Eminent Outlaws: The Gay Writers Who Changed America

by Christopher Bram

In the years following World War II, a small group of gay writers established themselves as literary power players, fueling cultural changes that would resonate for decades to come, and transforming the American literary landscape forever.

In EMINENT OUTLAWS, novelist Christopher Bram brilliantly chronicles the rise of gay consciousness in American writing. Beginning with a first wave of major gay literary figures-Tennessee Williams, Gore Vidal, Truman Capote, Allen Ginsberg, and James Baldwin-he shows how (despite criticism and occasional setbacks) these pioneers set the stage for new generations of gay writers to build on what they had begun: Armistead Maupin, Edmund White, Tony Kushner, and Edward Albee among them.

Weaving together the crosscurrents, feuds, and subversive energies that provoked these writers to greatness, EMINENT OUTLAWS is a rich and essential work. With keen insights, it takes readers through fifty years of momentous change: from a time when being a homosexual was a crime in forty-nine states and into an age of same-sex marriage and the end of Don't Ask, Don't Tell.

Genres: History, Nonfiction, LGBT, Biography, Queer, Gay, Literary Criticism

355 pages, Kindle Edition

First published February 2, 2012

About the author

Bram grew up in Kempsville, Virginia. After graduating from the College of William and Mary in 1974 (B.A. in English), he moved to New York City four years later. There, he met his lifelong partner, documentary filmmaker Draper Shreeve.

Bram's novel Father of Frankenstein, about film director James Whale, was made into the movie Gods and Monsters starring Ian McKellen and Brendan Fraser. Bill Condon adapted the screenplay and directed. Condon won an Academy Award for his adaptation.

In 2001, Bram was a Guggenheim Fellow. In 2003, he received the Bill Whitehead Award for Lifetime Achievement. He currently resides in New York.

Reviews

[Jean-Luke · Rating 4 out of 5]

Oh, to let the sun shine on another's ass. This book looks at gay writers--mid century to modern--and their work, as well as their interactions with each other and the world--their personal struggles, their sex lives, and the backbiting and rivalry that takes place in the writing community, and how all of it ultimately influences gay literature. This is just my kind of nonfiction, gossipy and full of anecdotes, with enough depth without being 800 pages long. At times the author abruptly interrupts with an 'I loved/hated this book/play because' which is distracting, but he is forgiven, though if I never have to read about Larry Kramer again that is fine as well--I'll just rewatch The Normal Heart, and cry. But really, the AIDS crisis part of this book is sizeable and heartbreaking. My TBR pile grew significantly, (The Muses Are Heard, Tell Me How Long the Train's Been Gone) and I'm longing to reread the books/plays I've already read and loved. Excuse me while I crack open A Single Man for the fourth time. Who's counting?

[Jesse · Rating 4 out of 5]

POSTSCRIPT: now, nearly a decade(!) on, I admit that this book & many of Bram's wry, wise observations have stuck with me much more strongly than I had ever expected them to. Perhaps also a reflection of how my own tastes have more generally shifted from academic scholarship toward this type of accessible cultural criticism. Bumping up my rating by a star because this review still seems to get read fairly often. A good reminder of the provisional nature—and inherent absurdity—of assigning ratings at all.
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Entertaining, informative, and endlessly readable, which compensates for a perhaps inevitable thinness. As a survey/overview it likely won't yield a whole lot—aside from the choice bits of tasteful gossip—to a reader already somewhat aware of the terrain it covers, which is perhaps is why I had more or less the opposite reaction of many here who thought it ran out of steam as it went along; I happen to be interested in and know more about the authors covered early in the book (Baldwin, Vidal, Capote), but not as much about more recent authors, so for me the latter half was more compelling. The highlight, I think, is Bram's astute analysis and defense of Christopher Isherwood's oeuvre, who still remains rather underrated despite a recent reignition of interest in his work (I for one was startled to find out how many of his novels I had never even heard of).

Bram's style is very approachable and lucid, and it's like listening to a literate and culturally knowledgeable friend hold forth on books, art, and history. I personally was hoping for something more along the lines of Sheri Benstock's magisterial Women of the Left Bank, a more dense undertaking that combines literary analysis with historical scholarship, but I don't hold my expectations against Bram. Because this is clearly intended to be accessible cultural scholarship, and on that level it overall succeeds admirably. And if it gets people, myself included, to pick up the work of more of these authors, well then, all the better.

[Sketchbook · Rating 4 out of 5]

With impressive all-around dexterity, rare in a "survey" study, author Bram goes beyond the gay experience for niche readers and produces a sexually inclusive book that explores connections, patterns and socio history for those interested in American literature. His worldly understanding shows that there's a great difference between "reporting" and "expert writing." Seeing names like Vidal, Capote, Baldwin, Isherwood -- familiar eminent outlaws -- I feared some rehash of known material. Not at all. Since he has an interesting mind (Iris Owens/Harriet Daimler used to ask, "Does X have an interesting mind?"), Bram's writing is always fresh and his structural choices have a finesse that I admire.

Reminding us that post W2 a group of new writers inserted an unexpected sensibility into our literary canon, he shows how the media first reacted with scorn and fear, reflecting group-think. Vidal-Capote were slammed by critics at great personal cost and Baldwin was attacked for writing about his sexuality instead of his race. Isherwood was dismissed. Ten Williams and Albee were insulted. "Their careers would've been easier if they'd all written about things outside their experience..but making art is difficult enough without pretending to be someone else." If a writer can't use first-hand stuff, he must turn to second-hand, says Bram, and this can result in third-hand cliches. These writers knew that they were not normal, but nobody is : "There is no such thing as normal."

In the mid-60s, Susan Sontag gained fame with her "Notes on Camp" essay which, in itself, created a gay panic. A NYC clique, which included Philip Roth, Stanley Kauffmann, Midge Decter, William Goldman, Joseph Epstein, etc., became vicious. Sontag was lesbian herself, but spent most of her life being "coy" about it. Her diaries later revealed that she had always loved women. Well, what was going on with the anti-gay NYC clique? In a footnote, for Bram wouldnt put this in the main text, he has the audacity to ask this untouchable question (and risk being blacklisted by editors). He suggests it was a question of turf. "Jewish writers had broken into American intellectual life after the war. They were not ready to share their importance with the next rising minority group."

Bram also discusses relationships and the absence of monogamy in many gay relationships among writers in his book. These couples, he goes on, had to invent their own rules -- and their rules were more flexible and realistic than those handed down by centuries of het marriage. They further knew that, for men at least, sex was often just sex and had nothing to do with "love." Gays had to break with church and society notions in order to live their own lives.

The last section deals with writers like Edmund White, Tony Kushner, Larry Kramer, Armistead Maupin, and here, I feel, Bram is too generous. (He probably shares cocktails w most of 'em). This group has a certain, at times, noisy popularity but not one has the talent - or genius - or even the "personality" of the post war writers. I submit that in a few years they'll be gathering dust. Still, as he stresses, his survey of writers (and no survey can please everyone) opened the imaginations of both gays and hets. With irony and restraint, Bram opens your own imagination.

[Ivan · Rating 4 out of 5]

The first two thirds are fascinating...in part because Bram gives the history of fascinating people such as Christopher Isherwood, Gore Vidal, Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams, Allen Ginsberg, James Baldwin and Edward Albee. Included here are detailed portraits of the artists along with a deft analysis of their most representative works.

I found myself completely enthralled despite the fact that I am intimately familiar with much of the history and anecdotes collected here. Indeed, this is a great book for anyone who wants to increase their knowledge of these great gay writers but isn’t necessarily interested in reading any of the many exhaustive biographies available. The writers covered in the first two thirds truly changed America; their works have become an indelible part of our history and culture. [I do wish Bram would have included a few ladies; certainly a chapter could have been dedicated to Gertrude Stein, Lorraine Hansberry, Patricia Highsmith, Carson McCullers, Alice Walker, Rita Mae Brown, et al.]

Armistead Maupin and “Tales of the City” are discussed at length, and Mart Crowley ’s play “Boys in the Band,” deservedly gets a thorough going over. These works are beloved to gay men of a certain age. Novels by Peter Cameron, Stephen McCauley and Michael Cunningham are mentioned to varying degrees. The author writes compellingly about the AIDS epidemic and the poetry and prose written in response to the disease. Long passages are dedicated to the brilliant dramas “Angels in America ” and “The Normal Heart,” though he ignores the musicals "Falsettos" or "Rent," which also dealt with the plague.

As interesting as these topics are, there is no denying that the last third is not nearly as interesting or focused as the first two.

Bram overreaches when he tries to place contemporary writers Edmund White and Andrew Holleran in the same arena as the aforementioned giants. Though enormously gifted writers, White and Holleran have never achieved much notoriety, popularity or acceptance outside of the gay community. Neither has produced a break out "hit" on the scale of “In Cold Blood,” “Myra Breckinridge,” “A Streetcar Named Desire,” “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” or more recent works like “The Hours” or John Berendt’s “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil,” nor have their works been translated (to my knowledge) to other mediums such as theatre, television or film.

The author also stumbles when talking of playwrights and drama by omitting Harvey Fierstein (his “Torch Song Trilogy” gave 1,222 performances on Broadway and was filmed in 1988), and making too little mention of Terrence McNally or Lanford Wilson, despite the fact that they produced plays and musicals with gay characters and themes that won awards, enjoyed long runs and were adapted for the screen. He talks about "drama" but again does not include such landmark musicals like "A Chorus Line," "La Cage aux Folles" or "Kiss of the Spider Woman."

It seems I have more complaints than praise. Not so. This book is so good I wanted more, and at the same time I wanted it to be more.

[George Ilsley · Rating 4 out of 5]

An interesting and personal approach to the topic. Bram talks about the competitiveness and infighting among some of the writers, and wears his own biases on his sleeve. He mentions Burroughs' Junky, but completely overlooks Queer (which was written at the same time but was not published until the 1980s). "Queer" was a book written by a gay writer with explicit homosexual themes and a title decades ahead of the time— but not even mentioned in this book (have a glance at that title and subtitle again). On the other hand, The Night Listener, by Maupin, receives a ravingly detailed analysis (my own bias? I read this book and found it rather boring).

In short, we all have our favourites and our gripes. (For some reason, I've never read anything of Maupin except "The Night Listener". I know, he's hugely popular, but always appeared to me, after a cursory glance, to be trite and soap opera-ish).

The other issue is that Bram focusses almost exclusively on US writers. Surely other writers also "changed America" (I mean, besides Isherwood)?

[Chris · Rating 5 out of 5]

With Christopher Bram’s new book Eminent Outlaws: The Gay Writers Who Changed America we have the first history of the influence of gay writers of literary fiction, plays, and poetry on the evolution of American culture from 1945-2000. Bram is an accomplished author of nine novels, many gay-themed, one of which was adapted into the movie Gods and Monsters. He teaches at New York University.

There are certainly many other books dealing with the gay literary heritage. Most interesting are Unlimited Embrace: A Canon of Gay Fiction, 1945-1995 by Reed Woodhouse, Playing the Game by Roger Austen, A History of Gay Literature: The Male Tradition by Gregory Woods, and Bram’s own Mapping the Territory: Selected Nonfiction, in which he includes several essays on gay fiction. These all cover the literary elements of the works, and their places relative to other literature, along with deep criticism. However, none consider the works’ larger social and cultural contexts.

In Eminent Outlaws, Bram does just that, along with enough literary analysis, plot outlining and criticism to support the history. He also tells the complicated interconnected lives of these authors, some of whom knew each other sexually, and includes many personal details.

So why is it important to tell this story? After all, book publishing is undergoing titanic shifts which, it could be argued, are rendering literature no longer culturally important. Bram claims that gay literature “played a huge role in the making of modern life.” And that “good art can lay groundwork for social change.” This is the challenge the author set for himself with this book: to define the role gay literature had in this change. Along the way, he had to tell a good story, recommend some key books, and leave his readers feeling like they are part of something important in serious culture, not just an “alternate” or even “deviant” sexuality.

It should be noted that Bram deliberately does not include lesbian writers. Their inclusion is certainly necessary for a full accounting of the cultural changes in the period covered, but Bram claims, rightly I think, that he ”needed to simplify an already complicated story. Also, lesbian literature has its own dynamic and history. It needs its own historian.” I accept that explanation, although while reading the book I was often aware of the missing story.

Of course, gay literature can be traced back to the Greeks, but American culture began first to register the influence of gay writers just after World War II. Prior to that, a few writers did produce work of lasting value and recognizable homosexual content, but they didn’t arguably change society as a result. Bram identifies WW II as the turning point. He argues that large numbers of soldiers “were thrown together” during the war and had the chance to experience same-sex relations, or at least the possibly of such, which they hadn’t had back home before the war. “Men who liked men and women who liked women learned that they were far from alone.”

More importantly for the development of gay literature, “when they returned home…they no longer thought of themselves as solitary freaks.” This was also a time of lessening of censorship in the press resulting from several key court cases. After all, “military service had accustomed middle-class men to words and names more expressive than what they’d grown up with.”

Heterosexual readers reacted, at first, with surprise that these authors had the confidence to write about homosexuality openly. There was a brief period when it seemed “people were suddenly talking about homosexuality”: so much so that “they talked about it enough that it became demonized all over again.” By 1960, the backlash was strong enough that few gay novels were published once again. Many writers turned to Hollywood and wrote for television and created movie scripts. Gore Vidal entered politics, briefly, and ran for Congress in 1960 where humorously “the press described him only as a bachelor who knew many movie stars.” That kind of restraint seems impossible today.

The 1960s began with continuing critical attacks on homosexuality and gay writers, but several new authors appeared, triggering additional backlash among critics, particularly in the theatre. In 1964, Christopher Isherwood published A Single Man. Here Isherwood “gives the world a fully realized gay man and makes him ordinary” and “he makes homosexuality more acceptable by making George [the main character] single.” Nevertheless, there were plenty of savage critics: “It is a measure of Mr. Isherwood’s brilliance as a writer, of his remarkable skill in presenting people, places, and moods, that one continues to read despite a growing aversion, despite the increasingly nauseating reek of homosexuality." Still, Bram offers the somewhat evolutionary opinion that the novel “has endured, like an early mammal surrounded by dinosaurs.”

Tensions were building in society on two fronts outside of literary culture: increasing openness in sexuality, and the escalation of a major war in Southeast Asia. Gay writers contributed on both these fronts, more obviously with sexuality, but also surprisingly about the Vietnam War. Gore Vidal, who had stopped writing gay themed novels by 1960, and tried unsuccessfully to enter politics, instead turned his “excess intellect” toward the writing of essays, many of which were political. By 1968, his reputation had grown such that he was invited to appear in a live televised debate at the Chicago Democratic national convention. Appearing opposite him was the arch-conservative William F. Buckley. Never before had a gay man had such public exposure. As Bram states, if these homosexuals could appear on television, “then homosexuality was not the total taboo that society claimed it to be.”

This is the period the teenaged Bram began witnessing the events and influences of gay culture around him. The book comes to life as he enters the timeline, and he was present at many of the events mentioned. He quite righty excludes his own life and work from this history, but I would have appreciated an appendix with this information.

But all was not well for gays – not yet. The Stonewall “riots” happened in June 1969, with the participants emboldened at least in part by the increased visibility of gay writers and their works. “Literature is about ambiguity, mixed emotions, and guilty pleasures. Politics is about ideals and action.” This was a significant milestone, but surprisingly limited at the time. It became more important as a symbol driving action in the 1970s and beyond.

Prior to Stonewall, gay literary culture existed as part of mainstream culture, sometimes nearly fully embraced, more often simply reluctantly acknowledged, but frequently enough savagely criticized. With Stonewall, many gay men realized that they had the numbers and the power to create a separate culture, one that would exist apart from the mainstream. Crucial to this was the ability to find others like them, others to care for them and defend them.

In the literary world, the magazine Gay Sunshine began publishing in 1970 long frank conversations with many of the most important gay writers. Bram believes these marked “the rise of a gay literary world that was parallel yet separate from the culture at large. Mainstream readers didn’t visit this world, only other gay people. It was not that straight people were excluded, however; they just weren’t interested.” Bram is absolutely right in suggesting that this split occurred and that it was the most important single shift in the gay literary landscape up to this point. “A mix of market and community was coming together, creating an audience for the books and plays of the next thirty years.”

The writers supplying this market were the veterans, most of whom were reaching the end of their creative periods, as well as new writers, although the old guard still managed to produce a few wonderful surprises. For example, Christopher and His Kind by Isherwood, in which we read the alluring, almost immortal line: “For Christopher, Berlin meant Boys.” This is essentially his frank coming-out book, written at the age of 72, and the beginning of his public activism.

The second major shift in the 1970s was the advent of the writers Larry Kramer, Andrew Halloran, Edmund White, and Armistead Maupin. In 1978 these four produced an almost miraculous set of books in the same year: Faggots, Dancer from the Dance, A Boy’s Own Story, and Tales of the City. This solidified the literary shift that began when gay literature split from the mainstream in 1970. Up until 1978, Gore Vidal was the central figure in gay literature; after 1978 Edmund White assumed this role. “Both lived for many years in Europe; both are fond of hustlers. Yet while Vidal writes best about power, politics, and history, White’s strengths are sex, art, and…love.”

One of the high points of gay literature was reached in 1980: the forming of the Violet Quill club by Ed White consisting of several accomplished writers each who had produced significant work, or were about to do so. And the mainstream had finally accepted one or two gay novels as a real works of literature. Bram believes that “culture had changed and critics were finally ready to treat gay fiction as the equal of straight fiction.” He probably implicitly includes the condition “if forced to”. There were still plenty of critics ready to respond negatively.

The decade began with renewed promise supported by the new market. “Homosexuality was no longer about lies and guilt, secrets and suicide, but about fun and games, freedom and joy." Gay culture and life had finally begun to achieve some acceptance and gay writers responded. But it didn’t last long; it came crashing down – hard. The coming of AIDS in 1981 demonized homosexuality all over again.

Gay writers reacted and produced a large quantity of work encompassing all aspects of the disease: its cause, life cycle, political response, love, death, survivors, even humor. Viewed from thirty years later, the scope and subject matter, and sheer volume, is essentially indistinguishable from what would have been produced during and after a major war. Many prominent gay writers died from the disease, more died after producing one enduring work or before writing anything.

By 1990 there was the feeling of ruined literary promise, but what was left was redirected, refocused. Bram does admirably try to inject some life into the story, and uses Charles Ludlam’s comedic plays as evidence that all was not entirely black in the 1980s. I respect that effort, but compared with the other chapters in this history, these years are unalterably grim.

The Republicans were still in power. The AIDS epidemic had deepened. Many more gay books and plays were being written, but there was a sense of something coming, something big. And it did: Tony Kushner’s epic two-part, eight-hour play Angels in America. It was phenomenally successful, won prizes, and toured the whole country. It was critically successful and built a significant bridge from the gay literary world to the mainstream.

Gay novels were appearing in record numbers but Bram, at this point, wisely does not attempt to survey them. He chooses instead to focus on the continuing careers of the established authors and a few of the key new ones. There’s a hilarious anecdote from Michael Cunningham about his 1998 book The Hours: “he couldn’t help noticing that as soon as he wrote a novel without a blowjob, they gave him the Pulitzer Prize”.

His attention then shifts to what was happening to literary culture in general. By the late 1990s, "books and plays were not the only game in town anymore. There were now movies and even TV shows to compete against.” A few years later, Edmund White claimed gay fiction was "killed off by Will and Grace." Bram feels that this had become the story. But I believe this was an early symptom of what was to happen with all literature just a few years later. The history of gay literature has now merged back into the mainstream to fight for the future of literature itself.

Bram is brilliant in the last two chapters, and this is most moving part of book. He moves away from history to the meaning and value of gay literature. This is essentially one of the stories themselves which can “put us into other skins, enabling us to experience things we might not feel otherwise: sorrow, joy, lust, and love" and also “how it feels to be oppressed.” Thus “history” becomes “storytelling” in his mind:

“We should not be surprised that so much of the gay revolution was accomplished through storytelling. It played a larger role for us than it did for the civil rights movement or even the women’s movement. And why not? A disproportionate number of stories are love stories – and what is homosexuality but a special narrative of love?”

If they accomplished nothing else, these stories told the gay readership that “You are different, but you are not alone.” This is a poignant thought for all gay readers, and it is fact where the story started back in the late 1940s.

But it is a stretch to assume a causal link between these gay literary works with their devoted readers and the mainstream, of which the great majority are not gay. In support, Bram does list sales figures for books and length of play runs, each increasing into to the late 1990s and the new millennium, but he assumes that the glow of these successes somehow affected the masses and more importantly directly changed public policy. The ties of the theme of love and inclusion to societal change are not made clear and seem too easy.

What we have seen in the last few years in contrast is that direct public action is causing clear change now. Still, Bram demonstrates clearly that gay writers did change America in the fifty years after WW II, even if he does not present the sociological or psychological mechanics of this change.

Ultimately this is a deeply satisfying book, the only one that tells this story with obvious knowledge, a proper distance, enviable creative skill, and with deep empathy for the cause. We can only hope that the influence of gay writers like Bram himself can remain strong even as the publishing industry and, more importantly, their readership, undergo dramatic change.

[Michael Joe Armijo · Rating 5 out of 5]

I've been reading this bit by bit and finally finished it last night, July 27, 2012. I didn't want it to end as I found the historical flow fascinating. If I were teaching a class on LITERATURE I would be sure this would be required reading for my students. It's about the influence of prominent gay writers who changed America. I would have to include Author of this book, Christopher Bram, as one of them.

One message it relays to ALL writers is to 'write what you know'. There"s a line in the Introduction that says it all: 'Good art can lay the groundwork for social change. Ernest Hemingway, of all people, indicated why when he said a writer must learn to recognize "what you really felt, rather than what you were supposed to feel and had been taught to feel."

I say 'dive-in' and read insights here on Truman Capote, Gore Vidal, Tennessee Williams, James Baldwin, Christopher Isherwood, Allen Ginsberg, Edward Albee, Edmund White, Amistead Maupin, Mark Crowley and Tony Kushner (to name a few).

[Jim · Rating 5 out of 5]

Can a history of 20th-century gay male authors (with a bit into the 21st) be both expansive and succinct? With Eminent Outlaws, author and essayist Christopher Bram has done that. He retells, in succinct form, the major authors' early successes, later failures, and how their lives often intertwined as colleagues and 'frenemies.'

Beginning with pioneering writers Gore Vidal and Truman Capote (and their mutual rivalries), Bram curates a fascinating tour of the pre-Stonewall daring of these and other authors. Throughout the book, he offers no discretion by quoting scathingly anti-gay critics of each era.

Tennessee Williams, a friend to both Vidal and Capote, is given generous exploration, from his early theater successes to his later troubled life after his partner Frank Merlo's death. Later in the book, playwrights Edward Albee, Mart Crowley, Larry Kramer and Tony Kushner's groundbreaking yet different works are recounted, from their historic plays' inspirations and premieres to the (again) vituperative attacks amid praise by (mostly -thankfully- forgotten) critics.

James Baldwin is quoted for his social commentary and, like Vidal and Capote, exemplifies the shift toward authors becoming 'telegenic.' (Imagine this writer, fascinated by a few of these authors on '70s talk shows via some innate gaydar, and later, while still a theater and dance student, privately scribbling bad poems and short stories influenced first by probable bisexual Jack Kerouac, and later by openly gay authors).

Bram also traces Baldwin's numerous treks from America to France, and his struggles with being boxed into gay and 'Black' categories. Expatriate, British/California author Christopher Isherwood's life from Berlin to Santa Monica shows the breadth of his work, and how stage and film adaptations of his stories changed his life.

Edmund White's career is given plenty of depth, from his homocentric/erotic works to more dreamlike tomes, and even his nonfiction works on sexuality and American rural gays.

Poets get a healthy nod, including, of course, Alan Ginsberg's infamous "Howl" publication and the ensuing legal battle. Frank O'Hara and the less remembered James Merrill get coverage.

Armistead Maupin is given ample exploration, from his early Chronicle serial to the multiple Tales of the City books, and his further success with The Night Listener.

Some mentions are more brief, like the short-lived Violet Quill and its authors (Felice Picano, Andrew Holleran and Edmund White being the only surviving members), and the later AIDS-era satirist David B. Feinberg. Bram also modestly excludes his own prolific output of acclaimed novels.

Later authors Michael Cunningham, David Leavitt, Stephen McCauley and others are included toward the end, rounding out this impressive survey of how literature was shaped beyond the gay genre and into larger readership. Additionally, Bram weaves in the rise and fall of independent gay bookstores, big publishers' '80s and '90s support of gay authors, and how each aided gay fiction's growth in spite of later omission by mainstream media.

Bram weaves a deft combination of history, biography, and even critical treatments of each writers' best and lesser known works. Stonewall, the rise of the AIDS epidemic, politics from the '50s to the millennium, are smartly contextualized as reflections of each writer's output.

Having read many of the works cited, including the expansive biographies of several authors, reading it became a bit of a thrill ride ("I knew that! Oh, I didn't know that!'). I hope that Eminent Outlaws is included in every LGBT Literature class. Each chapter shares a fascinating overview that should hopefully inspire further reading into the collective literary past.

[inkedblues · Rating 4 out of 5]

A wonderful mix of history, bitchery, literary criticism... I've only recently started to acclimatise myself to non-fiction writing and had no idea a compedium of often intertwined biographies could encompass so much, and mix it all so well too.

I went in to learn about the lives of Capote, Vidal, Isherwood and Baldwin (especially the latter, about whose personal life I couldn't find any information on the Internet...and I am unashamedly thirsty for gossip when it comes to the gays I admire), but I also learned lots about the American theatre scene, that ridiculous scare of gays overtaking it in the 60s, the importance of theatre in providing gay writers a more liberal and public medium to tell honest stories... The chapters on AIDS writing were also very informative, including both the history of writing and writers' activism.

What's also noteworthy is that Bram includes literary criticism (though I could hardly call it so) of the day—it gives an impression of what societal odds the early gays were against. To think that that amount of pseudointellectual spewing of hatred and bigotry would be accepted for publication by major magazines and newspapers without hesitation... It makes my head spin. It also reminds one, living in a much changed society, what guts these men had in order to live and write for the sake of truth, whether others liked it or not. That legacy still lives.

[Jeremy · Rating 4 out of 5]

Excellent. This is a definite must-read for anyone interested in (gay) fiction and the literary life. Not only is this book filled with the works of most of the major writers of gay fiction, from the 1950s to today, but the reader is also treated to bits of gossip about the writers, including rivalry (and friendships) between each other. We are also given brief snapshots of history, which was helpful to see the influences of the times each book was being published. WARNING: this book names a lot of gay fiction and will make you want to read them. (I was surprised at home many of these works I had already read).

[Mark · Rating 4 out of 5]

Author Christopher Bram’s look at the history of (male) gay writing in the United States is far from dry or boring. While light on literary analysis, it brims with linked stories (some that read like gossip) of famous writers like James Baldwin, Gore Vidal, Tennessee Williams, Alan Ginsburg, Christopher Isherwood, Armistead Maupin, and others as it tells a 50-year-long story of LGBTQ writing in the United States.

Before World War II, if an author included a gay or lesbian theme in a book it was almost always hidden in the subtext. Censorship was strong in the book industry and being gay or lesbian was such a “dirty secret” that few authors would risk writing anything that might expose him or her. Afterall, gay sex was a crime and was thought to be the result of mental illness. Acting on one’s sexual orientation could cost a person a home or career and could even be cause for putting an individual into an asylum or jail.

After the war, however, a few brave gay writers began to use their own life experiences in their work. These early books were surprisingly open but, after a short time, authors once again hid their sexuality as book reviewers attacked and their work would not sell.

With his book, which Bram calls a “large scale cultural narrative” of gay writers between World War II and the 21st century, the author seeks to persuade the reader that "directly and indirectly, this loose conspiracy of writers opened doors in the imaginations of both gay people and straight people" and bravely—and often reluctantly—changed American literature and American culture.
Though it not new information that these writers were gay and influential, what is new to most of us is how they linked together as friends, acquaintances, rivals, and even lovers. It is this link that makes the book fun to read as we see writers in the real world rather than as disconnected and discreet subjects of study.

[A note on word choice: Out of habit—and age--I tend to interchange “gay” with the more inclusive sounding “LGBTQ+” though I think of them as one-in-the same. Seldom do I use the word “queer” (even though it is now commonly used. It is a word that still hurts too much.]

Starting in 1948, the end of World War II, and the release of the Kinsey Report, Bram writes how two friends, who became rivals, published books that began the literary revolution. Gore Vidal, maybe the grandfather of modern gay literature, published The City and the Pillar in which he tells the story of a young man’s coming of age and understanding himself to be gay. The other man, Truman Capote, published Other Voices, Other Rooms in which the 13-year-old protagonist becomes aware of his sexuality. Both authors drew upon their own life for these novels.

Though both books were successful, they raised tremendous discussion and a backlash from the public and critics. Gay writers went back into the closet before slowly cracking open the door once again.

In the 1950s and 60s, both Vidal and Capote did not write much else with a gay theme, but other writers began to take the chance. James Baldwin stunned the world with what is perhaps his best novel, Giovanni’s Room, the story of an American man who meets and falls in love with a man at a gay bar in Europe. Though the protagonist was white, and Baldwin denies it, many critics believe him to be based on Baldwin’s own experiences.

Other authors such as Tennessee Williams, Edward Albee, and Christopher Isherwood began to draw upon their own lives as they wrote and be more open about being gay. Following the Stonewall Riots of 1969, the door burst open. LGBTQ persons began to fight against the oppression and be seen. The first gay pride parade was held in New York City in 1970 on the first anniversary of the riots. Bram writes that “History is made not simply with events, but by remembering those events, a double drumbeat like a heartbeat.”

During the 70s publishers became more willing to include gay titles in their offerings. Writers including Edmund White, Andrew Holleran, Felice Picano, Larry Kramer, and Armistead Maupin released their first books and found an audience. Gay bookstores began to open in major cities making gay titles even more necessary and profitable.

Then came HIV / AIDS. As the disease swept through the gay community and killed thousands upon thousands of persons, and as much of the world paid little attention (or even welcomed the disease as a punishment and way to get rid of gay persons), many gay persons became political and saw the need to be open about their sexuality, to tell their stories, and to fight for a more inclusive world. These early years of the “gay revolution” did not focus so much on assimilation and being like everyone else, but on showing how the world is a richer and better place as we embrace and celebrate our differences.

It is in the 80s and 90s that we find masterworks like Kushner’s Angels in America a play full of anger and despair, but also with the message that we must “love one another or die.” Other gay literature of the period was no longer subtle or written in code but was demanding, insistent, political, and open.

