wake Up, Little Susie was a great song for a gay dance?—made conversations difficult to sustain. I felt I keep thrusting my left ear in people’s faces as I strained to make sense of why their lips were moving. I am not a natural when it comes to random chitchat so there were times I did not even bother to figure out what was being said. I could feel myself giving up.

Over dinner before the dance, I asked my city friend why so many gay social events are at bars or dances. Is that all we are—martini (and water bottle) loving club kids? In Vancouver, there are also many gay sports groups. In the past, I joined a gay volleyball night and a gay tennis league. Here, there aren’t the numbers for that kind of thing. What else is there? How can truer connections be established? I realize I am sounding passive in that I am not organizing anything. That is a valid criticism. I am painfully shy and self conscious until I get to know people. That’s a hard thing to shake.

Ideas? Am I whining too much? Do I need Cher to show up, slap my face and say, “Snap out of it!”

Oh, if only she would. And if only I could.