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Horse Crazy
A love story set in the age of AIDS, Horse Crazy tells of a successful 35-year-old writer's obsession with a beautiful, young would-be artist and former junkie. Caught in an emotional trap of his own devising, and with his ex-lover lying in a hospital dying of AIDS, the writer is forced to confront his own mortality in this brilliant novel of erotic obsession in the gay subculture of New York's East Village.
224 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1989
34 people are currently reading
2173 people want to read
About the author
Gary Indiana
73 books180 followersGary Hoisington, known as Gary Indiana, was an American writer, actor, artist, and cultural critic. He served as the art critic for the Village Voice weekly newspaper from 1985 to 1988. Indiana is best known for his classic American true-crime trilogy, Resentment, Three Month Fever: The Andrew Cunanan Story, and Depraved Indifference, chronicling the less permanent state of "depraved indifference" that characterized American life at the millennium's end. In the introduction to the recently re-published edition of Three Month Fever, critic Christopher Glazek has coined the phrase 'deflationary realism' to describe Indiana's writing, in contrast to the magical realism or hysterical realism of other contemporary writing.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 114 reviews
March 1, 2022
Gary Indiana is a wise and well-respected art critic. a photo of him will show a man who looks really gnomish, wizened well beyond his years, an almost malnourished version of Truman Capote. he is not even remotely a traditionally handsome guy. i say this not to be critical or demeaning; my point is that this is a man who has experienced difference his entire life - so i hoped his perspective would be informed by perhaps something of an outsider mentality. and this lack - combined with the knowledge that he is presumably an intelligent and discerning art critic - is exactly why the rote, annoying Horse Crazy was such a disappointment. Indiana tackles a story and a theme that is so familiar that it becomes inescapably dull and predictable and trite. it is like every other gay or non-gay novel in which an older guy chases after the skirts of some pretty young thing who ends up being a femme or homme fatale, a moral black hole. the eternal - and eternally predictable - pursuit of physical perfection. this is especially aggravating when considering who the author is and what he has probably experienced in his life - physical appearance does create 'outsider status', particularly in Gay World. so why did he play into this paradigm instead of reacting against it or even subverting it? was he aiming for marketable blandness and the standardized depiction of beauty in order to achieve... well, what exactly did he mean to achieve?
the writing is not at all bad. quite dry, quite sardonic. it is, unfortunately, the underlying ideas that are mediocre. there does not appear to be an awareness that a cliche is being trotted out, repeated in yet another book, per usual.
anyway, the novel itself. it is about a writer obsessed with a manipulative waiter (and a former heroin addict - thus the lame title). the waiter is, of course, oh such a handsome errant prince with such a great, junkie-chic body. the writer is, of course, all too easily strung along and taken advantage of. YAWN. the only reason this rises above 1-star material is that i had a lot of amusement when our protagonist learns that his love-of-a-lifetime is selling whatnot on a nyc sidewalk. his dawning realization that he is obsessed with someone who is not just a handsome hustler, but also a tacky, thieving bozo... priceless! suddenly he finds him to be not-so-cute. ha, ha - joke's on you, bougie sucker!
Indiana went on to deliver a postmodern trilogy based on famous modern crimes (among them, andrew cunanan's murder of versace and the menendez brothers' parental slayfest). i wonder if they are more interesting.
the writing is not at all bad. quite dry, quite sardonic. it is, unfortunately, the underlying ideas that are mediocre. there does not appear to be an awareness that a cliche is being trotted out, repeated in yet another book, per usual.
anyway, the novel itself. it is about a writer obsessed with a manipulative waiter (and a former heroin addict - thus the lame title). the waiter is, of course, oh such a handsome errant prince with such a great, junkie-chic body. the writer is, of course, all too easily strung along and taken advantage of. YAWN. the only reason this rises above 1-star material is that i had a lot of amusement when our protagonist learns that his love-of-a-lifetime is selling whatnot on a nyc sidewalk. his dawning realization that he is obsessed with someone who is not just a handsome hustler, but also a tacky, thieving bozo... priceless! suddenly he finds him to be not-so-cute. ha, ha - joke's on you, bougie sucker!