Then, as the 2000s opened, this angry group of writers and people fought for, and won, rights that included even marriage.

Today, gay literature is once again at a crossroads. As the gay movement became more assimilationist in its approach, and as people became less likely to be fired from their job for being gay or put into therapy (though these do still happen and are legal in many states), and as AIDS has become manageable for many people, and young gay persons “come out” and find acceptance, some persons fear gay culture will disappear.

Gay bookstores, dance clubs and bars, are closing. Gay “camp” has permeated the arts. The gym culture is entrenched in the straight community. Gay characters march across our screens. Even “gay ghettos” are disappearing as LGBTQ persons integrate with the straight world.

Now, much newly published gay literature reflects the complacency and has lost its edge or seems to have little new to add to the cultural conversation.

On the surface, this sounds good. This seems to be evidence that LGBTQ persons are now fully accepted into American culture and are no longer a “dirty secret” but part of the fabric of the country. It seems to suggest we can now just go about our lives with ease.

But there are those, me included, who worry and believe we must not be complacent but must keep up the message of inclusion and the celebration of diversity even as we recognize our sameness. We worry that not all is as peaceful as it appears on the surface. We worry that complacency will make us weak and unable to address the storm brewing underground.

We live in a time of fear. We live in a time when many fear a loss of power, influence, and resources. We live in a time where fear of the “other” is erupting to the surface. We see open expressions of fear of different races, ethnicities, abilities, and religions. Why should we think people no longer fear those who are of a different sexual orientation, who love and make love differently, who see the world as “others?”

When Obama became president, the media talked about how America was now a “post-racial’ world. Yet, anyone who pays the slightest attention knows this perception to be untrue. Racism has burst from its underground hiding places and is openly embraced by far too many people, even people in leadership positions. Open racism is becoming normalized.

We also see a growing backlash to gay rights won over the last few years. Hate crimes have soared against gay persons as they have against blacks, Muslims, and Latinos. Religious denominations such as the United Methodists may split as gay persons claim they, too, are children of God and also deserve a “seat at the table.” States are passing “religious freedom” laws that permit discrimination against LGBTQ persons. The US president is filling the federal courts with judges with a history of anti-gay bias.

So, as I ponder the future of gay literature in a time of complacency and realize that ours is not a post-sexual orientation culture, I think of the end of Tony Kushner’s award-winning play, Perestroika, the second part of Angels in America, where he writes …” we are not going away. We won’t die secret deaths anymore. The world only spins forward. We will be citizens. The time has come. Bye now. You are fabulous creatures, each and every one. And I bless you: More Life. The Great Work Begins.”

[Steve Turtell · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a wonderful survey of gay lit (or a significant portion of it--some important names are left out, including Harvey Fierstein--in fiction, poetry and drama since WWII. As anyone who is familiar with Bram's fiction and criticism already knows, he is a first-rate writer and his analyses of both the literary and social importance of Isherwood, Williams, Capote, Baldwin, Vidal, White et al are sharp and suggestive. I have my own theory about the nearly life-long quarrel of Capote and Vidal. I think each of them had what the other lacked in order to be what they would both have loved to be: the American Proust. Capote had the literary style, Vidal had the literary brains. They couldn't forgive each other for that. The one positive thing I remember Capote ever saying about Vidal's fiction was that it lacked style, "but Myra, Myra!"

[Clifton · Rating 5 out of 5]

Eminent Outlaws is an excellent critical survey of the most important gay male American writers from 1948 to 2000, for those who've read virtually all these writers (as have I) and for those only vaguely familiar with them. I wish he had included more writers, for example, the poet, Edward Field, and the playwright/actor, Harvey Fierstein, and I would have liked something on the memoir as a gay genre. He does cover Isherwood's memoir, Christopher and His Kind, but there's no discussion of the AIDS memoirs of, for example, Paul Monette and Mark Doty. However, he doesn't intend to be all-inclusive, and I thoroughly enjoyed this highly readable book, even on the very few occasions when I didn't agree with Bram. This book really is a must-read.

[Nora · Rating 5 out of 5]

Eminent Outlaws is one juicy anecdote after another that builds up into a sweeping history. I found this book almost gossipy at times, yet incredibly thought-provoking. It reminded me of Randy Shilts' historical "non-fiction novels," except this one is about famous men, not regular people. This book is only about gay male writers, so it doesn't cover any lesbian or gender non-conforming writers. The author Christopher Bram explains that he needed to narrow the scope, because it was already a big topic, and that lesbian literature deserves its own historian. Fair enough, and Bram mentions writers like Audre Lord, M.E. Kerr, Susan Sontag, and Ann Bannon when they enter his story. Eminent Outlaws is also focused solely on literary fiction, poetry, and plays. I was hoping to hear about science fiction legend Samuel R. Delany, and he's mentioned briefly. But Bram didn't try to make his book all things for all people; he stuck to what he is clearly very passionate and knowledgeable about.

Each chapter focuses mostly on one particular writer, but includes material about other writers that keeps the narrative colorful, connected, and flowing. You get to hear about Gore Vidal throughout the entire book because he's so long-lived. The book is divided into decades. My favorite parts were the Fifties and Sixties. It was such a different time, with such virulent homophobia. Reading about Gore Vidal, Truman Capote, and Tennessee Williams especially, I got such a sense of how corrosive and damaging prejudice and self-hatred are, not just to human beings but also to writing. These guys were so talented and yet a lot of what they wrote was so wacko (from my modern-day viewpoint, which is the only one I have.) A lot of this early work sounds interesting historically, but the last thing I want to read is some story about a tortured, unhappy queer person who comes to a bad end (like being eaten by cannibals.) Apparently Christopher Isherwood was the first writer to have non-tragic gay characters who are happy, in The World In The Evening.

One thing that was really striking was that these fellas had such bad shrinks and literary agents! Tennessee Williams' therapist told him to stop having sex with men; James Baldwin's agent told him to burn Giovanni's Room. The only instance of good advice was when Allen Ginsberg, still a nobody, saw a dollar-a-session therapist in Berkeley who told him he should go ahead and live with the guy he liked if he wanted and he didn't have to live as a heterosexual. "You're a nice person; there's always people who will like you," he said. Ginsberg ended up staying with the guy he liked until the end of his life forty years later.

Another thing that I can't stop thinking about is the description of how the magazine Christopher Street opened in 1976, creating a space for a new generation of gay writers. The editors imagined that gay writers would have desks stuffed with unpublished gay-themed work that they could now send to Christopher Street. But in fact all the submissions were newly-written. This makes so much sense to me. Writers aren't morons. Generally we don't write for magazines that don't exist. And that makes me think two things, 1) That is as true today as it ever was. What are the holes in our literature now? What is not getting written? What audiences don't get to read stories that reflect them? Because I'm a YA writer, the first thing that comes to mind is that there is no YA novel about a transgender character that is written by a writer who is transgender. Where are the YA editors who are not just open to transgender stories, but who will go down in history for recruiting and championing the Great American Transgender YA Novel? 2) But some writers ARE that crazy, to write for markets that the publishing industry does not believe exist. That's what all the Eminent Outlaws in this book did. Thanks, guys! Much appreciated. I do get a real sense of "standing on their shoulders."

The section on the Eighties was a big downer, as you can imagine. It's tough to read about all these promising writers dying, or their friends and lovers dying. I was a little surprised at what a negative portrayal Larry Kramer got. Some of the things that he did that Bram described as "shooting himself in the foot" seemed pretty sensible to me (like leaving GMHC, which he had helped found, after not being invited to a meeting that he had made happen.) I also can't understand Bram's critique that Kramer criticized Mayor Koch too early and too often. Seriously? How could that even be possible? Larry Kramer clearly had a harsh, abrasive personality and gave unwarranted bad reviews to other writers. But he doesn't seem any worse in those departments than James Baldwin or Truman Capote, and they were described lovingly. I think maybe it's because unpleasant literary pioneers are cast in a warm glow of forgiveness once they are dead, and their struggles are not our struggles so we can't be so judgmental. Whereas Larry Kramer is a contemporary figure and, I dunno, maybe Bram has seen him at a party being a jerk and he just can't stand the guy.

My favorite part of the Eighties section, and not just because it was peppy and upbeat, was the part about Charles Ludlam. I saw Charles Ludlam as Camille and I saw The Mystery of Irma Vep, and as funny as the parts Bram quotes are, they were even more funny in real life. Those plays were probably the funniest things I have ever seen, so it was a pleasure to read about them.

I learned a lot from this book, like who the Publishing Triangle's Ferro-Grumley awards are named after. (I always figured it was some guy named Ferro-Grumley, but no.) And I learned about a bunch of writers I had never heard of, like Matt Crowley, Melvin Dixon, and Frank O'Hara (I had kind of vaguely heard of him, but had him mixed up in my head with both John O'Hara and Frank O'Connor.) And Eminent Outlaws has made me want to read or re-read some of the novels mentioned in it. I have to say that my least favorite aspect was Bram's literary evaluations, comments like that Gore Vidal was smarter than Tennessee Williams, or what James Baldwin's worst novel was. But I think that's the price you pay to read literary history.

If you've never heard of all these people and you think you'd find this book boring, I really doubt it. I got Eminent Outlaws out of the library at the recommendation of my high school art teacher/Facebook friend. It looked so long and dull that I left it unread and kept renewing it. Only when I could renew it no longer and it was coming due did I crack it open, promising to read at least fifty pages before I gave up. Twenty pages and I was totally sucked in. It's seriously dynamite. Famous people wander in and out of the book, in little incidents like JFK getting cruised, Ian McKellen deciding to come out, Jerome Robbins dancing with Lauren Bacall, Lincoln Kirstein coming up with the title "Breakfast at Tiffany's." I don't have the expertise to judge, but it sure seemed like a solidly-researched, factually-accurate book to me. I think it's a work for the ages.

[Sarah Schulman]

This was fun to read- Chris Bram is very knowledgeable and has a lot of opinions that are enjoyable to engage. At the same time there is a lot to disagree with, but that is the fun of any book of this nature. How much of an "outlaw" can people with Broadway shows, New Yorker bylines, and Pulitzer Prizes actually be? The wealth of Merrill, Albee and Vidal etc is a factor, and the ability for some of these writers to class jump from middle and working-class backgrounds is something that straight men in their same position would have had a harder time doing. There is a lot more to analyze here, but the book is an entertaining survey of a category of writers who will probably never be looked at together again without women.

[Blair Fell · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is one of the greatest non-fiction books I’ve read about this period of gay life. Actually let me just say this is one of my favorite books ever. It was like reading one of the greatest novels, in that I didn’t want it to end so read it very slowly. Bram just creates such an amazing world in words and it’s like sitting next to the most brilliant person at the most luscious dinner party and getting the inside, scoop of some of your favorite gay writers in history. Read it! Devour it!

[K.M. Soehnlein · Rating 4 out of 5]

Christopher Bram enthusiastically tells the story of how gay literature preceded, instigated and developed alongside the gay political movement in the 20th century. It’s a story that needs to be told—before there were out gay pop stars, TV celebrities and politicians, there were gay writers telling honest and frank stories of lives that most of the country (including the “enlightened” literary establishment) didn’t bother to understand.

His prose style is conversational (sometimes a little too casual for my taste) and includes with plenty of juicy anecdotes, lots of gossip and a dose of literary analysis. Read this book if you’re interested in the writers it profiles, in literature in general or in gay politics as it moved toward the mainstream.

Bram focuses on a handful of writers in depth, from after WWII (Gore Vidal and Truman Capote) through to today (Tony Kushner, Larry Kramer, Armistead Maupin). The omissions are notable: no women, no “pulp” and bestseller fiction, a New York-centric mindset and scant mention of important writers like John Rechy and James Purdy. Full length biographies and critical studies of many of these writers already exist; if you’re interested in how Allen Ginsberg came to compose Howl or how James Baldwin moved from unknown expatriate writer to the cover of Time magazine, you can find more in-depth sources elsewhere.

But read Bram’s book for its excellent moments of insight. He makes a strong argument for how the success of Boys in the Band probably had far more influence on Stonewall than the death of Judy Garland supposedly did. … He details the outrageously homophobic critical response to the early plays of Edward Albee (suggesting by inference why Albee then notoriously took total control over the presentation of his work). … He provides the first in-depth look at the career of Edmund White, connecting the dots between the various auto-fictions and memoirs White has penned about his life. … And he gives the wonderful Armistead Maupin his props, placing Tales of the City once and (one hopes) for all into the gay literary pantheon.

[Douglas Gibson · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of the best non-fiction books I have ever read! Author Christopher Bram (who wrote one of my all time favorite books, Father of Frankenstein) weaves the the stories of these gay writers, and gay history itself into a fascinating narrative. His use of reviews and his own literary analysis of some of gay culture's lesser known and most icon works reads like the most fabulous text book ever written! I read this dense book in just a few sittings because I was so enthralled in the rich lives of these authors and the way Bram depicts culture at the various moments certain works were being published.
Plus- I felt cool having just seen Boys in the Band on Broadway and Angles in American here in Louisville (both get well deserved lengthy discussions). I felt real gay to have read most of the books that were highlighted, and quickly added some James Baldwin and Gore Vidal to my To-Read-List to help with my short comings.

[Miguel · Rating 5 out of 5]

Mais do que uma História da literatura gay norte-americana na segunda metade do século XX, Eminent Outlaws é uma narrativa do que foi esse tipo de literatura, e do seu significado social, político, artístico e cultural no processo de reconhecimento civil dos direitos dos homossexuais.

A construção dessa narrativa baseia-se na análise das obras literárias que foram publicadas, mas entre os autores focados, e são bastantes, há dois que de certo modo constituem a espinha dorsal do livro, primeiro Gore Vidal, e depois Edmund White.

Gostei mais da primeira metade, ou dos primeiros dois terços, do livro, não tanto porque conheço melhor a obra dos autores aí abordados, mas porque achei essa narrativa mais coerente.

Pessoalmente, o livro agradou-me imenso. Porque me permitiu fazer uma síntese das minhas próprias leituras com esta temática, mas também porque enriqueceu e aprofundou essas minhas leituras.

[Tosh · Rating 3 out of 5]

A decent survey of Gay authors from mid 50's till now. No uber-cult authors at all, just basically the one's that any hardcore contemporary reader will know. But for those who don't know, this is a good introduction to that world. And again, it is an introduction in that word's strictest sense. In many ways its a tad conservative (for my taste) but then again, there may not be a lot of books on this subject matter for the general reader.

[Matthew Lawrence · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wow! It's been... some time since I couldn't put down a work of literary non-fiction. I'm as taken by Bram's first-person opinions as I am his well-researched looks into Williams/Isherwood/Capote/Vidal/Baldwin through Tony Kushner, a proto-JT LeRoy whose infamy was a few years before my time, and beyond. (I didn't realize, for instance, that Someday This Pain Will Be Useful To You was written by someone known outside of YA circles...)

[Shivani · Rating 4 out of 5]

Historical accounts, comprehensive or otherwise (especially otherwise), always make me impatient. They leave this intense craving, gnawing away at the heart, to know more. They mark before(s) and after(s). Where ignorance was bliss, curiosity runs amok. That is indeed true as far as this book is concerned.

