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Gay Bar: Why We Went Out
For readers of Hilton Als and Maggie Nelson, a brilliantly evocative fusion of cultural criticism, history, and memoir telling the story of the gay bar, arguably on the brink of extinction.
In the era of Grindr and same-sex marriage, gay bars are closing down at an alarming rate. What, then, was the gay bar? Set between Los Angeles, San Francisco, and London, Gay Bar takes us on a time-traveling, transatlantic bar hop through pulsing nightclubs, after-work dives, hardcore leather bars, gay cafes, and saunas, asking what these places meant to their original clientele, what they meant to the author as a younger man, and what they mean now.
In prose as exuberant as a hit of poppers and as dazzling as a disco ball, Atherton Lin conjures the strobing lights and the throbbing music, the smell and taste of tangles of male bodies, the rough and tender anonymous encounters, the costumes and categories--twink, top, masc, queen, tweaker, tourist, voyeur, exhibitionist--all the while tracking the protean aesthetics of masculinity and gayness. Along the way, he invites us to go beyond the simplified gay bar liberation mythology of Stonewall and enter the many other battlefields in the war to carve out space in which to exist, express, and love as a gay man.
Elegiac, sexy, and sparkling with wry wit, Gay Bar is at once a serious critical inquiry into how we construct ourselves through the spaces we inhabit and an epic night out to remember.
In the era of Grindr and same-sex marriage, gay bars are closing down at an alarming rate. What, then, was the gay bar? Set between Los Angeles, San Francisco, and London, Gay Bar takes us on a time-traveling, transatlantic bar hop through pulsing nightclubs, after-work dives, hardcore leather bars, gay cafes, and saunas, asking what these places meant to their original clientele, what they meant to the author as a younger man, and what they mean now.
In prose as exuberant as a hit of poppers and as dazzling as a disco ball, Atherton Lin conjures the strobing lights and the throbbing music, the smell and taste of tangles of male bodies, the rough and tender anonymous encounters, the costumes and categories--twink, top, masc, queen, tweaker, tourist, voyeur, exhibitionist--all the while tracking the protean aesthetics of masculinity and gayness. Along the way, he invites us to go beyond the simplified gay bar liberation mythology of Stonewall and enter the many other battlefields in the war to carve out space in which to exist, express, and love as a gay man.
Elegiac, sexy, and sparkling with wry wit, Gay Bar is at once a serious critical inquiry into how we construct ourselves through the spaces we inhabit and an epic night out to remember.
306 pages, Hardcover
First published February 9, 2021
About the author
Jeremy Atherton Lin
6 books310 followersHello — I'm the author of Deep House and Gay Bar. My work appears in the anthologies Sluts, A Great Gay Book and Little Joe. My essays have been published in places such as The Paris Review, The Yale Review and The Times Literary Supplement. You can find links to these on my website, along with profiles of artists including Wolfgang Tillmans (for Frieze) and Sam Smith (for GQ) as well as fiction reviews for The Guardian and The Washington Post. You can also listen to my playlists + mixes. Please enjoy! Thanks very much for reading and sharing your thoughts. Good wishes –jAL
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 957 reviews
February 17, 2021
Gay Bar is an unexpected memoir of queerness and the spaces it inhabits.
Jeremy Atherton Lin finds himself at home in gay bars be they in London, Los Angeles, or San Francisco. But this home - from before his birth until today - has always been fluid, recast as a space as reflective of the outside world as of the gays then queers then others who congregate inside its walls. Lin recounts his own journey weaving a story of drag bars in Blackpool, drugs in West Hollywood, and history in the Castro, but at each stop on this journey he does so much more: he asks readers to consider what it means to be queer, what it means to have queer spaces, and what telling queer history really means. Gay Bar memorializes raunch, sex, friendship, and adventure; it tells the story of a shifting identity trying to find grounding in physical spaces that are themselves equally as shifting.
Gay Bar isn't a historical account of gay bars. It isn't an anthropological study of queerness. Lin's book is an attempt to piece together the past, present, and future of spaces that have - for better or worse - been gay.
Jeremy Atherton Lin finds himself at home in gay bars be they in London, Los Angeles, or San Francisco. But this home - from before his birth until today - has always been fluid, recast as a space as reflective of the outside world as of the gays then queers then others who congregate inside its walls. Lin recounts his own journey weaving a story of drag bars in Blackpool, drugs in West Hollywood, and history in the Castro, but at each stop on this journey he does so much more: he asks readers to consider what it means to be queer, what it means to have queer spaces, and what telling queer history really means. Gay Bar memorializes raunch, sex, friendship, and adventure; it tells the story of a shifting identity trying to find grounding in physical spaces that are themselves equally as shifting.
Gay Bar isn't a historical account of gay bars. It isn't an anthropological study of queerness. Lin's book is an attempt to piece together the past, present, and future of spaces that have - for better or worse - been gay.
March 19, 2021
I don’t go out much anymore since I got sober but once upon a time I was a party boy and went out every night of the week. Thanks to this cross continental adventure and Lin’s dense, detailed examination of the scene—those memories that shaped my life can live on more happily ever after.
Freshman year, college 1996, I was introduced to the UK magazine Attitude. I’ve been reading it every month ever since. Ages ago, they used to print candid snapshots of partygoers from various nights of the British club scene. Those people and that nightlife seemed so very far away from me and Minneapolis but it was the feature I always turned to first. Even as I was having more than my share of fun, I daydreamed of drinking, drugging and dancing at Horse Meat Disco or Popstarz. This book made those pages come back to life and I didn’t know it but I really needed this.
Freshman year, college 1996, I was introduced to the UK magazine Attitude. I’ve been reading it every month ever since. Ages ago, they used to print candid snapshots of partygoers from various nights of the British club scene. Those people and that nightlife seemed so very far away from me and Minneapolis but it was the feature I always turned to first. Even as I was having more than my share of fun, I daydreamed of drinking, drugging and dancing at Horse Meat Disco or Popstarz. This book made those pages come back to life and I didn’t know it but I really needed this.
March 10, 2021
Years ago, in my early 20s I worked in one of Vancouver’s biggest gay bars. I lived in the gay village and would consider myself a part of the gay community. That said, with the benefit of hindsight, I look back on that time in life and can recall a feeling of alienation from my community. I never quite understood what it was: Was I not White enough? Was I not buff enough? Was I not casual enough about sex? Was I too analytical? Was I not fun enough? While most people experience adolescence as a time of self-doubt, I, like many gay men, were brimming with a false sense of confidence until they encountered “the community”. Indeed, it wasn’t until I started properly dating men that I realized that my race was an issue at all. All of this is captured wonderfully in a quote from Jeremy Atherton Lin’s Gay Bar: Why We Went Out: “I was under the impression I was always late to the party, but in fact, I may not have been invited.”
Promotion for this book started late last year and when I read advanced reviews about it, I was excited. Gay Bar: Why We Went Out is marketed as three books in one. First, a travelogue about the various bars that Lin has frequented throughout the various stages of his life. Second, gay cultural criticism, more on this later. And third, a memoir of Lin’s big gay life. It should come as no surprise that I love book that delve into the political and cultural. That said, there being so little cultural criticism of the gay community from the point of view of a gay Asian male, (Lin is the product of a biracial marriage) I was incredibly excited to dive into this debut work of non-fiction, believing, albeit selfishly, that it would speak to my experience.
After finishing this book, my overall experience is far more nuanced than my expectations. Take for example, the subject of race. Despite the above passage, Lin writes about his race only two other times: one, in a moving vignette in which he visits his Asian relatives; and second, in a London bar, when another person of colour, a black man, suddenly arrives on the scene. In this latter encounter, there is no dialogue, simply the tacit acknowledgement of being an “other” in a space in which you are minority among a minority. While I did not expect this book to be about a racial gay experience, it’s omission from much of the book’s discourse, is stunning. All of the venues that Lin visits are predominantly white. In fact, the traditionally Black and LatinX bars, from which much of mainstream gay culture is derided from, is only briefly mentioned in Lin’s otherwise fantastic history of gay venues. In one particularly disappointing chapter, Lin begins to explore the relationship that has evolved in London between anti-Muslim skinheads, the Brexit movement, and gay culture. Sadly, this goes nowhere; a worthwhile and important conversation, left on the side.
Perhaps even more problematic is Lin’s equating gay nightlife with gay desire. To Lin, “late at night all the men in the room are referred to as ‘boys’ and this approximation of Neverland, evinces a mindset of perennial searching.” Lin writes in exacting detail about his prolific sex life, and yet despite this being a memoir, we know nothing of his friendships, his siblings, his mentors, his coworkers, or any other relationship that may give us an inkling of who this individual is other than his proclivity to group and public sex. To many people, the gay bar has meant many things other than a room in which to pick up. One need only watch an episode of Pose or Ru Paul’s Drag Race to understand the community one can find in a gay bar. Lin however seems content to only explore the seedier side of gay life. How disappointing and yet unsurprising. While sex positivity is something that is something that has always been attributed to the gay community, it’s important to remember how narrow that community has viewed beauty and attractiveness: White, cisgender, masculine. Moreover, those individuals born in other cultures may have different relationships to sex, gender, relationships, and monogamy. Sexual freedom and choice is a privilege that can be exercised only by those in power.
It’s no surprise that the death of the Gay Bar is happening in a time where the traditional gay community, (white, cisgender, masculine) find themselves at an inflection point. Increasingly, White, cisgender, gay men find themselves in positions of power and privilege. Rather than a minority band of merry misfits, they are the gatekeepers of gay culture, gay social norms, and gay beauty. One need only look at the online discourse of “Gays Over Covid” or “Gays for Trump” to recognize that something is afoot. All of this is fascinating stuff. Sadly, Lin doesn’t seem particularly interesting in having that conversation.
Where the book is more successful is as travelogue. The way that Lin can give a sense of geography both literal and social to a bar is probably the strongest aspect of the book. Indeed, it’s stunning how much history can be found within the walls of a gay bar.
Overall, it’s clear I was disappointed with this book. It was perfectly fine and there were genuine moments of interest. That said, it never got into the conversation I was really hoping it would get into. Maybe that’s on me and not on the author. That said, I can’t help be feel that an opportunity was lost here.
Promotion for this book started late last year and when I read advanced reviews about it, I was excited. Gay Bar: Why We Went Out is marketed as three books in one. First, a travelogue about the various bars that Lin has frequented throughout the various stages of his life. Second, gay cultural criticism, more on this later. And third, a memoir of Lin’s big gay life. It should come as no surprise that I love book that delve into the political and cultural. That said, there being so little cultural criticism of the gay community from the point of view of a gay Asian male, (Lin is the product of a biracial marriage) I was incredibly excited to dive into this debut work of non-fiction, believing, albeit selfishly, that it would speak to my experience.
After finishing this book, my overall experience is far more nuanced than my expectations. Take for example, the subject of race. Despite the above passage, Lin writes about his race only two other times: one, in a moving vignette in which he visits his Asian relatives; and second, in a London bar, when another person of colour, a black man, suddenly arrives on the scene. In this latter encounter, there is no dialogue, simply the tacit acknowledgement of being an “other” in a space in which you are minority among a minority. While I did not expect this book to be about a racial gay experience, it’s omission from much of the book’s discourse, is stunning. All of the venues that Lin visits are predominantly white. In fact, the traditionally Black and LatinX bars, from which much of mainstream gay culture is derided from, is only briefly mentioned in Lin’s otherwise fantastic history of gay venues. In one particularly disappointing chapter, Lin begins to explore the relationship that has evolved in London between anti-Muslim skinheads, the Brexit movement, and gay culture. Sadly, this goes nowhere; a worthwhile and important conversation, left on the side.
Perhaps even more problematic is Lin’s equating gay nightlife with gay desire. To Lin, “late at night all the men in the room are referred to as ‘boys’ and this approximation of Neverland, evinces a mindset of perennial searching.” Lin writes in exacting detail about his prolific sex life, and yet despite this being a memoir, we know nothing of his friendships, his siblings, his mentors, his coworkers, or any other relationship that may give us an inkling of who this individual is other than his proclivity to group and public sex. To many people, the gay bar has meant many things other than a room in which to pick up. One need only watch an episode of Pose or Ru Paul’s Drag Race to understand the community one can find in a gay bar. Lin however seems content to only explore the seedier side of gay life. How disappointing and yet unsurprising. While sex positivity is something that is something that has always been attributed to the gay community, it’s important to remember how narrow that community has viewed beauty and attractiveness: White, cisgender, masculine. Moreover, those individuals born in other cultures may have different relationships to sex, gender, relationships, and monogamy. Sexual freedom and choice is a privilege that can be exercised only by those in power.
It’s no surprise that the death of the Gay Bar is happening in a time where the traditional gay community, (white, cisgender, masculine) find themselves at an inflection point. Increasingly, White, cisgender, gay men find themselves in positions of power and privilege. Rather than a minority band of merry misfits, they are the gatekeepers of gay culture, gay social norms, and gay beauty. One need only look at the online discourse of “Gays Over Covid” or “Gays for Trump” to recognize that something is afoot. All of this is fascinating stuff. Sadly, Lin doesn’t seem particularly interesting in having that conversation.
Where the book is more successful is as travelogue. The way that Lin can give a sense of geography both literal and social to a bar is probably the strongest aspect of the book. Indeed, it’s stunning how much history can be found within the walls of a gay bar.
Overall, it’s clear I was disappointed with this book. It was perfectly fine and there were genuine moments of interest. That said, it never got into the conversation I was really hoping it would get into. Maybe that’s on me and not on the author. That said, I can’t help be feel that an opportunity was lost here.
March 16, 2021
Camp is a bright-pink succor amid the grind. Gay is the opium of the people. We once flattered ourselves that all popular culture was subversively designed to amuse gay men. It's become apparent gay men are there to make popular culture amusing to everybody else.
Reading this book is definitely like going to a gay club and being psychically pummelled by the music because it is so loud, not to mention drowning in a sea of sweaty men. There is a description towards the end of … someplace (names and locations do tend to blur after a while) where Jeremy Atherton Lin describes how the blocked toilets caused piss and spilled drink to flow together onto the dance floor. But all of the dancers had on sensible work boots, for one does not take the plumbing of a gay-men’s bar for granted. Gay men are just like that. Eminently sensible.
Not. ‘Gay Bar’ is an inspired account of what Kirkus politely calls “a writer’s intimate trans-Atlantic history of gay bars”. The word ‘intimate’ is a bit of a euphemism, because what Lin does with this book is give the so-called ‘gay community’ mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and a colonoscopy at the same time. Admittedly that is a strange description, not to mention combination. Then again this is a strange book. Wonderfully, fabulously so.
There are only seven chapters, each representing a specific venue (The Dark Walks, The Factory, The Adelphi, The Windows, The Neighbours, The Apprentice and The Borders), but these seven chapters contain multitudes. Well, continents, regions, districts, communities.
Ultimately, the eye-popping pogoing between a truly bewildering and eclectic array of watering holes across the world (well, at least Europe and the US, which is the entire world to many gays) is quite misleading though, because the real driver propelling the author and his ubiquitous partner is to be found in the sub-title: ‘Why We Went Out’:
We go out to get some. … We go out because we’re thirsty. We go out to return to the thrill of the chase. We want to be in a room full of penises wherein each contains the strong possibility that it is, to use the old-fashioned queer initialism, tbh – to be had. … We go out for the aroma. Some nights just smell like trouble. The city at dusk carries the scent of all its citizens commingled. We head out on the dopamine. There are nights that have an audible pulse, so we dance.
I thought then of two lines from Paul Verlaine: ‘I dance to save myself. And find / Swimming in sweat, it’s in our common breath I fly.’
The above quote is highly indicative of Lin’s writing style: Beautifully modulated and expressive, with a knack of turning a phrase as slick as a drag queen’s nail polish. An impressive array of quotes, ideas and intellectual sparring from commentators, authors, academics (and one suspects just hangers-on) litter the text like glitter on a queen’s boa. Lin wears his formidable knowledge lightly though, and is always careful to engage (and indulge) the reader.
One of the most disarming aspects of ‘Gay Bar’ though is one I only picked up on a fair way into the book. And that only because the character in question is such a part of the background. I am, of course, referring to ‘Famous’, Lin’s moniker for his partner, which apparently is derived from the Leonard Cohen song ‘Famous Blue Raincoat’.