Indiana went on to deliver a postmodern trilogy based on famous modern crimes (among them, andrew cunanan's murder of versace and the menendez brothers' parental slayfest). i wonder if they are more interesting.
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October 1, 2020great! very little actual equestrian content though
October 1, 2024
There are some very negative reviews for this book but I think it is wonderfully powerful and moving as a portrait of love, lust,obsession and the complications it brings both for the person loved, lusted after, obsessed over and for the one who is doing the loving, lusting, obsessing. At the heart of the novel is the love that men feel for each other and I am surprised by the reductive and knee-jerk negative responses to this novel, some of them verge on the homophobic as well a being stupid such as, any older man being attracted to a younger man is perverse, older gay men looking at young men are comitting a form sexual harrasement, older gay men 'always' go for young straight men. It led me to wonder if the only stories worth reading are those between similarly aged individuals? are those who are exceptionally good looking not of interest? does being good looking negate the worth of an individual? Are those who take, or have taken, or are struggling with addictions not worth telling stories about? is it only prescription addicts acceptable worthy of synpathy? are those who score on the street less deserving of our attention? I can't help but feel that most of the criticism comes from the smug who are unwilling to look at, or consider anything different to, their vanilla world.
For me one of the most compelling and truthful things about this novel is the portrayal of Gregory, the beautiful young man, who maybe was a junkie and maybe isn't actually clean all the time (for most of the novel we don't know because the narrator doesn't know and can only report the action's of Gregory actions which give rise to these suspicions). In the end it is clear that Gregory is back on the stuff but that doesn't mean he is without true feelings or emotions. Despite lies and deceit a junkie can love someone other than themselves and behave in loving way towards them, being loved is complicated (maybe for some people it is straightforward and easy but I don't find it so) no matter who you are and you don't have to be a junkie to fail at it. Reducing the characters in this sharp brilliantly observed novel to clichés is both unfair and ridiculously reductive. If you want the banalities of a 'Love Simon' world (as in the novel by Becky Albertalli or the film it spawned) then go there, but don't condemn those whose lives are different to it.
I think 'Horse Crazy' is an exceptionally fine novel and one of Mr. Indiana's finest fictional works.
For me one of the most compelling and truthful things about this novel is the portrayal of Gregory, the beautiful young man, who maybe was a junkie and maybe isn't actually clean all the time (for most of the novel we don't know because the narrator doesn't know and can only report the action's of Gregory actions which give rise to these suspicions). In the end it is clear that Gregory is back on the stuff but that doesn't mean he is without true feelings or emotions. Despite lies and deceit a junkie can love someone other than themselves and behave in loving way towards them, being loved is complicated (maybe for some people it is straightforward and easy but I don't find it so) no matter who you are and you don't have to be a junkie to fail at it. Reducing the characters in this sharp brilliantly observed novel to clichés is both unfair and ridiculously reductive. If you want the banalities of a 'Love Simon' world (as in the novel by Becky Albertalli or the film it spawned) then go there, but don't condemn those whose lives are different to it.
I think 'Horse Crazy' is an exceptionally fine novel and one of Mr. Indiana's finest fictional works.
September 30, 2025
maybe the best literary portrayal of a toxic situationship
September 3, 2021
Kind of like when you accidentally catch sight of yourself in a magnified mirror
October 12, 2018
Despite being anchored (figuratively and literally) by a deeply frustrating tale of unrequited love, this first novel by Gary Indiana is a knock out. Like fog on the city streets in a film noir, interspersed throughout are some of the most devastating and astute observations of the physical and emotional toll rendered by AIDS crisis that I've ever read. Those who read the novel as about a sexless "love affair" between the narrator and the his muse miss the forest for the trees. This is an AIDS novel by any other name. It's mastery comes from the dichotomy between 1) the matter-of-fact, war-like reportage of the effects/mood of the Plague era and 2) the exasperating, inexplicable relationship between two un-likeable homosexuals in 1980s New York City. What would you do if the world around you was ending? Distract yourself in an unhealthy, sexless, one-way relationship with a former (?) drug addict using you for your money? There are worse things you could do. As Indiana writes, "We live in a time when bad things happen so frequently, to so many people, that it's an entire vocation to keep up with the bad news."
October 10, 2017
"Or do people like to poison themselves and each other with morality when the slightest pleasure makes it possible to breathe for a change."
I thought this to be an outstanding dissection of a relationship (in this case, homosexual, but I agree with William Burroughs in that this is "an archetypical story, expertly told. Fascinating to everyman, no matter what his sexual tastes" - or hers, come to that). In some ways - obliquely - it reminded me of the obsessive love story, "The Tunnel" by Ernesto Sabato which I also love. And whilst this is in many respects completely different to that, the resonance meant I enjoyed it all the more. Packed with anecdotal detail, occasional comedy, and utter frustration from the narrator, this short novel feels painfully real - a perfect example of how love distorts reality, opaquely, in which the madness revealed is just as tantalising as love's absence, of how obsession can wreck even the most logical of us. Highly recommended.
I thought this to be an outstanding dissection of a relationship (in this case, homosexual, but I agree with William Burroughs in that this is "an archetypical story, expertly told. Fascinating to everyman, no matter what his sexual tastes" - or hers, come to that). In some ways - obliquely - it reminded me of the obsessive love story, "The Tunnel" by Ernesto Sabato which I also love. And whilst this is in many respects completely different to that, the resonance meant I enjoyed it all the more. Packed with anecdotal detail, occasional comedy, and utter frustration from the narrator, this short novel feels painfully real - a perfect example of how love distorts reality, opaquely, in which the madness revealed is just as tantalising as love's absence, of how obsession can wreck even the most logical of us. Highly recommended.
April 15, 2025
carefully written, draws you into the rush, consumption, and ultimately the banality of desire. the stakes of desire when you’re told your desire can kill. daring and inventive and — i would argue!— underrated
May 5, 2021
Tijdens het lezen moest ik vaak aan Bright Lights, Big City denken, van Jay McInerney. Daarin volgen we ook een gefictionaliseerde versie van de auteur, terwijl hij zijn schrijfleven op orde probeert te krijgen, waarbij ook een af- en aanwezige liefde roet in het eten gooit. De roman Horse Crazy van Gary Indiana is in alle opzichten de schaduw van McInerney; waar Bright Lights een feest van yuppen-exces, toont Horse Crazy the underbelly van New York medio 1985: straatarm, vies en gevaarlijk. Het zou een interessante lezing opleveren om deze twee romans naast elkaar te lezen.
September 2, 2025
thought it dragged a bit in the beginning, but rly got me in the end - kind of unhinged
August 3, 2016
I just wrote that I never wanted "to read another story about a sad sack young man in love with a 'crazy.'" Yet I just finished another book about a sad sack (not young) man in love with a "crazy." In this case it's an older vain writer in love with a younger beautiful man, who won't sleep with the writer, yet the young beauty proclaims his love, while the writer grows paranoid and crazy, and gives us a very nasty portrait of his vain, deceitful, disloyal, and duplicitous "boyfriend."
My friend who loves this book loves books about alcoholic writers "struggling" with their writing. (Which this book is.) Loves stories about NYC, esp. from the 80s. (Which this book is.) Loves dark stories about obsession and despondency and how the writer is put upon by sociopaths, degenerates, and our shitty world. (Which this book is.) And he loves books about doomed love affairs. (Which this book is.)
But I'm sick of that shit.
Again, this book is well written. Indiana's writing swings from twitchy neurotic to genuflecting submissive to frenzied paranoiac. The dialogs is right, always, and the amazing setting is as vibrant as a gritty color photo from Nan Goldin. But the writer is as delusional as his love interest and never too concerned with his own participation in his complete debasement. I mean, the writer does submit himself to his pretty boyfriend as someone to be completely used, but when it actually happens, and when the object of the writer's obsession devours him, as he asked, the self-awareness slides away and we fall into the writer's confused, "ohdeargodwhyme"s.
