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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 - 6 of 6 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.
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.
May 31, 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.
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.
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!
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews