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Say Nephew: On Boyhood, Unclehood, and Queer Mentorship
For readers of Maggie Nelson and Jeremy Atherton Lin, Say Nephew is an eclectic and inquisitive exploration of the rich and complex mythology of gay uncles
Blending memoir and criticism, Steven Pfau pays tribute to the gay uncles who have shaped his sense of queer identity, culture, and history. The most influential—the mentor who would set the standard for all of Steven’s future mentors—was his uncle Bruce.
A charismatic storyteller with a Burt Reynolds–esque bravado (and a mustache, leather jacket, and pair of cowboy boots to match), Bruce came out in 1950s Memphis and lived in New York City through many of the defining events of the gay liberation era. Bruce was both a unique fixture in Steven’s upbringing and an archetypal figure within a much broader history—a link in a long lineage of uncles, literal and figurative, who have offered various forms of queer tutelage to younger men.
But what role is the nephew supposed to play in these bonds? And who does he become once his uncles are no longer there to guide him? Both a coming-of-age story and a wide-ranging study, Say Nephew is a wholly original and expansive consideration of queer mentorship.
Blending memoir and criticism, Steven Pfau pays tribute to the gay uncles who have shaped his sense of queer identity, culture, and history. The most influential—the mentor who would set the standard for all of Steven’s future mentors—was his uncle Bruce.
A charismatic storyteller with a Burt Reynolds–esque bravado (and a mustache, leather jacket, and pair of cowboy boots to match), Bruce came out in 1950s Memphis and lived in New York City through many of the defining events of the gay liberation era. Bruce was both a unique fixture in Steven’s upbringing and an archetypal figure within a much broader history—a link in a long lineage of uncles, literal and figurative, who have offered various forms of queer tutelage to younger men.
But what role is the nephew supposed to play in these bonds? And who does he become once his uncles are no longer there to guide him? Both a coming-of-age story and a wide-ranging study, Say Nephew is a wholly original and expansive consideration of queer mentorship.
304 pages, Hardcover
Published May 26, 2026
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Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews
June 8, 2026
I have numerous thoughts about this book because it touches much that concerns me as a gay man, one who delights in being an uncle, one who had a challenging coming out due in large part to the malignant influence of a gay elder, and one who bristles at the word "queer".
With that in mind, let me move quickly to the conclusion: while I have a number of quibbles with this book, none compromise its overall quality. Say Nephew is a very good read. I recommend it.
Moreover, Steven Pfau writes very well. He addresses a topic that all too many gay men often don’t talk about: the importance of mentors in helping us come into our own as gay men.
The picture on the cover invites you in, the author as a boy proudly wearing a pair of cowboy boots, one pushed forward and pointing up as if to make sure the camera captures it. This lad sports a faint, but pleased smile while his uncle seated in the background sets a gentle hand on his elbow, a light smile on his face as well. An image of contentment and avuncular connection.
That uncle, Bruce, an openly gay man, became a mentor to Steven, smoothing his path out of the closet and into his own life as a gay man.
Often as I was reading, I would pause to reflect on what Pfau wrote or to let my mind wander with the memories it stirred up. Sometimes I would mark my place with a finger and close the book, my eyes ever alighting on that cover picture. It always warmed me, sometimes putting a smile on my face.
Weird that (weird in a good way). So many of us gay men wish we had had that kind of guidance, a gay male mentor within our family circle. I certainly wished I had had an Uncle Bruce. I believe my smile grew out of the tone of gratitude in each vignette Steven Pfau shares of his uncle. We don't envy him. We appreciate him, grateful that he had what we lacked.
Indeed, both through his words and with this image, the author manifests a gratitude for his unique relationship, coming to terms with his own sexuality as a gay man under the benign guidance of a loving paternal uncle. That spared him the conflicts of his family that other gay men experienced.
Pfau goes on to wonder about this -- and other avuncular-type relationships -- in his maturation.
In the concluding chapter, Pfau shares excerpts from some of his uncle's letters, writing that as he reads, he "wonders if [Uncle] Bruce used to yearn from the kind of avuncular mentor he would be for me".