I guess what I want is a full account of the writer's culpability. I guess I'm a little ruined by Proust who shows how a character like Swann can deceitfully weave a web of "love" that captures both him and the object of his obsession, and you, the reader, feel for Swann because you've been there, while at the same time despising his creepy game, and the way everyone plays their part. I guess that happens here, but the writer seems to spin a web of lies that he's a part of and that he's shoving down our throats. And there's an inability to face up to the awfulness that he must be. I guess I just don't want to read anymore books about struggling and reserved assholes falling in love with "crazies." Enough of that. It's a lie. Worse, most of us have been there; have been both the asshole and the crazy. So let's not write nor read about it anymore.
But what I love about this book is the setting. It's a great picture of the bohemian scene in 80s NYC. It's a portrait of a vital world, long gone, with appearances from the artist David Wojnarowicz (who died of AIDS), several artists I can't quite place, the director Dieter Schidor (who died of AIDS), and I think, Ulrike Ottinger, the artist and actress. It's set largely amongst Indiana's gay friends, and the AIDS epidemic is starting to rampage through the Lower East Side / E. Village scene. Death starts making an odd and unwelcome appearance among the more familiar "in love with a crazy" narrative, and early mortality gives the rest of the story a sense of doom and tragedy. If the relationship works or doesn't work, death is on its way, and Indiana's world will soon be ground down.
And the ending... Wow. The ending is a brutal survivors ellipses about life moving forward, and it's jaw dropping and deeply sad. The standard pettiness of an individual fucked up relationship is dwarfed in a sea of finality.
My friend who loves this book loves books about alcoholic writers "struggling" with their writing. (Which this book is.) Loves stories about NYC, esp. from the 80s. (Which this book is.) Loves dark stories about obsession and despondency and how the writer is put upon by sociopaths, degenerates, and our shitty world. (Which this book is.) And he loves books about doomed love affairs. (Which this book is.)
But I'm sick of that shit.
Again, this book is well written. Indiana's writing swings from twitchy neurotic to genuflecting submissive to frenzied paranoiac. The dialogs is right, always, and the amazing setting is as vibrant as a gritty color photo from Nan Goldin. But the writer is as delusional as his love interest and never too concerned with his own participation in his complete debasement. I mean, the writer does submit himself to his pretty boyfriend as someone to be completely used, but when it actually happens, and when the object of the writer's obsession devours him, as he asked, the self-awareness slides away and we fall into the writer's confused, "ohdeargodwhyme"s.
I guess what I want is a full account of the writer's culpability. I guess I'm a little ruined by Proust who shows how a character like Swann can deceitfully weave a web of "love" that captures both him and the object of his obsession, and you, the reader, feel for Swann because you've been there, while at the same time despising his creepy game, and the way everyone plays their part. I guess that happens here, but the writer seems to spin a web of lies that he's a part of and that he's shoving down our throats. And there's an inability to face up to the awfulness that he must be. I guess I just don't want to read anymore books about struggling and reserved assholes falling in love with "crazies." Enough of that. It's a lie. Worse, most of us have been there; have been both the asshole and the crazy. So let's not write nor read about it anymore.
But what I love about this book is the setting. It's a great picture of the bohemian scene in 80s NYC. It's a portrait of a vital world, long gone, with appearances from the artist David Wojnarowicz (who died of AIDS), several artists I can't quite place, the director Dieter Schidor (who died of AIDS), and I think, Ulrike Ottinger, the artist and actress. It's set largely amongst Indiana's gay friends, and the AIDS epidemic is starting to rampage through the Lower East Side / E. Village scene. Death starts making an odd and unwelcome appearance among the more familiar "in love with a crazy" narrative, and early mortality gives the rest of the story a sense of doom and tragedy. If the relationship works or doesn't work, death is on its way, and Indiana's world will soon be ground down.
