“Beebo Brinker” is described as ‘lesbian pulp fiction’. Written in 1962 by Ann Bannon, it is a prequel to the immensely popular series featuring this character. The series is one huge stepping stone along the path of gay and lesbian acceptance in the community.
It’s hard to know how to approach this review. Do I treat it solely as a reading experience, from my present day perspective? Do I give weight to its social and historical significance? Do I allow my emotions and heart to weigh in and give a subjective “me” review? (Well, I always do that, so I’m not going to change there).
The series has been republished by the ever-awesome Cleis Press. “Beebo Brinker’, although written last, is chronologically the first in the series. Having never read any of these before, I elected to start here.
Let me say I was quite fond of Beebo as a character. It’s hard not to feel sympathy for the awkward girl driven away from her rural home town, coming friendless and nearly penniless to New York. It’s easy to fall under the sway of her “boyish handsome face and muscular figure” and her wit and naivety. It’s harder to feel sympathy for the Beebo who treats her girlfriend (the doormat that is Paula Ash) with the same disrespect and callousness that rouses her ire when she observes her boss treating his wife the same way. But then there is so much stress on the mannish Beebo in these pages, and this was how many men treated their little women in the 1950s. See what I mean about Beebo-as-historical-document? (I will not make a Galaxy Quest reference here, oh no I won’t).
From my present day perspective, clichéd characters abound, there are a lot of early declarations of love (I remember at least three), and there’s a bit of unfinished business in the plot. But it doesn’t matter. Beebo-as-historical document again, in this case lesbian pulp fiction of the 1950s. It is what it is.
I enjoyed reading this. Sure, it dragged a little at times, and I had to make a conscious effort to overlook some things that made my present-day reading eye tsk tsk a little, and a bigger effort to overlook other things that made my present-day feminist-equality eye narrow in disgust, but the book as a whole? As uncritical, pure pleasure with a healthy dollop of sentimentality, with an awareness of what it would mean to lesbians of the era to read something like this? Loved it.
Hey Beebo! Never give up! Never surrender!