It is that wonder that makes this book such a good read.
With that in mind, let me move quickly to the conclusion: while I have a number of quibbles with this book, none compromise its overall quality. Say Nephew is a very good read. I recommend it.
Moreover, Steven Pfau writes very well. He addresses a topic that all too many gay men often don’t talk about: the importance of mentors in helping us come into our own as gay men.
The picture on the cover invites you in, the author as a boy proudly wearing a pair of cowboy boots, one pushed forward and pointing up as if to make sure the camera captures it. This lad sports a faint, but pleased smile while his uncle seated in the background sets a gentle hand on his elbow, a light smile on his face as well. An image of contentment and avuncular connection.
That uncle, Bruce, an openly gay man, became a mentor to Steven, smoothing his path out of the closet and into his own life as a gay man.
Often as I was reading, I would pause to reflect on what Pfau wrote or to let my mind wander with the memories it stirred up. Sometimes I would mark my place with a finger and close the book, my eyes ever alighting on that cover picture. It always warmed me, sometimes putting a smile on my face.
Weird that (weird in a good way). So many of us gay men wish we had had that kind of guidance, a gay male mentor within our family circle. I certainly wished I had had an Uncle Bruce. I believe my smile grew out of the tone of gratitude in each vignette Steven Pfau shares of his uncle. We don't envy him. We appreciate him, grateful that he had what we lacked.
Indeed, both through his words and with this image, the author manifests a gratitude for his unique relationship, coming to terms with his own sexuality as a gay man under the benign guidance of a loving paternal uncle. That spared him the conflicts of his family that other gay men experienced.
Pfau goes on to wonder about this -- and other avuncular-type relationships -- in his maturation.
In the concluding chapter, Pfau shares excerpts from some of his uncle's letters, writing that as he reads, he "wonders if [Uncle] Bruce used to yearn from the kind of avuncular mentor he would be for me".
It is that wonder that makes this book such a good read.
July 3, 2026
Smart, moving, and funny. Gay elders and sexy stuff and gay literature deep cuts! What more do you want?? Politically sharp but not heavy handed or annoying, bold but not show-offy, and observations on queerness that felt both fresh and familiar. Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything new under the sun to say about queerness and our obsession with our own past(s), but this book is an answer that, yes indeed, we gotta keep telling and reweaving our stories as they present themselves bc they’re little snapshots in time of how we lived in the face of the great joys and sorrows of our times.
August 3, 2026
really important to me. but besides all the emotional/familial/community relatability and yearning i am so struck by how many niche references i could directly share in. why was there a section on spa castle to drag me immediately back to 2010??? + cu, shared people there, brooklyn cyclones fireworks, and more. thank you for exploring these things :)
July 5, 2026
A stylish collection of essays I ultimately enjoyed but as a whole, did find disappointing and a bit misleading. We begin with the “avuncular” (as Pfau is so fond of repeating) theme, which is intriguing—not least because the electric tension of taboo circle the central relationship from the very start—and I had visions of Pfau contextualizing his nephew experiences (be they familial, platonic or sexual — or any combination of the three!) through examinations of uncle-nephew relations and depictions across history, culture and academia. Thankfully, that does happen towards the end and it is accomplished fairly well in these last two essays; Pfau manages to thread myth, art, anecdote, criticism and theory into a recognizably thesis-like form that validates the existence of this book. And along the way he shares an intelligent and exciting syllabus of queer study that I'm excited to dig into.
However, the middle flags without these bookends. The motif is, while not quite abandoned, certainly diminished in importance in favor of a more standard fare of gay millennial navel gazing from an urbane, educated, sexually desirable ingenue figuring out his place within gay social life. These try to convince you of their tenuous connection to the promised theme with half-hearted and/or puerile references to the uncle-nephew of it all at large or, more frequently, the eponymous uncle.
For example, a portion of an essay about watersports—introduced with eye-rollingly cloying smugness: "I am fascinated by the psychology of watersports, as aficionados commonly refer to urolagnia—that is, the paraphilia that involves the sensation or presence of urine, whether one gives it, receives it, deliberately wets oneself, or simply observes its production"—is linked to an anecdote about a drunk Bruce peeing down the kitchen sink in front of his dinner party guests, upon which Pfau muses, "I don't know if urinating for an audience was a sexual turn-on for Bruce, but I wonder if it allowed him to take pleasure in flexing his heavyweight status."
I would not call that illuminating nor an instructive segue that supports or expands the theme, but it is yet another example of how charged with the aforementioned electric tension of the taboo these essays are. Juxtapose this with: “I’m grateful to have a healthy, uncomplicated relationship with my biological father; I’m not thinking of him—and I would prefer not to think of him—when I’m in bed with other men.”
For me, this alone offers an alternative and perhaps more profound, vulnerable and original road for Pfau to have wandered down. Namely, how does he examine and rationalize the sexual tinges of his relationship with Bruce, and how does that show up in these connections with other mentors and within the bounds of sex with partners? Gratefully, we do get some of this in the penultimate essay but it comes with a dose of whiplash after we’ve spent so much time dancing away from exactly this looming question, especially in the prior three essays.
However, the middle flags without these bookends. The motif is, while not quite abandoned, certainly diminished in importance in favor of a more standard fare of gay millennial navel gazing from an urbane, educated, sexually desirable ingenue figuring out his place within gay social life. These try to convince you of their tenuous connection to the promised theme with half-hearted and/or puerile references to the uncle-nephew of it all at large or, more frequently, the eponymous uncle.
For example, a portion of an essay about watersports—introduced with eye-rollingly cloying smugness: "I am fascinated by the psychology of watersports, as aficionados commonly refer to urolagnia—that is, the paraphilia that involves the sensation or presence of urine, whether one gives it, receives it, deliberately wets oneself, or simply observes its production"—is linked to an anecdote about a drunk Bruce peeing down the kitchen sink in front of his dinner party guests, upon which Pfau muses, "I don't know if urinating for an audience was a sexual turn-on for Bruce, but I wonder if it allowed him to take pleasure in flexing his heavyweight status."
I would not call that illuminating nor an instructive segue that supports or expands the theme, but it is yet another example of how charged with the aforementioned electric tension of the taboo these essays are. Juxtapose this with: “I’m grateful to have a healthy, uncomplicated relationship with my biological father; I’m not thinking of him—and I would prefer not to think of him—when I’m in bed with other men.”
For me, this alone offers an alternative and perhaps more profound, vulnerable and original road for Pfau to have wandered down. Namely, how does he examine and rationalize the sexual tinges of his relationship with Bruce, and how does that show up in these connections with other mentors and within the bounds of sex with partners? Gratefully, we do get some of this in the penultimate essay but it comes with a dose of whiplash after we’ve spent so much time dancing away from exactly this looming question, especially in the prior three essays.
June 8, 2026
Delicious. Genuine curiosity and probing into the subject matter of boyhood, the gay uncle, and queer mentorship. Intellectual and literary (ie a little pretentious, in the words of the author). Thoughtful, lefty, poignant, sexy. Also a great queer boy syllabus embedded in these expertly crafted essays.
August 24, 2026
Very well written - beautiful prose, often very funny and filled with great niche references.
Ultimately, though, I have no idea who this book is for or what the author is trying to say? Half memoir, half gay history, but neither half really ever came together as a congruent whole for me.
Having read “Deep House” earlier this year (which blended the two genres seamlessly), I unfortunately kept comparing the two and was left disappointed by Say Nephew.
Ultimately, though, I have no idea who this book is for or what the author is trying to say? Half memoir, half gay history, but neither half really ever came together as a congruent whole for me.
Having read “Deep House” earlier this year (which blended the two genres seamlessly), I unfortunately kept comparing the two and was left disappointed by Say Nephew.
July 1, 2026
Highly recommend this book! It really hits the ideal balance of memoir and cultural analysis, in my opinion. A really lovely portrait of the author, his uncle Bruce, and a variety of other characters.
September 10, 2026
Overall, I thought Say Nephew was worth the read, but it would not make my list of recommended queer lit.
Say Nephew never seems quite sure whom it is speaking to. Pfau's frequent parenthetical explanations suggest a broad (straight?) audience presumed to need gay male life translated for them; meanwhile, much of the analysis is unlikely to feel revelatory within any gay circle. The result is an awkward middle register: over-explained for readers already familiar with the territory, yet rarely developed enough to reward everyone else.
Throughout the book, Pfau's bids for relatability fare no better. References feel less like points of connection than assurances that the author is conversant in the correct people and discourse (such as Jonah Wheeler, famed avuncul-ologist?). Too often, the subtext begs "please find me charming and culturally legible."
Simultaneously, Pfau appears to write beneath the supervision of a loud internal critic. His self-consciousness might have become productive material, but instead it frequently overshadows the ostensible subject. In particular, the retelling of his evening with an anonymous former metamour earned several audible groans for approaching near-Puritanical self-appraisal: Did putting the cash he handed me in his pocket look like I was tipping a go-go dancer? Is our connection too complicated to explain? Rumspringa at the Eagle in LA. The prose anticipates judgment, qualifies itself, and explains its own intentions so insistently that the reader can feel trapped inside the author's effort to manage how he is perceived.
As others have mentioned, the collection's organizing premise is similarly loose. Several essays are only tenuously connected to uncles or nephewhood, making the theme feel less like a sustained line of inquiry than a frame retrofitted around a conventional memoir. There is plenty of autobiography here, yet only a smattering of essay. That being said, the bibliography offered several good additions to my reading list.
Say Nephew never seems quite sure whom it is speaking to. Pfau's frequent parenthetical explanations suggest a broad (straight?) audience presumed to need gay male life translated for them; meanwhile, much of the analysis is unlikely to feel revelatory within any gay circle. The result is an awkward middle register: over-explained for readers already familiar with the territory, yet rarely developed enough to reward everyone else.
Throughout the book, Pfau's bids for relatability fare no better. References feel less like points of connection than assurances that the author is conversant in the correct people and discourse (such as Jonah Wheeler, famed avuncul-ologist?). Too often, the subtext begs "please find me charming and culturally legible."
Simultaneously, Pfau appears to write beneath the supervision of a loud internal critic. His self-consciousness might have become productive material, but instead it frequently overshadows the ostensible subject. In particular, the retelling of his evening with an anonymous former metamour earned several audible groans for approaching near-Puritanical self-appraisal: Did putting the cash he handed me in his pocket look like I was tipping a go-go dancer? Is our connection too complicated to explain? Rumspringa at the Eagle in LA. The prose anticipates judgment, qualifies itself, and explains its own intentions so insistently that the reader can feel trapped inside the author's effort to manage how he is perceived.
As others have mentioned, the collection's organizing premise is similarly loose. Several essays are only tenuously connected to uncles or nephewhood, making the theme feel less like a sustained line of inquiry than a frame retrofitted around a conventional memoir. There is plenty of autobiography here, yet only a smattering of essay. That being said, the bibliography offered several good additions to my reading list.
August 26, 2026
"Everybody has a gay uncle. So say many acquaintances when they hear I want to write a book about my own gay uncle.”
Soon after making this statement in chapter one of his book, Say Nephew: On Boyhood, Unclehood, and Queer Mentorship, Steven Pfau clarifies that sometimes his friends mean the phrase in the literal sense, and sometimes they’re only referring to a cultural trope that has become “practically a cliché, the butt of a joke.”
Pfau’s gay uncle, Bruce, was much, much more than a cliché — he was a role model, a mentor, a loving and welcoming adult who seemed to see the queerness in his nephew even before the boy was sure about it himself."
Read the rest of my review at Hippocampus Magazine: https://www.hippocampusmagazine.com/2...
Soon after making this statement in chapter one of his book, Say Nephew: On Boyhood, Unclehood, and Queer Mentorship, Steven Pfau clarifies that sometimes his friends mean the phrase in the literal sense, and sometimes they’re only referring to a cultural trope that has become “practically a cliché, the butt of a joke.”
Pfau’s gay uncle, Bruce, was much, much more than a cliché — he was a role model, a mentor, a loving and welcoming adult who seemed to see the queerness in his nephew even before the boy was sure about it himself."
Read the rest of my review at Hippocampus Magazine: https://www.hippocampusmagazine.com/2...
August 16, 2026
An incredible blend of memoir with gay history, writings and pop culture. I felt so connected to Bruce by the end that I found myself crying over the final pages. Perhaps it was the personable writing- feeling like I’m having a conversation with the author, or maybe it was because of my longing for a relationship like Bruce and Steven. Uncle and Nephew. Most likely both.
I would highly recommend everyone, especially other gay men, get on this book immediately.
“If a gay boy yearns in a forest, and no one is around to fall into his thirst traps, does his body still mean anything?” :/
“Do I want him, or do I want to be him?” ://////// oof
I would highly recommend everyone, especially other gay men, get on this book immediately.
“If a gay boy yearns in a forest, and no one is around to fall into his thirst traps, does his body still mean anything?” :/
“Do I want him, or do I want to be him?” ://////// oof
May 30, 2026
This may be hitting me particularly hard because it's close to Father's Day for me, and, this is a great reflection on queer art and culture, familial bonds, and also being able to look at the harder parts of a person you loved deeply. I ended up sprinting through this from the library in the space of a few days, and getting a few more books to read from works the man cited. Highly recommened read for pride.
August 22, 2026
4.5! Loved it! (Avuncular)
August 13, 2026
Really sweet, and kind of the perfect amount of smart/intellectual rigor for this moment of my life. Felt meaningful and tender and playful! I loved it! 4.5 😋
June 12, 2026
A book of self-discovery and the many mentors who guided him along the way. Utilizing his background in quitting, Steven writes a story connecting his sexuality to the one person who knows it best, his gay uncle. With lessons learned and a desire to address the challenges of how self-worth and mental health, the book showcases vulnerability, self-help, and mentorship.
May 28, 2026
I love this book about the "diagonal" relationship of the queer uncle: a role model without parental responsibility, and about how to be a good nephew, one who receives this at times un-respectable inheritance that the gay mainstream doesn't want us to have. The narrator Steven is propelled forward by a need to learn from his uncles, and by the grief of losing his charismatic, Burt Reynolds-esque Uncle Bruce, and I suspect also (my fav kind of writing motive) to meet new gay uncles as he's writing this book, including two men depicted in a NYC subway station Vik Muniz mosaic.
At a bathhouse, where one of the subway uncles takes him, he jerks a guy off in the steam room, the steam becoming the ectoplasm in photos of paranormal apparitions as he's been thinking about the "ghosts" (also slang for cruisers) of his uncle's "dream room" softcore photocollage and the deletion of his own Tumblr history. Our nephew narrator goes with his therapist to a gay leather bar for exposure therapy and (the therapist says) to "queer therapy." This is the kind of investigative journalism I need.
In this mix of memoir and criticism, there are so many great citations: Foucault on how intergenerational queer friendship can be radical, and Sedgwick on how shame can be "powerfully creative." Pfau talks about the "Rosetta Stones" of his uncles "that would tell me everything I needed to know in preparation for the rest of my gay life." I suspect this book, exploring so many facets of 2020s gay male life, will be a Rosetta Stone for future nephews.
At a bathhouse, where one of the subway uncles takes him, he jerks a guy off in the steam room, the steam becoming the ectoplasm in photos of paranormal apparitions as he's been thinking about the "ghosts" (also slang for cruisers) of his uncle's "dream room" softcore photocollage and the deletion of his own Tumblr history. Our nephew narrator goes with his therapist to a gay leather bar for exposure therapy and (the therapist says) to "queer therapy." This is the kind of investigative journalism I need.
In this mix of memoir and criticism, there are so many great citations: Foucault on how intergenerational queer friendship can be radical, and Sedgwick on how shame can be "powerfully creative." Pfau talks about the "Rosetta Stones" of his uncles "that would tell me everything I needed to know in preparation for the rest of my gay life." I suspect this book, exploring so many facets of 2020s gay male life, will be a Rosetta Stone for future nephews.