No, I don’t get it either, but it is clearly a term of endearment, and after a while becomes an indelible part of the character. Lin writes about his relationship with an aching sense of tenderness, even in such deliberately provocative and transgressive scenes where they take a boy home together from some bar and undress him with a sense of wonderment (and entitlement).
Of course, any reader in enforced pandemic lockdown is likely to be both highly envious, not to mention rather appalled, at the goings-on here. Of which the number is startling, to say the least, and engaged in with a commitment to synaesthesia and general wanton abandonment that is, well, quite alluring. I did say it was a strange book.
We all have fond memories of dingy bars filled with even dodgier people where, despite the tin foil serving as decoration on the bar shelves and the ever-present whiff of disinfectant from the toilets, we came together as some kind of a community. But has this actually ever been the case, Lin questions? “As long as humans survive, there will be social spaces, and they will contain hierarchies negotiated in terms of power and exclusion.”
Nowhere is this perhaps truer than in a gay bar, where the dewy-eyed youngster wandering in from some rural idyll to ‘find himself’ is simply regarded by the lurking old predators as fresh meat, as opposed to an acolyte to which the Torch of Gay Knowledge™ can be, er, gaily passed. And if we still think that gay clubs and bars are a ‘safe space’ to retreat to from an increasingly hostile and dangerous world, we should never forget the Pulse shooting, or the numerous people who have been beaten up or assaulted simply for the socially stigmatising crime of attending a ‘gay venue’.
Lin accuses the bar and club industry of appropriating gay culture for commercial gain, and the LGBTQIA+ community for not only agreeing to, but actively encouraging in this appropriation. Is the bar/club a symbol of the amorphous gay community we belong to by default due to our sexual orientation, or is it a convenient corral or ghetto that keeps the deviants and weirdos safely sequestered from ‘normal’ society?
This is a complex issue, and it is also riven by generational fault lines. Lin notes sniffily that youngsters these days are not only fluid in gender but also in terms of their sense of community, and generally do not have a need to gravitate towards gay-only places and spaces (of which many in their day were racist, misogynist, classist, exclusionary and just generally pretty fucking awful on so many fronts, so who can blame them).
The youngsters, of course, delight in what is politely called ‘roleplay’, but what the Old Guard knows as gender fuckery. This means that not only do they feel equally at home in a ‘straight’ venue, but have no compunction to engage in gratuitous PDAs outside the (mythical) protection of a bona fide gay space. What’s to boot, even if you see two (or more) strangers snogging in such a situation, you have no idea if it is two straight guys just taking the piss, two real gay guys (whatever that means), or a gay guy and his straight friend taking the piss out of each other. It is, as Master Jack noted, a very strange world we live in.
And do not get Lin get started in on the subject of History, which the youngsters seem to think refers to what version of smartphone they currently own, or whether or not their hook-up apps have been properly updated. Youngsters just, well, live in the moment, with nary a care or interest in Culture or Heritage, those other Big Letter words that the Old Guard think they have sole proprietorship of.
If it wasn’t for our Struggle for Gay Rights, or the Sacrifice of the AIDS Era, Where Would You Be Today, Young Man? Lin considers this as circular logic, for the mere fact that we have gender-fluid, well-balanced, relatively sane and unfucked-up kids wandering around is the ultimate affirmation of the Struggle’s success. We hope.
I found it a bit difficult to figure out which side of the fence Lin himself straddles (sorry, one has to beware of bad puns in a review of a gay book). On the one hand, he excoriates the homonormative behaviour of ‘gay couples’ wanting to ‘marry’. But then he notes that all he has to do in order for Famous to get a visa and for them to live together forever, happily, is to become homonormative. Yes, Lin seems to say, there is a great big old rainbow out there for everyone.
Reading this book is definitely like going to a gay club and being psychically pummelled by the music because it is so loud, not to mention drowning in a sea of sweaty men. There is a description towards the end of … someplace (names and locations do tend to blur after a while) where Jeremy Atherton Lin describes how the blocked toilets caused piss and spilled drink to flow together onto the dance floor. But all of the dancers had on sensible work boots, for one does not take the plumbing of a gay-men’s bar for granted. Gay men are just like that. Eminently sensible.