My earliest memories of coming across anything related to homosexuality is that of the pride parades. Nothing of the sort had happened in my country, yet. And the first one didn't roll along the streets till 2008. While a culture had been coming of age throughout the world, we Indians were still waking up to realize that our society and laws needed even more revisions and refinement. Over the years I have come across my share of queer-lit, articles, discussions etc. But only occasionally. And it is painfully clear how far behind we are. With our laws still under scrutiny, identifying as a homosexual is not safe, punishable by law and almost guarantees making one a social outcast. When friends and family offhandedly dismiss any discussion, giving the so called religious and morally right reasons, it is as frustrating as it is baffling. Why do some find it questionable and some don't? How did the world come to acknowledge and accept? Who all influenced and how? If you are picking this book, it will surely give part of the answers if not the whole.

By admission of the author, this is not a comprehensive history of the homosexual culture. He has left the lesbians out, admitting they deserve a separate tome. He hasn't covered all the major gay writers either. I believe people with personal favourites might feel incredulous or even outraged to not find a single mention of their idol. But then again, the writers included in this work are not the sole representatives. They are used as mediums to chronicle the history of gay culture. The author seems to have picked writers of his personal choice. And they are his instruments in this telling of truth.

Some of the writers discussed herein are Gore Vidal, James Baldwin, Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote, Edmund White, Edward Albee, Andrew Holleran, Tony Kushner, Christopher Isherwood, Larry Kramer, Allen Ginsberg etc . The author unfolds a diorama of their lives, often crossing each other as lovers, acquaintances, friends, rivals, critics..and above all fellow budding writers of a literary phenomenon. And this phenomenon was unlike any other. Where the mainstream literary works had a penchant to breathe in the prevalent culture, the gay literature is unique in doing the reverse. It gave breath to the choking stringent culture and ushered in a new era of openness and gradual acceptance.

The book takes us through 5 decades in 5 stages, from the fifties to the nineties. From braving a barrage of critical attacks and expressing itself through all literary devices to being terrorized by an unforgiving disease and surviving despite the odds, the history of gay culture and its liberation is not one of victors and defeated. There is no version where few come on top of the other. At its root it is a fight for identity and equality. And the author has focussed mainly on the literary influence. While few details of politics and activism are included, they are not elaborated. What one can hope to glean is how the works of gay-lit advanced over the years from subtle allusions to outright affirmation, how different literary works came to be, what the motivations were behind those works, how the bigger picture was often missed in personal rivalries, how intolerant jibes had far-reaching consequences, how one victory was followed by yet another hurdle to be overcome and how the smidgeon of tolerance in our world (only 60 years hence) was dearly bought. If one takes into account the role politics, activism, legislative actions and medical advancements must have played, this book falls short on claiming the title of being the history of gay culture. At best it is a cultural memoir with a selective literary outlook. But to know something is always better than being aloof.

There is an inherent wariness to issues dealing with minority groups. Often times they are dismissed or poorly dealt with for lack of perspective and proper knowledge of their history. And it is not the minorities who should have to bear the burden of educating the majority. But they have surely done their part. One can read much into their history and learn through literary works, poems, plays, essays, debates etc. Be it fictional/non-fictional, history of any kind deserves widespread perusal. Read some. Then read some more. It is way past time for the hubris of "them vs. us" to have survived in present times. This book can get one started with few answers but even more questions. A desire to devour this rich body of literature is a given. But one should be driven for getting answers to the questions left unanswered. There are no pre-requisites to discovering a history not taught or discussed widely. Fascination (with the included), intrigue (being the excluded), curiosity (into hitherto less known) or simple questions (what, why, how) can be one's personal motivators. And they can be as good a starting point as any.

[Ed Erwin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Interesting biographical sketches of about ten male gay writers of the sorts of serious literature that gets reviewed in places like New York Times, Harpers, New Yorker, etc. That means writers of novels, plays, poems and essays. Specifically Truman Capote, Gore Vidal, James Baldwin, Tennessee Williams, Edward Albee, James Merrill, Armistead Maupin and a few others. It makes sense to discuss them together, since they had many interactions over the years.

It is true that they "changed America" with their writings. Gradually from the 40's to the 80's it became less difficult to write about gay lives in print, and reviewers gradually stopped referring to how disgusting they thought the topic was until it finally became fairly mainstream.

But they weren't the only ones. Literature by women is barely mentioned. The introduction explains that would require a separate book by an author with more knowledge of that, and that seems fair. Also not discussed are works from non-Americans, or works of science, or of less serious literature: pulp novels, science fiction, mysteries, films, musicals, pop music, young-adult books, comics, etc. Those sorts of things were just as important in shifting public opinion, and certainly had some influence on the authors being studied.

Still, the limited focus on a few handfuls of writers who knew each other and worked in the same milieu works well as a microcosm of what was going on in the wider world. I now have more insight into their work, and a short list of titles I want to explore further.

[Amber · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm sure I bought this long ago when I was desperate to have books that queer people existed on my bookshelves, and when I had just fallen in love with Edmund White. Naturally, I only read through the parts regarding Edmund White, and then the breakdown of The Boys in the Band. So much to be said! This is still a valuable history account I'll be reading through as I build my queer canon, even if I must devise a new cover over this hideous bright penguin orange book jacket.

[Valerie · Rating 3 out of 5]

A pleasant read. I haven't been reading much literary fiction lately so it was nice to get back into that world, and I've got a bunch of new things to add to my TBR. I want to write a book about a bunch of writers I admire and give my opinions on their work and personal lives.

[Liam Ostermann · Rating 1 out of 5]

(reviewed in 2022, corrected selling and grammar errors in March 2024. If I wrote it now I would have been much more critical. I let my comments stand but have added disparaging shelves).

One problem with book is that it is not about 'The Gay Writers Who Changed America' but it also has many others problems such as, in no particular order:

1. What is meant by 'changing America' - is it about changing things for gays or about changing society as a whole? Well known writers like Gore Vidal and James Baldwin were engaged in politics and civil rights and wrote about changing society as a whole. On the other hand Tennessee Williams was about as disengaged from politics as it was possible to be. But William's plays were challenges to the whole status quo of 1950s early 60s America and probably changed more than any of Vidal's or Baldwins campaigns. But what about Truman Capote? - an excellent writer (debatable) but his fame or really notoriety is of a different order to that of most all the other writers Bram looks at. How does Capote compare or fit in? Is public prominence enough? Allen Ginsberg is covered extensively, 'Howl' had a major impact on the counter culture as did Ginsberg - but his sexuality was all but ignored during the height of his greatest fame. And to return to Williams and the other playwrights mentioned - it appears that only plays which had wide commercial success and, in many cases, went on to be filmed are regarded by Bram as making the cut - but is it the writing or the performance (on stage or film) that is important or the film version?

2. Do only writers whose works were known to a wide cross section of the population count? It is great that Christopher Isherwood is so prominent in this book but I can't help thinking it is only because of the film Cabaret - which is a marvelous film but has only a tenuous connection with Isherwood's various books about Berlin in the 1930s. And the film Cabaret like the films of 'Brokeback Mountain' (which for some reason gets two mentions in this book) and 'Call Me By Your Name' differ significantly from the original written material and in many reviews and on GR as well as countless blogs what is usually reviewed, commented upon, or followed is the film, not the book. So what is important, the book or the film?

3. Does literary quality matter? I have to say it clearly doesn't when James Purdy and John Horne Burns get no mention and Armistead Maupin is comprehensively covered compared at least compared to David Leavitt. I do not believe Maupin is a good writer and I doubt if he would have been included if his books had not been made into a TV series and then a major motion picture with Robin Williams. As for the poets who are mentioned - the only one who can be said to have had a real impact is Ginsberg and of all of those mentioned his work has the greatest question mark over it. In fact if Ginsberg's Howl didn't exist the terms of reference of this book makes me doubt that any poet would have been included.

Once you get beyond the feuds and antics of Vidal, Capote and Williams on TV and the gushing over 'Cabaret' and Isherwood's later books that referred to that period (and Isherwood would probably have been embarrassed by the suggestion that his books changed anything, let alone a whole country) the book becomes a history of gay liberation seen from within the gay New York literary world and, fascinating, and even important as they might be in terms of literary biography, the antics of Larry Kramer and his feuds, insults and bad reviews of - well really everybody at some stage - are not what changed America. Nor was the Oscar Wilde Bookshop - which gets 7 or 8 mentions. I imagine for most gays the vast upsurge in gay titles brought out by publishers like Alyson - the gay anthologies of various types, love stories, soft porn etc. was of vastly more importance. Alyson also brought out an excellent book by Kaier Curtin 'We can Always Call them Bulgarians' in 1984 about the homophobic campaign by the New York Times against gay playwrights which is miles better then anything about the same episode in this book.

It is a book that is not good and one I can not honestly recommend.

[Gerhard · Rating 5 out of 5]

What makes this history of gay literature so effective is Christopher Bram’s cogent and effective commentary on books, people and events. At the beginning he says he excluded his own oeuvre as this would have been self-serving; this made me wonder if he simply balked at turning his kiss-and-tell approach on his own role in this narrative. However, it was only towards the end that I realised, and appreciated, what Bram has done: he is the proverbial Greek chorus, elucidating, championing, lambasting, praising (and even excoriating).

He writes in the Acknowledgements:

Without being aware of it, I spent much of my life preparing to write this book. I came of age during a remarkable period of American history – the Sixties and Seventies – reading many of the novels, poems, and plays discussed here when they first came out.

The book is divided into five parts: the 1950s, the 1960s, the 1970s, the 1980s and the 1990s and after. In each part, Bram examines the major writers and works of the time period, together with an incisive analysis of the cultural context. However, the parts are not discontinuous, with Bram telling a seamless story, with characters moving into the wings when new ones take the stage, and then reappearing when their own stories intersect with those of others.

This makes for a surprisingly incestuous and ribald narrative, as many of the writers and personalities here were either involved with each other romantically and/or professionally, or were engaged in protracted intrigues, catfights, literary and/or personal feuds (this is particularly true of the 1950s to 1960s, when giants like Gore Vidal, Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote and James Baldwin bestrode the literary landscape). Bram is not afraid to step into the fray with his own (often droll and acerbic) observations.

He writes:

This is not an all-inclusive, definitive literary history. I do not include everyone of value or importance. Nor am I putting together a canon of must-read writers. I am writing a large-scale cultural narrative, and I include chiefly those authors who help me tell that story – and who offer the liveliest tales.

Bram also adds: “The story of these men has never been told as a single narrative before, which is surprising.” And what a story it is, chockablock with epiphanies and tragedies, comedy and melancholy, eroticism and anger. I was shocked at what the nascent gay community faced in the 1950s and 1960s in particular. (One has to bear in mind that homosexuality was only declassified as a psychological disorder in the US in 1973.)

However, this is by no means a grim book. Bram humanises all the writers, playwrights and poets he describes, warts and all (some with more warts than others, of course), and places them in their socio-cultural context, as well as considering their overall role and status in the overall evolution of gay literature (even though Bram shies away from using the ‘c’ word, the aggregate effect here is to produce something of a gay canon, which is by no means a bad thing for new gay people to discover, or older ones to revisit).

My only quibble is that the part dealing with the 1990s and beyond is the sketchiest section of a very full and nuanced book. Bram does touch briefly on the end of the gay midlist after 2008, and the uncertainty introduced by ebooks, but points to the plethora of small presses, blogs and independent publishers in the 2000s, and the quantity and quality of extraordinary LGBT literature that continues to be written, published and, most importantly, read.

[Terry · Rating 4 out of 5]

Excellent--good writing and insights. Eminent Outlaws is about the gay authors of the last half of the 20th Century-plus a bit, roughly 1945-2010, and what they contributed to the gay liberation movement, which, as it turns out, is arguably quite a lot. Could we have had Harvey Milk without Gore Vidal and James Baldwin? Truman Capote? Christopher Isherwood? Tennessee Williams? They weren't all "out" or at least not early in their careers when it was scary and dangerous, but they all edged us further towards liberation by telling us stories about people who were/are like us and telling us we were not alone. I was a little surprised as I read Eminent Outlaws that I've read all of these authors, if not all of their works. It's hard to imagine the gay political movement without these literary forebears. And in telling their stories, Christopher Bram (a novelist himself and quite a good writer) is also telling the story of gay liberation. "The literature," he writes, "was an agent of change," pointing out that only in the written word (not television or movies and rarely on stage) could gay people tell their stories. And in the early days -- as in Gore Vidal's "The City and the Pillar" even this was daring and dangerous. But they did tell their stories and gay people read them and created a market for their work and the work of others. And gradually gay authors came further out and their stories began to be told on stage and in film, and now ubiquitously on TV, too. But it started with the written word and this handful of authors who bravely told their stories and inspired -- or reflected -- a movement. The latter chapters of the book are less moving, engaging and interesting, partly because I don't like the predominant authors much (Edmund White, Larry Kramer) and because AIDS made for a lot of sad stories. But Bram includes Armistead Maupin (Tales of the City), rightly, as an influential author at this time (and one who was not gloomy), although I don't think he ranks with Vidal, Capote, Baldwin, Isherwood or Williams. Eminent Outlaws is an amazing story, well told but less known than it should be.

[Jim Coughenour · Rating 3 out of 5]

Christopher Bram's new book falls somewhere between gossip and literary history. It's an eminently readable account of a handful of gay writers who, if they didn't change America, definitely impressed two or three generations of gay readers. I can still remember the excitement of discovering Glad Day Bookstore in Boston in the late 1970s; and in the early 80s the thrill of visiting Unabridged Bookstore in Chicago every few days to see what was new and (I hoped) shocking. Now, in 2012, the landmark gay bookstore in San Francisco has disappeared; it simply became irrelevant. Assimilation has its costs, one of which is indifference. I can't remember the last time I sought out a "gay fiction" section in any bookstore.

Both the strength and weakness of Bram's history is its concentration on a few literary lions – Vidal, Baldwin, Capote, Isherwood, White, Holleran, Kramer, Maupin and Kushner. Compared to even dated studies like Gregory Wood's A History of Gay Literature (1999), Eminent Outlaws is thin stuff. Actual outlaw writers (at random: James Purdy, Dennis Cooper) are completely ignored at the expense of dull expositions of White's "trilogy and a half" or the overstuffed outbursts of Angels in America or – unforgivably – anything by Larry Kramer. The gossip is mostly old hat. Bram's judgments are generous and gentle, as you'd expect of the author of the novel that became Gods and Monsters.

I finished the book with a sense of anticlimax. Had any of these books really mattered? Well, yes, at least when they appeared – and that's enough to ask of any writer.

[Morgan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Despite copping out of writing about both gay and lesbian writers in his introduction (Although in Bram’s defense, he did admit to it, and he is right: Lesbian literature needs its own historian), Eminent Outlaws is a witty, sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes whirlwind wild-ride through the lives of several key gay writers from the late 1940’s to the late 90’s, including characters (and I do mean characters) such as: Gore Vidal, Allen Ginsburg, Tennessee Williams, James Baldwin, Truman Capote, Christopher Isherwood, Edmund White, Armisted Maupin, Larry Kramer, James Merrill, and Andrew Holleran.

The book’s narrative is told mostly in chronological order, divided into decades, then into chapters that tell the stories of these writers, weaving their love lives, their literary lives, and their public lives, and how these lives crossed, sometimes volatilely. My favorite part of Bram’s writing is the way he makes the characters and the scenes of his history come alive: Vidal’s colorful and controversial appearances as a political correspondent, Maupin and Anderson’s exploration of the spirit world with an Ouija board, and Allen Ginsberg’s infamous obscenity trial. A mix of story-telling and fact goes into any good non-fiction book, but Bram does so with not only the craft of a wonderful writer, but with the aim of a conscientious queer writer who wants to show us that we aren’t—and have never been—alone...