July 6, 2026
Thank you Catapult for the #gifted copy in exchange for an honest review!
In this autotheory/memoir, Steven Pfau reflects on his Uncle Bruce’s impact as both a gay uncle and a queer mentor. Though Uncle Bruce never wrote his own story down, he was a charismatic storyteller and true pioneer, even if he never considered himself one. Uncle Bruce came out in the 1950s in the South, moved to New York, and survived the HIV/AIDS epidemic and gay liberation era. Pfau then explores how uncle-like figures have played a role in queer history.
Pfau does a great shifting between memory, anecdote, and theory; and it’s so beautiful to hear a story about queer mentorship from queer elders. Both literal and figurative queer uncles are evoked in his work; Pfau describes it perfectly: “We are many, the queer women and men whose first sense of the possibility of alternative life trajectories came to us from our uncles and aunts.” While Uncle Bruce passes along his sage advice, it’s Pfau who cultivates it into scholarship. Pfau oscillates among ostentatious anecdotes, pensive introspection, and academic-style theory; and if that’s not queer identity in a nutshell, I don’t know what is!
Reviewed as part of an #ARC from the publisher.
Read this book if you:
👴🏻 have strong thoughts about the term “Guncle”
🗣️ like Uncle Bruce, appreciate the art of a dishy anecdote
🦚 never knew that one of the collective nouns for a group of peacocks is an “ostentation”
Follow me on Instagram for more book reviews!
In this autotheory/memoir, Steven Pfau reflects on his Uncle Bruce’s impact as both a gay uncle and a queer mentor. Though Uncle Bruce never wrote his own story down, he was a charismatic storyteller and true pioneer, even if he never considered himself one. Uncle Bruce came out in the 1950s in the South, moved to New York, and survived the HIV/AIDS epidemic and gay liberation era. Pfau then explores how uncle-like figures have played a role in queer history.
Pfau does a great shifting between memory, anecdote, and theory; and it’s so beautiful to hear a story about queer mentorship from queer elders. Both literal and figurative queer uncles are evoked in his work; Pfau describes it perfectly: “We are many, the queer women and men whose first sense of the possibility of alternative life trajectories came to us from our uncles and aunts.” While Uncle Bruce passes along his sage advice, it’s Pfau who cultivates it into scholarship. Pfau oscillates among ostentatious anecdotes, pensive introspection, and academic-style theory; and if that’s not queer identity in a nutshell, I don’t know what is!
Reviewed as part of an #ARC from the publisher.
Read this book if you:
👴🏻 have strong thoughts about the term “Guncle”
🗣️ like Uncle Bruce, appreciate the art of a dishy anecdote
🦚 never knew that one of the collective nouns for a group of peacocks is an “ostentation”
Follow me on Instagram for more book reviews!
Review of advance copy received from Author
A brilliant, charming, considered investigation of the "gay uncle" (and, by proxy, the "gay nephew") through the lens of one particular gay uncle: Bruce Pfau. Each essay weaves together cultural criticism with memoir, making a book that illuminates both the personal intricacies of this dynamic and its wider societal import. Highly recommend!
August 7, 2026
A unique, elegant and thoroughly engrossing book that combines a tenderness towards his uncle with a clear-eyed view of growing up queer. Thoughtful and intelligent, Pfau takes us from the macro view of societal norms to the most fine-tuned view of human experience.
August 11, 2026
DNF at around 30%.
September 15, 2026
Funny, sexy, honest, smart, and tender. This book is truly delightful!
June 16, 2026
Pfau takes vulnerability to new heights in this book. What could easily fall into meandering commentary reads more like prose. This frank examination of what it means to be a queer uncle and nephew is introspective, funny, and at times pretty heartbreaking. A great read for anyone (particularly a queer person) who wants to examine what it means to be an uncle, nephew, and ultimately a mentor. Finally, this serves as a pretty extensive index of queer literature, I’ve pulled quite a few for my Want to Read list. Would recommend!
Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews