James Fitzgerald likes his life the way it is. He has a stable academic career teaching American literature; a comfortable townhouse in Brooklyn; a satisfying, open marriage with his partner of fifteen years; a sweet and playful young boyfriend; and a recently-published, well-received novel about a famous early-twentieth-century Harvard professor. But his poise is shattered when a woman appears at a book signing bearing a surprise an unsent letter from her brother Gregory, James' first boyfriend and-ever since Gregory's sudden death twenty-five years ago-the dark gravitational center of James' intellectual and emotional life. What follows is a near hallucinatory night of soul-questioning as James, wandering the streets of New York, re-examines his stormy, life-altering relationship with Gregory, a charismatic, self-destructive activist and writer and the real impetus behind James' new novel. Rapidly shifting between the late 1980s, when AIDS cut a deadly swath through the gay community, and the dawn of the Trump era where social media and political polarization threaten another kind of death sentence, American Scholar tells the story of a man driven to discover but afraid to know the truth about himself and his loves past and present.
"A haunting, complex look at love, gay history, and the passage of time." - Kirkus Reviews
Born and raised in Reading, Pennsylvania, Patrick E. Horrigan received his BA from The Catholic University of America and his PhD from Columbia University. He is the author of the novel PENNSYLVANIA STATION (Lethe Press), about a troubled romance between a closeted architect and a much younger gay rights activist in mid-1960s New York; PORTRAITS AT AN EXHIBITION (Lethe Press), about a young man’s search for the meaning of life amid a gallery of old master portraits; and WIDESCREEN DREAMS: GROWING UP GAY AT THE MOVIES (University of Wisconsin Press), an analysis of several popular films from the 1960s and 70s. His one-act play, MESSAGES FOR GARY: A DRAMA IN VOICEMAIL, composed entirely of answering machine messages received by the activist and socialist scholar Gary Lucek, was a critically-acclaimed hit of the Third International Fringe Festival. With his husband, the actor and writer Eduardo Leanez, he co-wrote the solo show YOU ARE CONFUSED! about the relationship between a gay Venezuelan boy and his charismatic mother. He and Mr. Leanez are the hosts of ACTORS WITH ACCENTS, a recurring variety show on Manhattan's Lower East Side. Since 1993, he has taught English at the Brooklyn campus of Long Island University. He lives in Manhattan.
Over the weekend, I picked up a copy of American Scholar by Patrick E. Horrigan at one of my favorite bookstores in the Castro. I spent all of Sunday at the beach and later in bed captivated by this ambitious novel and beautiful piece of auto-fiction.
American Scholar is my literary niche as it is queer, historical, melancholic, and referential. Horrigan’s novel follows James Fitzgerald, who has a satisfying open marriage to his partner for over a decade, a whimsical younger boyfriend, and an established academic career teaching American literature. At the start of the novel, James has just released his novel “American Scholar” about the famed early 20th century American literary critic, F.O. Matthiessen and his decade-long relationship with Russell Cheney. At a book signing for his novel, James is approached by the sister of his dead first boyfriend, Gregory and James is forced to confront not only his past but how his past has shaped his current intellectual pursuits and present. The novel alternates between James’s present life in turbulent 2016 and the 1980’s when he meets and dives into a relationship with Gregory, a charismatic activist.
Horrigan’s novel captures a particular sentiment of yearning and longing that I think is intrinsic to the queer experience. Even though other queer novels have explored similar themes of craving, desire, and loss, American Scholar interrogates the haunting question of whether one is ever truly able to move past the loss of their first real love. I particularly enjoyed the author’s use of the parallel between F.O. Matthiessen and Russell Cheney’s true secret love story and that of James and Gregory’s fictional love affair. The tragic ending of these intertwined romances demonstrates Horrigan’s clear foresight when structuring his novel. The assumption Horrigan presumes that the reader will hold about how Gregory dies makes the revelation of his cause of death at the end of the novel even more unsettling. I highly recommend this novel.
I’ve enjoyed books by this author since his 1999 memoir Widescreen Dreams: Growing Up Gay at the Movies. This is my favorite of his three novels. I loved the book within a book structure and autobiographical elements contained within it on many levels. Also, the sections set in 1987 NYC, two years after I moved from the city, captured the time and place perfectly. And as a fan of 19th century American literature, I enjoyed the academic musings of a literary critic new to me.
This book does for one character what we all do on some level: use knowledge of the harrowing past to make sense of the fearful present.
Highly referential to gay figures in history, literature, and pop culture, one scholar struggles to understand his place in the pantheon.
His personal relationships with men from the past (the one he studies, the one he lost to the lifestyle of the 1980s) help inform what’s to come with the men he can still touch.
I will have to come back and write an in-depth review of this novel, but...wow. I stayed up all night because I wanted to finish it, and I haven't done that in such a long time.
Books about books about books, like paintings of artists painting self-portraits, run the risk of being self-indulgent and annoyingly convoluted. Stories about gay-male scholars in different eras, however, can reveal intriguing contrasts. What did it mean to be a man, an American, a scholar, and a closeted “invert” in the 1920s? What did it mean to join an all-male “Gay Study Group” at Columbia University in the 1980s, when a life of art and ideas could be interrupted at any time by a sexually-transmitted virus that destroyed the body’s ability to protect itself? Has the current legal status of same-sex marriage allowed gay men to join the cultural mainstream in the 21st century?
All these questions are raised and answered in a narrative about James Fitzgerald, called Jimmy in his youth. The reader first meets him in 2016, when he is unwilling to dispose of twelve storage boxes which contain “all that is left” of the life he had with Gregory in the 1980s. Like many middle-class heterosexual couples, James and his current husband are in conflict about whether to bring a child into their lives, even though they could afford it. Like the author, James seems introspective, genteel, academic, and literary. His life just before Trump is elected is undoubtedly privileged, yet he carries scars from the past.
In a chapter set in 1987, we meet the lively group of gay male students at Columbia University that become Jimmy’s chosen family. He has one foot in the real world of 1980s urban American culture, and the other in the philosophical, very closeted world of Francis Matthiesen, a scholar in an earlier era who explored the work of nineteenth-century American authors Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne, Melville and Whitman in a study published in 1941. Jimmy is writing a Ph.D. thesis on Matthiesen, which means that he is tackling, secondhand, a literary world in which Americans were still searching for a national identity. More exciting, for Jimmy, is Matthiesen’s relationship with his long-term companion Russell Cheney, who apparently inspired him.
Jimmy’s life as a graduate student is palpable. Both the tedium of spending hours reading about dead men and the excitement of finding unexpected treasure are realistically described. When not reading and taking notes, Jimmy strikes up a tentative connection with Gregory, who co-founded the study group with Bill, but who now seems to be single.
Subsequent chapters alternate between 2016 and 1987: the present and the past which led to it. Gregory is the first to rename Jimmy as “James,” and the name sticks. James learns about popular music and cooking from Gregory, whose knowledge is impressive and whose behavior can be extreme. Gregory warns James that he has bipolar disorder and is subject to suicidal depression, and James is moved by his honesty. Like many other inexperienced young adults, James has no way of predicting what a relationship with a mentally ill partner will be like.
James learns, painfully, that every human consciousness is an island, and there are some places where he cannot follow his lover, his friends, or his role models. He writes a novel about Matthiesen and Cheney because he feels that historical fiction would be the best means to convey the flavor of their lives. James’ book, American Scholar, reaches a receptive audience, yet its launch is accompanied by disappointment. Just as James refused to attend Bill’s funeral, obsessively organized by Gregory after Bill’s death from AIDS in 1987, James’ current husband Fran stays away from James’ reading in 2016. A mysterious envelope with James’ name on it, given to him by Gregory’s sister after Gregory’s death, is a source of suspense until James opens it and learns that Gregory is still capable of surprising him from beyond the grave.
Like a big, satisfying nineteenth-century novel, this book about another book which doesn’t actually exist is full of deft character sketches, vivid descriptions of particular places, and little epiphanies. James’ sex life is parallel to his research: exhilarating in peak moments, but subtly disappointing when intimacy cannot be reached or maintained.
American Scholar (the actual novel by Patrick Horrigan) is an honest and endearing look at particular times and places. It won Next Generation Indie Book Award for LGBTQ+ fiction for 2023.
A timely novel that really works for the world we all live in today. It is fitting that this book tells a tale in two time periods. This book truly is an analysis of how the past imparts on present and how present represents past.
If you read Emerson in high school, you will have a basis for understanding the subtleties in this writing. James is a very approachable main character and at the same time, one who appears bigger than life. The key message in this book can relate to anyone, whether gay or straight.
This is a powerful addition to the queer/gay pantheon of novels. You truly may not know the impact of your past unless you attempt to re-examine it. Well written and thought provoking, this book will intrigue the intellectual reader. Worthy of wide consideration, this book would benefit anyone reading it. If you are not gay but wonder about the lifestyle and its history, then this novel will do the trick. A book so thought-provoking, it deserves more than one read. Recommended to any fan of queer/gay novels. Recommended to fans of fiction.
Disclaimer: I received a copy from the author in the hopes I'd review it.
In ‘American Scholar’, author Patrick E. Horrigan takes the recent history of gay lived experience as a backdrop, niftily shifting from AIDS era 80s to the rise of Donald Trump. Our guide on this very personal journey is one James Fitzgerald, the eponymous scholar, who is living an apparently comfortable life with his long-term (polyamorous) partner and a successful career as a literary author.
When a woman appears at a book signing with an unsent letter from Fitzgerald’s first boyfriend, Gregory, the author’s neat and ordered life is turned on its head. Prompting a dark night of the soul, Fitzgerald wanders the streets of New York a la a modern ‘Catcher in the Rye’ while remembering his chaotic relationship with Gregory, a charming but dangerous lover – and an inspirational one at that. ‘American Scholar’ offers a meditation on first love and the scars it leaves us with, oft adopting a melancholic tone and exploring the longing that often haunts queer lives.
Vivid, nostalgic and unsettling, ‘American Scholar’ serves up a striking snapshot of queer history and its famed players along with an emotional journey that provides both insight and heartbreak. This is a novel for all lovers of assured literary queer fiction.
American Scholar is a smart and moving story of a man coming to terms with the loss of his first great love. The novel has two different timelines: one is set against the 2016 Presidential Election, and the other during the AIDS Epidemic of the 1980s.
The main character, James Fitzgerald, is about to give a reading from his novel American Scholar. His husband, Fran, isn’t going to come to the reading because the couple fought earlier that day over getting rid of several storage boxes to make room for a nursery. The boxes hold precious memories of James’s time with his first love, Gregory, and he’s not ready to give them up…and it’s threatening to shatter the life he’s built with Fran.
Horrigan elegantly combines history, literary theory, and politics to tell a very personal story about how someone you love can influence your life even after they are no longer in it…and knowing when it’s time to let them go. And the ending...it's heartbreaking, but at the same time, it's the only way James can move forward.
American Scholar is about memory, queer love, first love, and being gay during the onslaught of AIDS in the 1980s. It’s also the story of a famous Harvard historian and literary critic who had to hide his love affair with a man, and who ultimately took his own life. James Fitzgerald is in a happy, open marriage to a wonderful man, has a beautiful young boyfriend, and his first novel just launched, but a letter written by his first boyfriend, who took his own life, sends him into a tailspin.
I thought it was a charming love story that explores how memories of the past carries itself into the future.
I really enjoyed all the Greogory and James adventures in the 80's chapters, however sometimes got a little bored when reading the chapters set in 2016.
It was interesting to learn about the literary F.O Mattheisen and how it related to James's own experience.
I really wanted to love this book when I read the blurbs online. Sadly, I did not love it. This is a very depressing book about first love, depression, death and suicide. Not at all what I expected.
At its core, American Scholar is about the first love. No matter how long time has passed, to many people, first love never leaves them behind.
Though it seemed to be dragging in some parts, and I had problems with many of the bracketed sentences (I understood it was part of the writing style for this particular novel), I loved James as a character. The book would have made a great source for a film.