And the ending... Wow. The ending is a brutal survivors ellipses about life moving forward, and it's jaw dropping and deeply sad. The standard pettiness of an individual fucked up relationship is dwarfed in a sea of finality.
December 16, 2020
Great storytelling, kept me entertained right to the last page ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
March 8, 2021
Fever dreamy and paranoid and big hearted at times and full of these punchy critiques of society. Loved so much of this.
“What else can you do in this life, except attempt miracles?”
“What else can you do in this life, except attempt miracles?”
January 30, 2022
Stunning, searing novel. Told in a rush of hard truths and honesty.
Couldn’t put it down.
Couldn’t put it down.
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November 22, 2023a masterclass in sticking the landing
February 3, 2025
totally distinctive and generational cleverness, sensibility, tonality. flippant, then earnest, then lacerating, then nonchalant, then fed up, then lovely and careful, then its over just like that!
December 20, 2023
Read a hundred pages a day and spontaneously burst into tears at john jay upon finishing
November 7, 2024
God I love Gary. This book is so funny and mean and annoying and true to life, i loved it. Gregory is the fucking worst, and of course we’ve all had our own Gregory— that person who you become enmeshed with and can’t seem to shake, despite knowing that it’s going nowhere and that they’re ruining your life. Several scenes had me laughing out loud. and the ending, perfection. No one does it like Gary, truly.
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February 5, 2025gary indiana the best to ever do it. rip, love u forever
October 5, 2025
Gay, sexy, gritty, Horse Crazy showcases NYC in the eighties. I truly cannot wrap my head around the fact that this was Gary Indiana’s first novel…! He’s funny, he’s dark, he’s writing about being in love in the midst of the AIDS epidemic. A love letter to gay New York and the Lower East Side.
January 2, 2023
lovely writing but the whole time i was like damn this guy needs to get a grip
June 25, 2023
Says nothing, badly.
July 4, 2024
This was the second of Indiana’s novels that I have read, and I definitely enjoyed this more than I enjoyed Rent Boy, though that may also be because I’ve just gotten more used to reading his style of writing.
Everyone who knows me knows that I am a sucker for anything gay set in the time before I was born, especially anything set during the AIDS epidemic. So the insight into it that this book gave, especially as it was set in New York, was fantastically interesting, and I really found the portrayal of the MCs reaction to it very realistic and relatable, because who hasn’t ignored how bad things are getting and how much we, ourselves, are affected by them because it’s easier to do than to really face the reality of the situation?
In general I related a lot both to the MC and the love interest, who I both condemned and found some of my features reflected in.
Overall I really enjoyed this more than I thought I would, and I will definitely be reading more of Indiana’s works in the future.
Everyone who knows me knows that I am a sucker for anything gay set in the time before I was born, especially anything set during the AIDS epidemic. So the insight into it that this book gave, especially as it was set in New York, was fantastically interesting, and I really found the portrayal of the MCs reaction to it very realistic and relatable, because who hasn’t ignored how bad things are getting and how much we, ourselves, are affected by them because it’s easier to do than to really face the reality of the situation?
In general I related a lot both to the MC and the love interest, who I both condemned and found some of my features reflected in.
Overall I really enjoyed this more than I thought I would, and I will definitely be reading more of Indiana’s works in the future.
January 23, 2025
Faaaantastic. My first full Gary… what a delight, if a heavy one. Stories of obsessive, nontraditional (what I mean to say is “queer” but I hesitate because of the weight of that word these days) desire—and, arguably, love—seem to be orbiting me these days and this was no disappointment. Indiana takes the “archetypal story” that Burroughs notes in a blurb and squeezes it for all it is, leaving both parties far from blameless and yet rendering each with a careful and heartbreaking innocence. “Affection is the mortal illness of lonely people”…
Some review somewhere describes Gary as “one of the best contemporary (it may have said “living,” but how sad that that’s no longer the case) prose stylists and I’d have to say it’s true, I mean no one is really writing like him at all, the way he builds a rhythm through these fantastic paragraphs and then punctuates them with an aphorism (see the quote above) worthy of Kafka. In fact the whole book is structured this way really, Indiana dragging us along through miles of rooms and occurrences and dramatics and ending it all with a joke. Would be interesting to think about alongside “The Souvenir,” as both heroin literature & not only autobiographical fiction but writing on writing: “I haven’t the heart to tell my own story, and keep looking for less convoluted fictions. Love like a stone in the stomach, a penance, a noose: love like a crime. Is this about love, I wonder.”
Some review somewhere describes Gary as “one of the best contemporary (it may have said “living,” but how sad that that’s no longer the case) prose stylists and I’d have to say it’s true, I mean no one is really writing like him at all, the way he builds a rhythm through these fantastic paragraphs and then punctuates them with an aphorism (see the quote above) worthy of Kafka. In fact the whole book is structured this way really, Indiana dragging us along through miles of rooms and occurrences and dramatics and ending it all with a joke. Would be interesting to think about alongside “The Souvenir,” as both heroin literature & not only autobiographical fiction but writing on writing: “I haven’t the heart to tell my own story, and keep looking for less convoluted fictions. Love like a stone in the stomach, a penance, a noose: love like a crime. Is this about love, I wonder.”
December 16, 2025
this is not a love story.. i'd say get a nine to five or don't, move out of the city, quit smoking or don't, break up with your shitty boyfriend and the despair will pass and it will come back stronger too, the unfortunate thing is that indiana is at his best when he's writing about anything other than the subject of this novel (i'm not saying do this bloodless hetero delillo thing but get a grip in the editing process at least). I DO NOT WANT CIGARETTE. don't freak out amid uncertainty, be an artistic visionary with a trust fund and an instagram account. this kind of life doesn't exist (expansively) anymore but you can pretend for a little while as long as you don't take gay book recommendations from straight women anymore no matter how beautiful they are
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November 3, 2024Gary Indiana tells us desire can be (or maybe always is) as self-destructive, all-consuming and euphoric as heroin. In fiction giving yourself up completely for someone else is sometimes presented as the highest form of love, and is often almost a moral good. Here, to give yourself up is to debase and degrade yourself, to lose your sanity and your health. Human connection is always an ideal that is disappointed before returning to our natural state of loneliness and alienation. But since we are all addicts, what can we do except fall off the wagon over and over again.
Dark perspective but I loved it and would like to read some more
Dark perspective but I loved it and would like to read some more
February 24, 2019
One of the earlier New York AIDS novels - or a novel set in the time of the early AIDS crisis - Gary Indiana's Horse Crazy offers up a tale of emotional and other dependencies. Addiction stalks through the streets of Indiana's Lower East Side, as his characters succumb to drugs to love to boys to work while the world falls apart around them through AIDS and gentrification. Indiana writes with an anxious fury.
December 27, 2023
I loved this book. Very I Love Dick to me. I am in love with the frankness, honesty, & grossness that new narrative people write about love and desire. And I loved the prose especially, I appreciated, again, its frankness. The strangeness of its metaphors however subtle. I just want to read another book by Gary Indiana now. Wow
June 16, 2025
4.5 stars
An incisive depiction of the 80s downtown scene as the AIDS crisis accelerated, and a sometimes painfully depiction of a bright man’s infatuation with a beautiful younger man. The only significant flaw here is that that younger man is frustratingly vacuous. But that’s the novel: 225 pages of helpless desire and blue balls.
An incisive depiction of the 80s downtown scene as the AIDS crisis accelerated, and a sometimes painfully depiction of a bright man’s infatuation with a beautiful younger man. The only significant flaw here is that that younger man is frustratingly vacuous. But that’s the novel: 225 pages of helpless desire and blue balls.
August 7, 2024
Yelling “dump him!” on every page to no avail. But it felt real, as in mostly ridiculous. Everyone is deeply flawed. Some moments touched me deeply. Glad to have finally read something by Gary Indiana, and will read more. 4.5 stars probs
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