I didn't love this book, and here, in a nutshell, from author, Steven Gaines, himself, why:
"The gay world in the 1970s was shallow and unforgiving. Since we were outlaws, we had outlaw sex. Gay men were dissolute beyond belief. When I whined to my peers that liberation wasn’t the same thing as promiscuity, I was told that I was a “bad homosexual.” I was indeed. In any event, the intensely hedonistic world in New York had its appeal, and I tried to embrace that world, thinking it was all that was left me. How I missed getting the plague is a miracle. I still do not feel entirely comfortable inside the gay world, despite its enormous strides toward equality. When I told a therapist that I didn’t think gay men on the whole liked me, he said that was because on the whole, I didn’t like gay men. I have none of the stereotypical talents ascribed to gay people. I can’t arrange flowers, decorate houses, or cut hair, and I don’t know or care what the best hotel is in Positano. And yet, if you asked me my blessings, chief among them was that I was born gay. And a Jew."
In a shortish memoir in which the choice was made to focus mostly on the author's fifteen year old self, post-suicide attempt, hospitalized --- at his own request --- at Payne Whitney, which he considers the glamorous location for being psychoanalyzed --- and the author's close-dealings with Broadway star, Mary Martin's, husband, the probably gay Richard Halliday; the later years of Mr. Payne's life are crammed into one very short, very uninformative --- lacking in memory, so to speak --- chapter.
A chapter in which it is clear he has never really gotten past his urge not to be gay, or, at the very least, his belief being straight is better. He goes so far as to say he did not want an apology from the doctor who tried to convert him with long-discredited psycho-tortures, even though the psychiatrist expressed his sorrow at having taken part in such practices. The author tries to excuse it by saying it was a different time. Perhaps, but that is akin to saying, "Well, the south in the 50s and 60s was way-racist so if you were in the KKK then, all good. Who knew?"
Every right-thinking person with a heart knew. But, sadly, some trace of shame seems still to inform Mr. Gaines' world view, and life-view, and I find that sad, and a weight too heavy to be balanced by any of the amusing anecdotes and Broadway-gossip included in the rest of the book.
It's a no for me. And not something I'd like younger LGBTQ people to read.