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Loon Songs Trilogy #1
Song of the Loon
"You are Ephraim MacIver!"
Thus strangers greeted him as he made his way through the wilderness. His coming was heralded ... eagerly awaited by the lonely noblemen of the forest, and they guided him in his search for new meanings to the word love ... for a new self, that he must learn to love before the love of others could be truly his.
Thus strangers greeted him as he made his way through the wilderness. His coming was heralded ... eagerly awaited by the lonely noblemen of the forest, and they guided him in his search for new meanings to the word love ... for a new self, that he must learn to love before the love of others could be truly his.
191 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1966
23 people are currently reading
443 people want to read
About the author
Richard Amory
12 books7 followerspseudonym for Richard Wallace Love
General background: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gay_male...
General background: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gay_male...
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 36 reviews
January 6, 2015
While at first glance Song of the Loon seems to be little more than an overripe sexual picaresque, very quickly the physical journey that structures the narrative begins taking on deep psychospiritual resonances as each handsome and hunky man the main character encounters helps him understand and embrace some part of his physical attraction to other men. The intentionally grandiose tone and mythic aspirations can seem rather overwrought and more than a bit silly when read today; perhaps even more difficult to tolerate is the representation of Native American culture and individuals, which is the stuff of "noble savage" archetypes. But by situating itself in a world beyond any recognizable historical reality, it opens up a space of fantasy and electrifying possibility superseding the bounds of what in a historical sense would have been considered socially acceptable or approbatory in regards to depictions of male/male sexuality. It makes complete sense that Amory's book became such a touchstone for an entire generations of gay men. To be quite honest, I kind of regret that my own generation hasn't really been capable of retaining a space for this type of thing within our own (tenuously maintained) queer culture.
[Capsule review from the post My Year of Reading Queerly over at my blog, Queer Modernisms.]
[Capsule review from the post My Year of Reading Queerly over at my blog, Queer Modernisms.]
October 15, 2012
Gerry B's Book Reviews - http://wwww.gerrycan.wordpress.com
The so-called “Stonewall Inn Riots” of 1969 are considered the ‘enough-is-enough’ turning point in GLBT relations with the broader public, and the predominantly homophobic officials who policed it. Likewise, in Canada it was the 1982 “Bathhouse Raids[1] that gave rise to the Gay Pride demonstrations. Imagine, therefore, that the Song of the Loon, by Richard Amory [re-released by Arsenal Pulp Press, May 1, 2005] was first published three years before Stonewall, and 16 years before the Bathhouse Raids. That make it a true artefact, and as an unapologetic homoerotic novel, it is also somewhat of a legend.
It is not to say that homoerotic books weren’t available before 1965. They were. However, they were generally badly written, and could only be purchased through P.O. boxes, or from a clandestine bookstores, like the “Glad Day Books” in Toronto, hidden away on the second floor of a non-descript building.
Although I was aware of Song of the Loon, and remember the making of the 1970, motion picture version, starring John Iverson, Morgan Royce and Lancer Ward, I never got around to reading the novel until now. I was struck, therefore, by the amount of sexual content (albeit not as explicitly written as today) and the gutsyness of the both the author and publisher in publishing it.
The plot and style are noteworthy, as well. Someone has described the style as “pastoral,” and I think this describes it very well. It is evocative of the ‘return to nature’ movement—complete with a cast of noble savages—where man is able to find his inner self in an idyllic setting; and, as one might expect, the characters are all idyllic too, including, to a lesser extent, the villains.
This is not to belittle the story in any way, for I think we have all wished for a Garden of Eden existence where the inhabitants are all hunky and horny, the risks are minimal, and homophobia does not exist.
If you are looking for the ultimate feel good story, you should give this one a try. Enthusiastically recommended. Four bees.
The so-called “Stonewall Inn Riots” of 1969 are considered the ‘enough-is-enough’ turning point in GLBT relations with the broader public, and the predominantly homophobic officials who policed it. Likewise, in Canada it was the 1982 “Bathhouse Raids[1] that gave rise to the Gay Pride demonstrations. Imagine, therefore, that the Song of the Loon, by Richard Amory [re-released by Arsenal Pulp Press, May 1, 2005] was first published three years before Stonewall, and 16 years before the Bathhouse Raids. That make it a true artefact, and as an unapologetic homoerotic novel, it is also somewhat of a legend.
It is not to say that homoerotic books weren’t available before 1965. They were. However, they were generally badly written, and could only be purchased through P.O. boxes, or from a clandestine bookstores, like the “Glad Day Books” in Toronto, hidden away on the second floor of a non-descript building.
Although I was aware of Song of the Loon, and remember the making of the 1970, motion picture version, starring John Iverson, Morgan Royce and Lancer Ward, I never got around to reading the novel until now. I was struck, therefore, by the amount of sexual content (albeit not as explicitly written as today) and the gutsyness of the both the author and publisher in publishing it.
The plot and style are noteworthy, as well. Someone has described the style as “pastoral,” and I think this describes it very well. It is evocative of the ‘return to nature’ movement—complete with a cast of noble savages—where man is able to find his inner self in an idyllic setting; and, as one might expect, the characters are all idyllic too, including, to a lesser extent, the villains.
This is not to belittle the story in any way, for I think we have all wished for a Garden of Eden existence where the inhabitants are all hunky and horny, the risks are minimal, and homophobia does not exist.
If you are looking for the ultimate feel good story, you should give this one a try. Enthusiastically recommended. Four bees.
September 7, 2019
SONG OF THE LOON is a strange book -- too porny to be a mere sylvan romance, but too idyllic to approximate conventional expectations of pornography, gay or straight. A lone wanderer takes on the American West of the late 19th Century, meets all kinds of men from all kinds of cultures (frequently Native American) and ends most chapters with the sharing of ideals and orgasms. One oft-quoted description of the book describes it as a mash-up of James Fenimore Cooper and Jean Genet, to which I might add Jean-Jacques Rosseau, because the "savages" encountered are quite noble indeed. The overarching theme seems to be that true love (at least, the same-sex kind) is impossible within the constraints of Victorian-American "culture" and Judaeo-Christian "civilization." Freedom is all. Middle-class aspirations are a trap. It all sounds very Sixties, doesn't it?
As silly as it sounds, there's a sweetness to this book that has beguiled several generations of gay readers since it was first published in 1966. Other than LOON, the dominant themes in the novels of homosexual relationships of the period were closetedness and guilt (consider GIOVANNI'S ROOM) before the rise of gay liberation in the Seventies, and then moving away from that closet afterward (DANCER FROM THE DANCE, say). LOON does get repetitious and formulaic, but there's nothing like this book, including its lack of exploitation or oppression. Be sure to read it, but feel free to skip the softcore film adaptation from 1970.
As silly as it sounds, there's a sweetness to this book that has beguiled several generations of gay readers since it was first published in 1966. Other than LOON, the dominant themes in the novels of homosexual relationships of the period were closetedness and guilt (consider GIOVANNI'S ROOM) before the rise of gay liberation in the Seventies, and then moving away from that closet afterward (DANCER FROM THE DANCE, say). LOON does get repetitious and formulaic, but there's nothing like this book, including its lack of exploitation or oppression. Be sure to read it, but feel free to skip the softcore film adaptation from 1970.
November 30, 2015
My husband asked me to read this years ago, so I did. I'm not sure if I would have bothered to finish it otherwise, but in retrospect it was worth reading, if for no other benefit than the conversations it triggered between us about different types of relationships and the significance of a book like this one in American gay history, which I had initially under-estimated.
April 25, 2016
Besides being an historically important book in the gay lit genre, it is a fun, sexy (though NOT politically correct by 2016 standards) gay fantasy. It also has strong morality lessons couched in parable-like scenarios. I just found this book, but wish I had read it back in my formative years because it not only explicitly describes sex between men but also makes it romantic and normal and "manly" at a time when gay men were called sissies, pansies, or nancy-boys.
February 11, 2014
I finished it. That’s a good thing.
The book itself is tedious. For the first 60% the book follows a simple pattern and then rinse and repeat. The hero sails downstream, meets an Indian, they have sex. Within the first hour of their being together they tell each other they love each other and have never loved another more. They recite long drawn-out poetry to each other. Then the hero moves on downstream and the process begins again.
There is really no description of native life to keep you interested, although the book is set in the past there’s no historical interest displayed. Just clumsy sex scenes and clumsier dialogue about love said by people who just met.
This book is held up as one of the gay pulp classics and an example of the author overcoming the pulp medium to produce literature. For me this is the wrong book to hang that hat on. I’ve read much better and more relevant pulp, such as Sam or Lost on Twilight Road.
The hero must keep moving on to see Bear-who-dreams for a spiritual quest. Once he finally does (and sleeps with him, no shock there) the book picks up a bit. It’s enough to get you through to the end, although the villain of the piece really goes nowhere.
An example of the sticky dialogue, after sleeping with the entire Native community, Ephraim picks a mate and everyone else is jealous. “Tell them,” Ephraim said after a hushed pause, “to forget their disappointment at not having either of us, for we love each other.” As if that helps the other guys, that’s why they were upset in the first place!
There’s a nice introduction in the Little Sisters version I read detailing how pulp can be more than pulp and holding this book up as an example, something I don’t really agree with.
In the afterward the author explains more through interviews what he was trying to do with the book and I can see elements of this in the story. Writing a book with no women, where women weren’t even acknowledged to exist. Writing a story hoping to deal with issues of body image and monogamy. I appreciate the try.
The appendices for the book are great and make this edition the one you need to pick up. There are several interviews with the author and another author of the time on this book, the movie and gay publishing of the time. I can sense the author’s outrage at the injustice coming through the page, though the things they were arguing about now seem less important with time. For example, the author takes exception to the publishing industries term “fag hot” for gay themed books. Another author wrote an S&M book and specifically said in the intro letter that the leather community hates being called “leather queens.” So of course they called the book “The Leather Queens”. No royalties were paid, lines were cut or inserted from other sources, and the editors were heterosexual. Not very conducive to artistic expression.
There are also examples of gay infighting, where the book says men should act and dress like “men”. Where the author says publishing books with the word “fag” or “gay” in the title is bad for the image we present to straights, etc. This idea of self-policing gays has been around forever. I remember recently a debate on whether there should be a separate “gay” section at a local author’s festival. If there’s no gay section, how am I supposed to find the gay books?
I don’t understand how this book was so popular, other than it was one of the first. It’s not one I would choose to rest my laurels on now.
The book itself is tedious. For the first 60% the book follows a simple pattern and then rinse and repeat. The hero sails downstream, meets an Indian, they have sex. Within the first hour of their being together they tell each other they love each other and have never loved another more. They recite long drawn-out poetry to each other. Then the hero moves on downstream and the process begins again.
There is really no description of native life to keep you interested, although the book is set in the past there’s no historical interest displayed. Just clumsy sex scenes and clumsier dialogue about love said by people who just met.
This book is held up as one of the gay pulp classics and an example of the author overcoming the pulp medium to produce literature. For me this is the wrong book to hang that hat on. I’ve read much better and more relevant pulp, such as Sam or Lost on Twilight Road.
The hero must keep moving on to see Bear-who-dreams for a spiritual quest. Once he finally does (and sleeps with him, no shock there) the book picks up a bit. It’s enough to get you through to the end, although the villain of the piece really goes nowhere.
An example of the sticky dialogue, after sleeping with the entire Native community, Ephraim picks a mate and everyone else is jealous. “Tell them,” Ephraim said after a hushed pause, “to forget their disappointment at not having either of us, for we love each other.” As if that helps the other guys, that’s why they were upset in the first place!
There’s a nice introduction in the Little Sisters version I read detailing how pulp can be more than pulp and holding this book up as an example, something I don’t really agree with.
In the afterward the author explains more through interviews what he was trying to do with the book and I can see elements of this in the story. Writing a book with no women, where women weren’t even acknowledged to exist. Writing a story hoping to deal with issues of body image and monogamy. I appreciate the try.
The appendices for the book are great and make this edition the one you need to pick up. There are several interviews with the author and another author of the time on this book, the movie and gay publishing of the time. I can sense the author’s outrage at the injustice coming through the page, though the things they were arguing about now seem less important with time. For example, the author takes exception to the publishing industries term “fag hot” for gay themed books. Another author wrote an S&M book and specifically said in the intro letter that the leather community hates being called “leather queens.” So of course they called the book “The Leather Queens”. No royalties were paid, lines were cut or inserted from other sources, and the editors were heterosexual. Not very conducive to artistic expression.
There are also examples of gay infighting, where the book says men should act and dress like “men”. Where the author says publishing books with the word “fag” or “gay” in the title is bad for the image we present to straights, etc. This idea of self-policing gays has been around forever. I remember recently a debate on whether there should be a separate “gay” section at a local author’s festival. If there’s no gay section, how am I supposed to find the gay books?
I don’t understand how this book was so popular, other than it was one of the first. It’s not one I would choose to rest my laurels on now.
December 25, 2007
Wow. I first read this book back in the day. It is amazing that this book was first published three years before Stonewall! I can't think of any other book that is so celebratory about gay sex and gay identity. And it is remarkably well written. A must read for anyone who has any interest in the development of gay literature. And this edition has some wonderful supplementary material included that helps place the book in perspective in regard to its place in gay literature.
September 6, 2019
Yes, we all know this is an early gay porn classic. However, i found the writing and story to be beautiful, lyrical and just showing great kindness towards ones fellow man. It also helped give me a good rationale for non monogamous relationships. It was also gay positive which is remarkable for an era when there was little like it. One could call it hokey, but I say it is just wonderful...
June 20, 2024
How interesting to read this story - gay male pulp fiction from the early 70's. But I was fascinated by the essays at the end of the edition I read, where the author, and some of his contemporaries, write about how they were taken advantage of by the company who published their work. Really telling about the times.
May 9, 2015
I can’t recall ever reading a gay novel. A couple short stories over the years, maybe. Not really had any interest. But a tattered copy of ‘Song of the Loon’ popped up in a box of 60’s novels at the flea market. While looking at the somewhat familiar cover (the book used to be everywhere in the 70’s, I think) the seller said, “that’s a classic—first of its kind—started the gay revolution.” Okay, I’m all for any kind of revolution, so take my dollar…
This turned out to be a surprise. It’s pulpy, for sure, and the sex scenes are gratuitous, for sure, and erotic, even so—but this is almost borderline well written. I couldn’t decide if it was a gay ‘Pilgrims Progress’ or ‘Tess of the D’Urbervilles.’ Often during intimate scenes the characters speak in quasi-poetry, which actually works in a strange way. The main character, Ephraim MacIver flees an abusive relationship and heads west (think 19th century West) encountering numerous oversexed Indians (authors words, not mine) for dalliances in the wild, before settling down with a hunky lumberjack (aren’t they all—hunky, that is). That’s pretty much it—except this reads more like a meditation than adventure tale. In fact, I am surprised by the unabashed frankness of the sex. Not by the sex itself but that it is explored without guilt, worry over disease, cultural angst, stigmatization, or even xenophobia (Indians are hot horny buggers).
The lack of torment is what surprised me the most. I would have expected fundamentalist preachers to show up and condemn the queers to hell, and then local outraged folk to run them out of town with pitchforks, after having the shit beat out of them by the macho descendants of Eve. But none of that happened. It is simply nice little book of erotic literature—which stands out because it is not heterosexual.
After I finished reading, I Googled the title and was surprised to learn this novel was so popular there were a couple sequels and a movie adaptation. Huh.
This turned out to be a surprise. It’s pulpy, for sure, and the sex scenes are gratuitous, for sure, and erotic, even so—but this is almost borderline well written. I couldn’t decide if it was a gay ‘Pilgrims Progress’ or ‘Tess of the D’Urbervilles.’ Often during intimate scenes the characters speak in quasi-poetry, which actually works in a strange way. The main character, Ephraim MacIver flees an abusive relationship and heads west (think 19th century West) encountering numerous oversexed Indians (authors words, not mine) for dalliances in the wild, before settling down with a hunky lumberjack (aren’t they all—hunky, that is). That’s pretty much it—except this reads more like a meditation than adventure tale. In fact, I am surprised by the unabashed frankness of the sex. Not by the sex itself but that it is explored without guilt, worry over disease, cultural angst, stigmatization, or even xenophobia (Indians are hot horny buggers).
The lack of torment is what surprised me the most. I would have expected fundamentalist preachers to show up and condemn the queers to hell, and then local outraged folk to run them out of town with pitchforks, after having the shit beat out of them by the macho descendants of Eve. But none of that happened. It is simply nice little book of erotic literature—which stands out because it is not heterosexual.
After I finished reading, I Googled the title and was surprised to learn this novel was so popular there were a couple sequels and a movie adaptation. Huh.
July 15, 2011
First heard of this book and the movie that it engendered when reading The Front Runner. Billy Sive confesses to Harlen Brown that he'd long nurtured a fantasy of making out with his lover in a tiny, seedy uptown theater while watching "The Song of the Loon."
It was several years later that I finally came across a copy of the book and it was just as "pulpy" as Billy Sive said it was and yet... I could understand the sentimental attraction.
These books were obviously produced as labors of love, This was done prior to e-publishing or even word processing, when manuscripts had to be painstakingly typed and then type set. Small private presses would run off as many copies as the author could pay for or perhaps a couple hundred copies "on spec" to be sold at Adult bookstores. Not the big neon-encrusted ones of the present but small stores on the outskirts of towns frequented only by men and only at night.
It's clear though-out that this was not intended as a best seller. Just a story that the author was compelled to tell and that others felt compelled to seek out and to read in secret.
I now consider this more a relic of a time now gone than just a tawdry paperback that was intended to be brought home in a plain brown wrapper and read and re-read in the privacy of one's room behind closed doors. Readers who wanted more than the immediate gratification of the "quarter flicks" or the tawdry, often grainy, often black and white pics of long haired guys in knee-length athletic socks and little else.
It was several years later that I finally came across a copy of the book and it was just as "pulpy" as Billy Sive said it was and yet... I could understand the sentimental attraction.
These books were obviously produced as labors of love, This was done prior to e-publishing or even word processing, when manuscripts had to be painstakingly typed and then type set. Small private presses would run off as many copies as the author could pay for or perhaps a couple hundred copies "on spec" to be sold at Adult bookstores. Not the big neon-encrusted ones of the present but small stores on the outskirts of towns frequented only by men and only at night.
It's clear though-out that this was not intended as a best seller. Just a story that the author was compelled to tell and that others felt compelled to seek out and to read in secret.
I now consider this more a relic of a time now gone than just a tawdry paperback that was intended to be brought home in a plain brown wrapper and read and re-read in the privacy of one's room behind closed doors. Readers who wanted more than the immediate gratification of the "quarter flicks" or the tawdry, often grainy, often black and white pics of long haired guys in knee-length athletic socks and little else.
August 6, 2020
A beautiful story that meanders about (in a good way) it really is like nothing I have read before so it’s a struggle to describe. It’s a romance set in a very idyllic world that would read just as well as sci-fi if you changed a couple of names around. The Loon society practices a kind of polyamory that believes that the kind of committed relationships normalised by society are an act of ownership, the same way you would own a dog or a horse. As such our MC learns to love multiple people along his journey, though with the expectation to choose one man to spend the winter with (and I’m here like, why??? He literally gets with two men who were partners, why don’t all three of them spend the winter together??? He agonises over the choice and I’m sitting here like... dude... dude all of them. Perhaps if the book was longer there would have been more time for that.
And that’s the other really interesting thing about this book. At the end there are interviews and personal accounts (I got the e-reader version) which shows the kind of bs gay authors had to go through. The books had to be much shorter then any other kind of book at the time just because it had gay content, and chances were even if you came in under the word count the publisher would butcher half the work all while sneering down their noses at the author. And then the movie! Bloody hell, I felt the authors rage.
Anyway, loved the book. The author seems like an awesome person and he deserved so much better.
And that’s the other really interesting thing about this book. At the end there are interviews and personal accounts (I got the e-reader version) which shows the kind of bs gay authors had to go through. The books had to be much shorter then any other kind of book at the time just because it had gay content, and chances were even if you came in under the word count the publisher would butcher half the work all while sneering down their noses at the author. And then the movie! Bloody hell, I felt the authors rage.
Anyway, loved the book. The author seems like an awesome person and he deserved so much better.
August 25, 2016
I never know how to rate a historical novel. The book itself was kind of boring? But I love it. It was probably the most well-known gay books of the 60s, an insta-classic. So I love that it's extant, that it's been republished, and that the new edition has such awesome extra material included. (Interviews with the author shortly after it was published, a great introduction from Michael Bronski, etc.)
And actually, even though I was bored, by the end I'd started to understand the author's perspective and the statement he was trying to make. The "Indians" are entirely made-up, he explicitly states in his author's note that real Native American tribes don't act like this at all and it's purely fantasy... That wouldn't be acceptable now, and it shouldn't have been then, but it was and he used it to say really extraordinary things about gay sex and love and happiness. His interviews and articles at the end made the whole book worth it, to get that insight on the industry at the time and the way he wanted it to be, the kinds of books he was trying to write and the kinds of changes the publishers made.
So, problematic fave to the max I guess, but five stars for the fact that this edition exists!
And actually, even though I was bored, by the end I'd started to understand the author's perspective and the statement he was trying to make. The "Indians" are entirely made-up, he explicitly states in his author's note that real Native American tribes don't act like this at all and it's purely fantasy... That wouldn't be acceptable now, and it shouldn't have been then, but it was and he used it to say really extraordinary things about gay sex and love and happiness. His interviews and articles at the end made the whole book worth it, to get that insight on the industry at the time and the way he wanted it to be, the kinds of books he was trying to write and the kinds of changes the publishers made.
So, problematic fave to the max I guess, but five stars for the fact that this edition exists!
February 8, 2019
Beautifully written erotic novel, its poetry and sensitivity all the more impressive considering it was published in 1966. It's a gay fantasia full of attractive men engaging in hot, healthy, and emotionally fulfilling sex within a deliberately unrealistic pastoral setting. It never feels cheap or exploitative, and it wasn't overlong or repetitive with the sexual elements, either. This Little Sister's edition also had some very enlightening interviews with Richard Amory and some other contemporaries that touched on feelings that are still prevalent today. Essential reading for the gay fiction historian.
February 7, 2008
I can't believe this book had only been published for seven years when I first read it because it already seemed to be coming from a different, more innocent world. I loved it then, and found it very sexy though maybe a little, er, size-obsessed.
The poet Jonathan Williams once told me that Richard Amory was the pen name of a woman. Can anyone confirm, or refute, this?
The poet Jonathan Williams once told me that Richard Amory was the pen name of a woman. Can anyone confirm, or refute, this?
June 10, 2021
Sec is the focus, and it appears mostly what these characters care about. The main character falls in love each chapter (literally). But it’s an interesting exploration of polyamory (a word that doesn’t surface here), and the story shows genuine moments of tenderness between men. So it’s it’s not all sex. Definitely worth reading as a product of its time and also being ahead of its time.
December 5, 2021
This, to me, was little more than pornography desperately trying to be fine literature. I understand its place and necessity in the pantheon of gay culture, but if you take a short story that could have been written for "Hand Jobs" magazine and send it on a spiritual quest, it still ends up as whack-off material.
December 22, 2024
Unbestimmbare Zeit in einem märchenhaft idyllischen Auenreich in den Bergen der US-Nordwest-Staaten; Genre: Mischung aus schwuler Hippieutopie, Porno und Indianergeschichte
Ein erstaunliches, äußerst kurioses, aber nicht wirklich bedeutendes Buch. In den neunziger Jahren wurde geschätzt, jeder dritte schwule Amerikaner hätte es irgendwann mal gelesen. Für die Deutschen hat man es Anfang der siebziger Jahre mit inzwischen ziemlich peinlich gewordener Witzelei voller anachronistischer Anspielungen auf das West-Deutschland der Vietnamkrieg-Jahre verschnitten und es als Porno-Winnetou unter dem Titel „Rote Männer auf grünen Matten“ ins Rennen geschickt .
Von daher könnte gut und verdienstvoll von Joachim Bartholomae mitsamt seinem Hamburger Kleinverlag Männerschwarm gewesen sein, es 2013 endlich unverfälscht zu übersetzen und unter eher treffendem Titel noch mal zu starten. (Der Sterntaucher ist ein kleiner schwimmender Seevogel mit spitzem Schnabel, sieht so ähnlich aus wie eine Ente und bewohnt nördliche Regionen wie Tundra und Taiga. Im Buch spielt er keinerlei Rolle, ist allerdings das Wahrzeichen der Sterntaucher-Gesellschaft, die so etwas wie die Freimaurer auf Schwul darstellt. Überall, wo man hinkommt, trifft man auf freie Geister, nur Männer, sofort will jemand ficken mit einem. Noch mal: Das Buch ist zu guten Teilen ganz einfach Porno, dürfte den, der vor allem Porno lesen will, aber eher unbefriedigt lassen.)
Mich hat das eher befremdet und einen Eindruck bestätigt, den ich angesichts des Männerschwarm-Programms immer wieder mal hatte: Man macht mal dies, mal das, hat keine Linie und gelangt nie zu einer treuen Stammleserschaft und zum eigenen Format.
Zwar hat der aus Liebhaber- und Freundschafts-Projekten hervorgegangene Buchverlag der Hamburger schwulen Buchhandlung (deren Laden zuerst Männerschwarm hieß, im schwulen Kiez von St. Georg lag, heute nicht mehr existiert) für das unverblümt schwule, dabei niveauvolle deutsche Buch ab Mitte der neunziger Jahre 30 Jahre lang gut gearbeitet (dergleichen war zuvor ein paar Mal versucht worden, aber jeweils recht bald gescheitert). Aber das eine Mal waren seine Angebote so sperrig wie Essaysammlungen zum Werk Hubert Fichtes, die Titel wie „Der Platz des Platzes“ trugen und auf dem Cover einen Erhängten zeigten, dann wieder so fettig, saftig und knallig wie dieser Western-Porno oder die „Dicken Dödel“ des Zeichners Ralf König. Während es dem assoziierten Wolfram Setz, ehemaliger Buchhändler aus München und Berlin, gelungen ist, mit seiner „Bibliothek Rosa Winkel“ eine Art Museum vergessener schwuler Klassiker über Jahre hinweg für die zahlenmäßig begrenzte interessierte Kennerschaft bereitzuhalten (angestaubte Meilensteine von Heinrich Hössli, Karl Heinrich Ulrichs, Magnus Hirschfeld, Michail Kusmin, Pierre Loti, John Henry Mackay, Bruno Vogel, Hans Siemsen, Felix Rexhausen, Hubert Kennedy etc.) (diese Sammlung ist, wohlgemerkt, von „Rosa Winkel“ in Berlin begründet worden, von Männerschwarm, bzw. Bartholomae, nach dessen wirtschaftlichem Kollaps, erst übernommen worden), gelang Männerschwarm es an sich nie, irgendeinen von den großen Namen der weltweiten Homo-Schreiberei an sich zu binden.
Sie hatten den besten Deutschen, Detlev Meyer, der starb an Aids, ich konzediere das. Das kriegten andere deutsche Verlage anders hin. Knaur pflegte Felice Picano im Taschenbuch, Goldmann holte Joseph Hansen und Argument nach ihnen dann auch – und Michael Nava gleich noch dazu. Edmund White und Hervé Guibert blieben bei Rowohlt, Fischer und Bertelsmann brachten uns Alan Hollinghurst, Hanser veranstaltete eine Gombrowicz-Werkausgabe, Suhrkamp schnappte Bartholomae den bei seinem eigenen „Literaturpreis der schwulen Buchläden“ aufgetauchten Gunther Geltinger weg. Als bedeutenden Stilisten konnte man den Kölner Walter Foelske beim Publikum nicht durchsetzen, er zog sich in ein pädophiles Selbstverlag-Ghetto zurück.
Männerschwarm hatte mal Oscar Wilde und Ronald Firbank, mal Michael Sollorz und Yossi Avni. Gentleman-Dandy-High-Brow-Kunst mit spitzen Fingern. Sie holten Odd Klippenvag („Der Stand der Dinge“) und Sami Hilvo („Die Schnapskarte“) von Skandinavien herüber, konnten aber keinen in Zürich, Wien, München, Frankfurt, Dortmund oder Dresden auftreiben, der vielleicht zu einer Serie imstande gewesen wäre. (Männerschwarm-Auflagen und Verkäufe von Taschenbuch-Lizenzen waren wohl immer zu gering, die großen Buchhandelsketten listeten Männerschwarm nicht, ich konzediere das.) Auch die Skandinavier kamen auf nie mehr als ein, zwei Bücher in Deutsch, bei den von Piper eingebürgerten skandinavischen Krimiautoren sah das etwas anders aus. Mit dem schwulen US-Autor Peter Cameron brachten es Diogenes und Aufbau auf an die zehn Premiere-Neuerscheinungen in deutscher Sprache.
Angesichts dieser Lage ein Buch zu „finden“, das fast 50 Jahre auf dem Buckel hatte, auch in USA der eine und einzige Titel geblieben ist, der an den Autor noch erinnert, einen Autor, der seit 30 Jahren tot war und es davor auf 53 Lebensjahre gebracht hatte, ein Buch, das von naivem Hippie- und Naturkult durchdrungen ist (Sex und Gras heilen jegliches Übel dieser Erde), dieses nenne ich ein bisschen weltfremd und crazy.
„Richard Amory“ war ein dem wirklichen Namen nachgebildetes Pseudonym. Eigentlich hieß der Mann aus Oregon, Lehrersohn und später selbst Lehrer an einer Hochschule, Richard Love. Bücher veröffentlichte er nur zwischen diesem Debüt (1966) und 1974, er starb erst 1981. „Loon“, das er als verheirateter Mann und Vater von Kindern geschrieben hat, war ein so großer Erfolg, dass es schnell verfilmt und mehrfach parodiert wurde. Amory musste zwei Fortsetzungen nachschieben. Er trennte sich von seiner Familie, tat sich in San Francisco mit anderen schwulen Publizisten zusammen und bereitete die Gründung des ersten rein schwulen Verlags der Welt vor, die allerdings nicht zustande kam.
Das Buch ist eine Art Road Movie ohne Auto. Man darf an „Easy Rider“ denken, vor allem an Dennis Hoppers Haarfülle und die Fransen seiner Wildlederjacke. Der junge Protagonist Ephraim McIver ist auf einer Wanderung durch die Wälder, die zugleich sein Coming of Age bzw. eine Art mittelalterlicher Aventiure-Fahrt darstellt. Die Unschuld verlässt ihre (weiße) Heimat, um zum Mann und zur anständigen Person zu werden. Er weiß nicht, was auf ihn zukommt, aber ständig kommt etwas auf ihn zu. Meistens ist das rot, hat einen Lendenschurz um und darunter einen großen, fleischigen Prügel hervorlugen.
Wie in den meisten Pornos passiert eigentlich ständig dasselbe, wobei die Zahl der Anteil nehmenden Partner, die Längen der Anhängsel, die Tiefen der Hammerschläge immer extremer werden. Amorys Männer sind grundsätzlich aktiv und passiv zugleich, überhaupt nicht verschämt bei der Anmache, mit so ziemlich jedem sofort zur Sache bereit (Frauen und Kinder und Verpflichtungen zum Lebensunterhalt sind in den Ansiedlungen der Urbevölkerung mysteriös von der Bühne geräumt worden, dafür geistert ein bewusstseinserweiternder Schamane herum), machen es immer nur aus Liebe, von der sie auch viel sprechen. Es ist Utopie. Du siehst nach langer einsamer Wanderung einen Fremden, er ist jung und schön und du liebst ihn sogleich. Alle lieben alle, sodass sie nicht eifersüchtig sind, wenn ihr Letzter es mit dem Nächsten treibt.
Es verdankt sich zum großen Teil den Mohikaner-Büchern von James Fenimore Cooper – also den Idyllen der Schäferdichtung und den Edlen Wilden der europäischen Aufklärung, dagegen nicht Old Shatterhand, Winnetou und Karl Mays verschwiemelter Homoerotik, auf die die deutsche Erstübersetzung fortwährend anspielen zu müssen glaubte. Es mixt das alles doch auch mit Deutschem, nämlich einer Portion Hermann Hesse. Womit wir bei „Easy Rider“ und Steppenwolf wären.
Es ist veraltet, ganz aus der Zeit gefallen. Pornofans wird es nerven mit seinem Peace-and-Love-Gedöns. Heteromänner werden die Frauen vermissen und nicht glauben, dass man sich tatsächlich danach sehnt, geklopft zu werden wie ein Schnitzel in der Großküche. Dass Frauen es mögen könnten, scheint unvorstellbarer denn je. Sie werden es phallokratisch, sexistisch, rassistisch nennen. Den jungen Menschen von heute wird es wie schlaffe Warmdusche und Ganseblümchen-Schütteln von alten Kiffern erscheinen. Nur noch peinlich.
(Ihr habt gesehen, bevor ihr diese Review von mir gefunden habt, dass nahezu alle anderen, die es besprochen und besternt hatten, Männer waren, weiß und kaum einer jünger als 35? Also, wenn ihr auch so seid, ich auch, dann lest es ruhig, es ist einigermaßen unterhaltsam – und irgendwann ein Durchbruch gewesen.)
Ein erstaunliches, äußerst kurioses, aber nicht wirklich bedeutendes Buch. In den neunziger Jahren wurde geschätzt, jeder dritte schwule Amerikaner hätte es irgendwann mal gelesen. Für die Deutschen hat man es Anfang der siebziger Jahre mit inzwischen ziemlich peinlich gewordener Witzelei voller anachronistischer Anspielungen auf das West-Deutschland der Vietnamkrieg-Jahre verschnitten und es als Porno-Winnetou unter dem Titel „Rote Männer auf grünen Matten“ ins Rennen geschickt .
Von daher könnte gut und verdienstvoll von Joachim Bartholomae mitsamt seinem Hamburger Kleinverlag Männerschwarm gewesen sein, es 2013 endlich unverfälscht zu übersetzen und unter eher treffendem Titel noch mal zu starten. (Der Sterntaucher ist ein kleiner schwimmender Seevogel mit spitzem Schnabel, sieht so ähnlich aus wie eine Ente und bewohnt nördliche Regionen wie Tundra und Taiga. Im Buch spielt er keinerlei Rolle, ist allerdings das Wahrzeichen der Sterntaucher-Gesellschaft, die so etwas wie die Freimaurer auf Schwul darstellt. Überall, wo man hinkommt, trifft man auf freie Geister, nur Männer, sofort will jemand ficken mit einem. Noch mal: Das Buch ist zu guten Teilen ganz einfach Porno, dürfte den, der vor allem Porno lesen will, aber eher unbefriedigt lassen.)
Mich hat das eher befremdet und einen Eindruck bestätigt, den ich angesichts des Männerschwarm-Programms immer wieder mal hatte: Man macht mal dies, mal das, hat keine Linie und gelangt nie zu einer treuen Stammleserschaft und zum eigenen Format.
Zwar hat der aus Liebhaber- und Freundschafts-Projekten hervorgegangene Buchverlag der Hamburger schwulen Buchhandlung (deren Laden zuerst Männerschwarm hieß, im schwulen Kiez von St. Georg lag, heute nicht mehr existiert) für das unverblümt schwule, dabei niveauvolle deutsche Buch ab Mitte der neunziger Jahre 30 Jahre lang gut gearbeitet (dergleichen war zuvor ein paar Mal versucht worden, aber jeweils recht bald gescheitert). Aber das eine Mal waren seine Angebote so sperrig wie Essaysammlungen zum Werk Hubert Fichtes, die Titel wie „Der Platz des Platzes“ trugen und auf dem Cover einen Erhängten zeigten, dann wieder so fettig, saftig und knallig wie dieser Western-Porno oder die „Dicken Dödel“ des Zeichners Ralf König. Während es dem assoziierten Wolfram Setz, ehemaliger Buchhändler aus München und Berlin, gelungen ist, mit seiner „Bibliothek Rosa Winkel“ eine Art Museum vergessener schwuler Klassiker über Jahre hinweg für die zahlenmäßig begrenzte interessierte Kennerschaft bereitzuhalten (angestaubte Meilensteine von Heinrich Hössli, Karl Heinrich Ulrichs, Magnus Hirschfeld, Michail Kusmin, Pierre Loti, John Henry Mackay, Bruno Vogel, Hans Siemsen, Felix Rexhausen, Hubert Kennedy etc.) (diese Sammlung ist, wohlgemerkt, von „Rosa Winkel“ in Berlin begründet worden, von Männerschwarm, bzw. Bartholomae, nach dessen wirtschaftlichem Kollaps, erst übernommen worden), gelang Männerschwarm es an sich nie, irgendeinen von den großen Namen der weltweiten Homo-Schreiberei an sich zu binden.
Sie hatten den besten Deutschen, Detlev Meyer, der starb an Aids, ich konzediere das. Das kriegten andere deutsche Verlage anders hin. Knaur pflegte Felice Picano im Taschenbuch, Goldmann holte Joseph Hansen und Argument nach ihnen dann auch – und Michael Nava gleich noch dazu. Edmund White und Hervé Guibert blieben bei Rowohlt, Fischer und Bertelsmann brachten uns Alan Hollinghurst, Hanser veranstaltete eine Gombrowicz-Werkausgabe, Suhrkamp schnappte Bartholomae den bei seinem eigenen „Literaturpreis der schwulen Buchläden“ aufgetauchten Gunther Geltinger weg. Als bedeutenden Stilisten konnte man den Kölner Walter Foelske beim Publikum nicht durchsetzen, er zog sich in ein pädophiles Selbstverlag-Ghetto zurück.
Männerschwarm hatte mal Oscar Wilde und Ronald Firbank, mal Michael Sollorz und Yossi Avni. Gentleman-Dandy-High-Brow-Kunst mit spitzen Fingern. Sie holten Odd Klippenvag („Der Stand der Dinge“) und Sami Hilvo („Die Schnapskarte“) von Skandinavien herüber, konnten aber keinen in Zürich, Wien, München, Frankfurt, Dortmund oder Dresden auftreiben, der vielleicht zu einer Serie imstande gewesen wäre. (Männerschwarm-Auflagen und Verkäufe von Taschenbuch-Lizenzen waren wohl immer zu gering, die großen Buchhandelsketten listeten Männerschwarm nicht, ich konzediere das.) Auch die Skandinavier kamen auf nie mehr als ein, zwei Bücher in Deutsch, bei den von Piper eingebürgerten skandinavischen Krimiautoren sah das etwas anders aus. Mit dem schwulen US-Autor Peter Cameron brachten es Diogenes und Aufbau auf an die zehn Premiere-Neuerscheinungen in deutscher Sprache.
Angesichts dieser Lage ein Buch zu „finden“, das fast 50 Jahre auf dem Buckel hatte, auch in USA der eine und einzige Titel geblieben ist, der an den Autor noch erinnert, einen Autor, der seit 30 Jahren tot war und es davor auf 53 Lebensjahre gebracht hatte, ein Buch, das von naivem Hippie- und Naturkult durchdrungen ist (Sex und Gras heilen jegliches Übel dieser Erde), dieses nenne ich ein bisschen weltfremd und crazy.
„Richard Amory“ war ein dem wirklichen Namen nachgebildetes Pseudonym. Eigentlich hieß der Mann aus Oregon, Lehrersohn und später selbst Lehrer an einer Hochschule, Richard Love. Bücher veröffentlichte er nur zwischen diesem Debüt (1966) und 1974, er starb erst 1981. „Loon“, das er als verheirateter Mann und Vater von Kindern geschrieben hat, war ein so großer Erfolg, dass es schnell verfilmt und mehrfach parodiert wurde. Amory musste zwei Fortsetzungen nachschieben. Er trennte sich von seiner Familie, tat sich in San Francisco mit anderen schwulen Publizisten zusammen und bereitete die Gründung des ersten rein schwulen Verlags der Welt vor, die allerdings nicht zustande kam.
Das Buch ist eine Art Road Movie ohne Auto. Man darf an „Easy Rider“ denken, vor allem an Dennis Hoppers Haarfülle und die Fransen seiner Wildlederjacke. Der junge Protagonist Ephraim McIver ist auf einer Wanderung durch die Wälder, die zugleich sein Coming of Age bzw. eine Art mittelalterlicher Aventiure-Fahrt darstellt. Die Unschuld verlässt ihre (weiße) Heimat, um zum Mann und zur anständigen Person zu werden. Er weiß nicht, was auf ihn zukommt, aber ständig kommt etwas auf ihn zu. Meistens ist das rot, hat einen Lendenschurz um und darunter einen großen, fleischigen Prügel hervorlugen.
Wie in den meisten Pornos passiert eigentlich ständig dasselbe, wobei die Zahl der Anteil nehmenden Partner, die Längen der Anhängsel, die Tiefen der Hammerschläge immer extremer werden. Amorys Männer sind grundsätzlich aktiv und passiv zugleich, überhaupt nicht verschämt bei der Anmache, mit so ziemlich jedem sofort zur Sache bereit (Frauen und Kinder und Verpflichtungen zum Lebensunterhalt sind in den Ansiedlungen der Urbevölkerung mysteriös von der Bühne geräumt worden, dafür geistert ein bewusstseinserweiternder Schamane herum), machen es immer nur aus Liebe, von der sie auch viel sprechen. Es ist Utopie. Du siehst nach langer einsamer Wanderung einen Fremden, er ist jung und schön und du liebst ihn sogleich. Alle lieben alle, sodass sie nicht eifersüchtig sind, wenn ihr Letzter es mit dem Nächsten treibt.
Es verdankt sich zum großen Teil den Mohikaner-Büchern von James Fenimore Cooper – also den Idyllen der Schäferdichtung und den Edlen Wilden der europäischen Aufklärung, dagegen nicht Old Shatterhand, Winnetou und Karl Mays verschwiemelter Homoerotik, auf die die deutsche Erstübersetzung fortwährend anspielen zu müssen glaubte. Es mixt das alles doch auch mit Deutschem, nämlich einer Portion Hermann Hesse. Womit wir bei „Easy Rider“ und Steppenwolf wären.
Es ist veraltet, ganz aus der Zeit gefallen. Pornofans wird es nerven mit seinem Peace-and-Love-Gedöns. Heteromänner werden die Frauen vermissen und nicht glauben, dass man sich tatsächlich danach sehnt, geklopft zu werden wie ein Schnitzel in der Großküche. Dass Frauen es mögen könnten, scheint unvorstellbarer denn je. Sie werden es phallokratisch, sexistisch, rassistisch nennen. Den jungen Menschen von heute wird es wie schlaffe Warmdusche und Ganseblümchen-Schütteln von alten Kiffern erscheinen. Nur noch peinlich.
(Ihr habt gesehen, bevor ihr diese Review von mir gefunden habt, dass nahezu alle anderen, die es besprochen und besternt hatten, Männer waren, weiß und kaum einer jünger als 35? Also, wenn ihr auch so seid, ich auch, dann lest es ruhig, es ist einigermaßen unterhaltsam – und irgendwann ein Durchbruch gewesen.)
May 14, 2025
There were recently several mentions of Patricia Nell Warren's The Front Runner in my reading group, reminding me it's probably time to reconnect with that classic and see it through my current eyes. Before I got to it, something else started rattling around in my skull: isn't Song of the Loon by Richard Amory a focal point in The Front Runner? I thought I remembered having made mental notes to read that book, after finishing The Front Runner 45 years ago. Then life happened.
A quick check confirmed that yes, it was the book that front runner Billy Sive loved so much he wanted to make out with his coach in a theater while the movie was playing. (PSA, the "Song of the Loon" movie was bitterly panned by Richard Amory.)
So before jumping back into Front Runner, I borrowed a tattered copy of Song of the Loon. I wasn't too far into it before understanding how this book so profoundly impacted the emotions and mindset of its readers (including Billy Sive) when it was first published in 1966.
The simple narrative and plot described a young man's quest, in the "going to the wise man on the mountain top" variety. The setting was "out West", and the story was conveyed with gentle, lyrical symbolism in every setting, encounter and event.
This was a man's (specifically a gay man's) journey - no women in the narrative. While sex was the outcome of all encounters, it lacked lurid lewdness, being described more as, and in context with, love, self discovery and personal growth.
Two overarching themes were present throughout: 1) 'possession' isn't 'love' (and vice-versa); and 2) there's no single "right way" to live (or, specifically, to be gay).
After reading the book, I browsed reviews to compare notes, and was somewhat surprised to see several panning the book completely. In those reviews, the plot wasn't thick enough, the prose too basic, the sex too frequent, and the poesy lacked...everything.
To each their own, always, but comments like that reminded me of the adult standing in front of a Jackson Pollock, Picasso, or any other 'modern artist', loudly declaring their "grandkid could do this just as easy, and for a sight cheaper!". All the points, symbolism, messages and emotions were missed, completely.
Even with all that I've read in my life, I found this book very moving and am scheming to convince my friend to sell me his copy.
NOTE: The edition pictured is the 2005 edition by Arsenal Pulp Press. It contains an enlightening introduction by author Michael Bronski, and an extensive appendix beginning with a biography of Richard Amory as well as several contextual articles about the book, original publishers and the movie.
A quick check confirmed that yes, it was the book that front runner Billy Sive loved so much he wanted to make out with his coach in a theater while the movie was playing. (PSA, the "Song of the Loon" movie was bitterly panned by Richard Amory.)
So before jumping back into Front Runner, I borrowed a tattered copy of Song of the Loon. I wasn't too far into it before understanding how this book so profoundly impacted the emotions and mindset of its readers (including Billy Sive) when it was first published in 1966.
The simple narrative and plot described a young man's quest, in the "going to the wise man on the mountain top" variety. The setting was "out West", and the story was conveyed with gentle, lyrical symbolism in every setting, encounter and event.
This was a man's (specifically a gay man's) journey - no women in the narrative. While sex was the outcome of all encounters, it lacked lurid lewdness, being described more as, and in context with, love, self discovery and personal growth.
Two overarching themes were present throughout: 1) 'possession' isn't 'love' (and vice-versa); and 2) there's no single "right way" to live (or, specifically, to be gay).
After reading the book, I browsed reviews to compare notes, and was somewhat surprised to see several panning the book completely. In those reviews, the plot wasn't thick enough, the prose too basic, the sex too frequent, and the poesy lacked...everything.
To each their own, always, but comments like that reminded me of the adult standing in front of a Jackson Pollock, Picasso, or any other 'modern artist', loudly declaring their "grandkid could do this just as easy, and for a sight cheaper!". All the points, symbolism, messages and emotions were missed, completely.
Even with all that I've read in my life, I found this book very moving and am scheming to convince my friend to sell me his copy.
NOTE: The edition pictured is the 2005 edition by Arsenal Pulp Press. It contains an enlightening introduction by author Michael Bronski, and an extensive appendix beginning with a biography of Richard Amory as well as several contextual articles about the book, original publishers and the movie.
May 30, 2025
FIVE STARS!
And yes, I am straight out giving this five stars on principle because what the fuck did I just read? I'll tell you what I just read: A multi-pairing, interracial gay cowboy/indian erotica written in 1966.
Was it good? Uh, not particularly. It reads like a porno, it's ultra cheesy and about 90% over-the-top declarations of undying love. BUT I mean gay cowboy slash Indian erotica written in 1966! Like I said, on principle, this deserves five stars and a standing ovation.
Now, this isn't life-altering literature, ok? I was snorting half the time, giggling the other half. At no point in time did it ever occur to me to take this seriously but you know what? I liked it. It was funny and ridiculous and sometimes unexpectedly wise??
Hear me out.
Ephrain MacIver really is the ultimate porno himbo desperately looking for love, and across his journey he comes across lemme see, one, two, three, four, five - five! open-minded gentlemen all members of a free-love society comprised of both white men and Indians called the Society of the Loon or something like that, who eagerly aid Ephrain in his discovery of... well, of the fact that open relationships are totally his thing.
Ephrain is running away from his former lover, a closeted man who was abusive to him throughout their relationship and who made him feel incapable of loving again, let alone love more than one person simultaneously. The Loon boys teach him otherwise. It's all very straightforward mind you. Lots of "You're handsome." "You're very handsome too. "We shall make love now. "Yes, we shall. "I feel like I love you." "I have loved you since the moment I first saw you." and so on. Like I said, very straightforward. Shit, I'm giggling again.
Aaaanyway. Fun ride.
And yes, I am straight out giving this five stars on principle because what the fuck did I just read? I'll tell you what I just read: A multi-pairing, interracial gay cowboy/indian erotica written in 1966.
Was it good? Uh, not particularly. It reads like a porno, it's ultra cheesy and about 90% over-the-top declarations of undying love. BUT I mean gay cowboy slash Indian erotica written in 1966! Like I said, on principle, this deserves five stars and a standing ovation.
Now, this isn't life-altering literature, ok? I was snorting half the time, giggling the other half. At no point in time did it ever occur to me to take this seriously but you know what? I liked it. It was funny and ridiculous and sometimes unexpectedly wise??
Hear me out.
Ephrain MacIver really is the ultimate porno himbo desperately looking for love, and across his journey he comes across lemme see, one, two, three, four, five - five! open-minded gentlemen all members of a free-love society comprised of both white men and Indians called the Society of the Loon or something like that, who eagerly aid Ephrain in his discovery of... well, of the fact that open relationships are totally his thing.
Ephrain is running away from his former lover, a closeted man who was abusive to him throughout their relationship and who made him feel incapable of loving again, let alone love more than one person simultaneously. The Loon boys teach him otherwise. It's all very straightforward mind you. Lots of "You're handsome." "You're very handsome too. "We shall make love now. "Yes, we shall. "I feel like I love you." "I have loved you since the moment I first saw you." and so on. Like I said, very straightforward. Shit, I'm giggling again.
Aaaanyway. Fun ride.
October 17, 2018
What an adventure this was!! I feel like I need to justify myself by saying that I'm an English grad student and read this novel for a scholarly paper on pulp fiction but wow. There are so many interesting and unique things going on within this novel outside of the explicit sex. Its use of language and silencing is at once intriguing and masterful. While many of its metaphors are redundant and simplistic there does seem to be something artful going on here. It's definitely a novel worth reading for anyone interested in erotic fiction, especially male/male erotica, as well as anyone interested in pre-Stonewall homosexuality in fiction.
September 20, 2025
Perhaps this is most illustrative of how far we have come since then. As a historical artifact, I think the fact of it is more interesting than the text that is there. That it is a quasi historical novel prevents it from illuminating the cultural context in which it was created in the way that a contemporary set pulp of the 60s would. It is a strange fantasia that is not particularly fun to read and at this point is more of a curiosity for the scholar than a diversion for a contemporary reader.
June 17, 2022
Simple soft porn for gay men - this is a tale about self discovery in ‘frontier times’ for a rugged American trapper. Following a bad break up he meets Indian braves and other frontiers men on his journeys up river and at trading posts most of whom he ends up sleeping with. Man who Dreams - a healer in the mountains - helps him on his spiritual quest.
Very easy to read but may need an odd handkerchief available 😯
The foreword is too long winded and I skipped most of it ….
Very easy to read but may need an odd handkerchief available 😯
The foreword is too long winded and I skipped most of it ….
July 15, 2020
This was a hot, hot story, set in the 18th century, where just every native American is beautiful and just waiting to give pleasure to the new visitor.
March 10, 2013
SlashReaders LJ: Alright well, I've been looking at a number of books recently, republished books put out by 'Little Sister's Classic's', recently. Someone else actually mentioned this book a while back. So I finally decided to pick up a copy of it.
I find this book fascinating, because I feel that to some extent it is something more serious wrapped up in the guise of something less serious. I actually read the introduction after reading the novel, which only made me feel more strongly about that point. While you can read this novel as something light hearted and fun, sex and growing up ect. There is a... deeper level to this novel that comes forward in little points. Through the wisdom that Ephraim MacIver exhibits from time to time.
Hmmm okay maybe that's a bit harsh, but still essentially I think it is true. Yes, there can be good sex scenes that are well done. However often I find they are the ones that don't spell out who does what with their mouth and their cock to the extent that nothing is left to the imagination.
I find this book fascinating, because I feel that to some extent it is something more serious wrapped up in the guise of something less serious. I actually read the introduction after reading the novel, which only made me feel more strongly about that point. While you can read this novel as something light hearted and fun, sex and growing up ect. There is a... deeper level to this novel that comes forward in little points. Through the wisdom that Ephraim MacIver exhibits from time to time.
Hmmm okay maybe that's a bit harsh, but still essentially I think it is true. Yes, there can be good sex scenes that are well done. However often I find they are the ones that don't spell out who does what with their mouth and their cock to the extent that nothing is left to the imagination.
March 24, 2025
“He told me that the lover I am seeking is rare among men; one who walks proudly and with strength in the sun, who draws strength from the earth, as do the cedar and the Douglas fir; one who can love others because he can love himself.”
In the face of shame, discrimination, and ostracization, a powerful story of acceptance and self-acceptance; love and self-love.
Comprised of novella-length chapters, each following Ephraim with a *ahem* co-star:
Book One: Singing Heron
Book Two: Cyrus Wheelwright
Interlude: Tsi-nokha
Book Three: Tlasohkan
Book Four: Bear-who-dreams
Book Five: I’m not gonna tell you who he chooses!
Ephraim MacIver has come down the river from Astoria.
Ephraim had his heart broken by a man named Montgomery. A wise old Indian man, Ixtil Cuauhtil, has sent Ephraim on a quest to cure his sadness—and find his forever partner.
Of course, Ephraim has been taught that being homosexual is wrong and immoral. We see him lose the shackles right in front of our eyes.
Throughout the novel, Ephraim is pursued doggedly by Mr. Calvin, a man from The Mission (ostensibly come to convert the Indians to Christianity; in practice, his career is based on rooting out and destroying gay men), and Ephraim’s ex-boyfriend, Montgomery.
Lush description of all the scenery. 😉
Great appreciation for the male figure—and the Male Gaze.
Singing from the heart. The poetry and songs the men write, especially Ephraim 🥰
Sailing. Bow-hunting. Crowns of lavender daisy-like flowers. Learning drums and Indian music-making. The dancing. Mating rituals. Learning the Way of the Loon.
Lyrical prose and dialogue—and not just when they actually create poetry and song.
Ephraim has a lot of love to spread around… 😉
The visions. The arrow. And the realization of who his ideal partner is.
Building their forever home. Together.
I now understand why this book is a Gay Classic. Delightful and uplifting read. Beautiful story.
“Tell me, my love—is it different this time because this time it is to be for ever?”
“Yes, my love; take me for ever.”
“Now I am yours and, and you are mine—I’ll never let you go. Never.”
In the face of shame, discrimination, and ostracization, a powerful story of acceptance and self-acceptance; love and self-love.
Comprised of novella-length chapters, each following Ephraim with a *ahem* co-star:
Book One: Singing Heron
Book Two: Cyrus Wheelwright
Interlude: Tsi-nokha
Book Three: Tlasohkan
Book Four: Bear-who-dreams
Book Five: I’m not gonna tell you who he chooses!
Ephraim MacIver has come down the river from Astoria.
Ephraim had his heart broken by a man named Montgomery. A wise old Indian man, Ixtil Cuauhtil, has sent Ephraim on a quest to cure his sadness—and find his forever partner.
Of course, Ephraim has been taught that being homosexual is wrong and immoral. We see him lose the shackles right in front of our eyes.
Throughout the novel, Ephraim is pursued doggedly by Mr. Calvin, a man from The Mission (ostensibly come to convert the Indians to Christianity; in practice, his career is based on rooting out and destroying gay men), and Ephraim’s ex-boyfriend, Montgomery.
Lush description of all the scenery. 😉
Great appreciation for the male figure—and the Male Gaze.
Singing from the heart. The poetry and songs the men write, especially Ephraim 🥰
Sailing. Bow-hunting. Crowns of lavender daisy-like flowers. Learning drums and Indian music-making. The dancing. Mating rituals. Learning the Way of the Loon.
Lyrical prose and dialogue—and not just when they actually create poetry and song.
Ephraim has a lot of love to spread around… 😉
The visions. The arrow. And the realization of who his ideal partner is.
Building their forever home. Together.
I now understand why this book is a Gay Classic. Delightful and uplifting read. Beautiful story.
“Tell me, my love—is it different this time because this time it is to be for ever?”
“Yes, my love; take me for ever.”
“Now I am yours and, and you are mine—I’ll never let you go. Never.”
December 25, 2011
This book has some historical significance; it was one of the first gay novels out there.Not that I'm complaining, but compared with gay novels today, it's pretty much soft core porn.
The characters were interesting. Set in the early settler days, Ephraim, the main character, is trying to escape a relationship by traveling into Indian country. He discovers a rare tribe that believe in the "way of the loon". He goes thru many male lovers along his journey, til he meets Cyrus, a fellow settler.
Supposedly, this was made into an x rated film, and based on what I've read, it would be a doozy!
The characters were interesting. Set in the early settler days, Ephraim, the main character, is trying to escape a relationship by traveling into Indian country. He discovers a rare tribe that believe in the "way of the loon". He goes thru many male lovers along his journey, til he meets Cyrus, a fellow settler.
Supposedly, this was made into an x rated film, and based on what I've read, it would be a doozy!
May 7, 2012
I understand that this was risky and edgy in it's frank depiction of gay sex. The story, set in the mid 1800's in the world of the forests and mountains of the west, has the potential to be a good story. However the sheer ridiculous of the encounters, delivered to the protagonist with a conveyor belt rapidness is hard to believe. It is a world of gay men where women apparently simply do not exist. The only thing the Indians and white men are interested in, is professing their love for each other and wanting to express that love physically. After the first few sex encounters I fast forwarded through the descriptions as I came to them. Boring!
January 31, 2016
I love this book. It is gay pulp fiction published in 1966 but it is well-written and stands as the first underground gay novel to become a world-wide best seller. The author received none of the rewards; he sold the manuscript to Greenleaf Classics for $750. This book helped open the way for gay literature to climb out from underground. Plus, it's a beautiful story! It is dated and a product of its time but I still love it!
August 4, 2011
It's much better than I thought it would be, and despite the idyllic situations (part of the author's use of 'pastoral' conventions perhaps?), manages to capture the confusion and contradictions of self-acceptance. It's a shame it was out of print for so long (about 30 years), but better late than never.
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