Not. ‘Gay Bar’ is an inspired account of what Kirkus politely calls “a writer’s intimate trans-Atlantic history of gay bars”. The word ‘intimate’ is a bit of a euphemism, because what Lin does with this book is give the so-called ‘gay community’ mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and a colonoscopy at the same time. Admittedly that is a strange description, not to mention combination. Then again this is a strange book. Wonderfully, fabulously so.
There are only seven chapters, each representing a specific venue (The Dark Walks, The Factory, The Adelphi, The Windows, The Neighbours, The Apprentice and The Borders), but these seven chapters contain multitudes. Well, continents, regions, districts, communities.
Ultimately, the eye-popping pogoing between a truly bewildering and eclectic array of watering holes across the world (well, at least Europe and the US, which is the entire world to many gays) is quite misleading though, because the real driver propelling the author and his ubiquitous partner is to be found in the sub-title: ‘Why We Went Out’:
We go out to get some. … We go out because we’re thirsty. We go out to return to the thrill of the chase. We want to be in a room full of penises wherein each contains the strong possibility that it is, to use the old-fashioned queer initialism, tbh – to be had. … We go out for the aroma. Some nights just smell like trouble. The city at dusk carries the scent of all its citizens commingled. We head out on the dopamine. There are nights that have an audible pulse, so we dance.
I thought then of two lines from Paul Verlaine: ‘I dance to save myself. And find / Swimming in sweat, it’s in our common breath I fly.’
The above quote is highly indicative of Lin’s writing style: Beautifully modulated and expressive, with a knack of turning a phrase as slick as a drag queen’s nail polish. An impressive array of quotes, ideas and intellectual sparring from commentators, authors, academics (and one suspects just hangers-on) litter the text like glitter on a queen’s boa. Lin wears his formidable knowledge lightly though, and is always careful to engage (and indulge) the reader.
One of the most disarming aspects of ‘Gay Bar’ though is one I only picked up on a fair way into the book. And that only because the character in question is such a part of the background. I am, of course, referring to ‘Famous’, Lin’s moniker for his partner, which apparently is derived from the Leonard Cohen song ‘Famous Blue Raincoat’.
No, I don’t get it either, but it is clearly a term of endearment, and after a while becomes an indelible part of the character. Lin writes about his relationship with an aching sense of tenderness, even in such deliberately provocative and transgressive scenes where they take a boy home together from some bar and undress him with a sense of wonderment (and entitlement).
Of course, any reader in enforced pandemic lockdown is likely to be both highly envious, not to mention rather appalled, at the goings-on here. Of which the number is startling, to say the least, and engaged in with a commitment to synaesthesia and general wanton abandonment that is, well, quite alluring. I did say it was a strange book.
We all have fond memories of dingy bars filled with even dodgier people where, despite the tin foil serving as decoration on the bar shelves and the ever-present whiff of disinfectant from the toilets, we came together as some kind of a community. But has this actually ever been the case, Lin questions? “As long as humans survive, there will be social spaces, and they will contain hierarchies negotiated in terms of power and exclusion.”
Nowhere is this perhaps truer than in a gay bar, where the dewy-eyed youngster wandering in from some rural idyll to ‘find himself’ is simply regarded by the lurking old predators as fresh meat, as opposed to an acolyte to which the Torch of Gay Knowledge™ can be, er, gaily passed. And if we still think that gay clubs and bars are a ‘safe space’ to retreat to from an increasingly hostile and dangerous world, we should never forget the Pulse shooting, or the numerous people who have been beaten up or assaulted simply for the socially stigmatising crime of attending a ‘gay venue’.
Lin accuses the bar and club industry of appropriating gay culture for commercial gain, and the LGBTQIA+ community for not only agreeing to, but actively encouraging in this appropriation. Is the bar/club a symbol of the amorphous gay community we belong to by default due to our sexual orientation, or is it a convenient corral or ghetto that keeps the deviants and weirdos safely sequestered from ‘normal’ society?
This is a complex issue, and it is also riven by generational fault lines. Lin notes sniffily that youngsters these days are not only fluid in gender but also in terms of their sense of community, and generally do not have a need to gravitate towards gay-only places and spaces (of which many in their day were racist, misogynist, classist, exclusionary and just generally pretty fucking awful on so many fronts, so who can blame them).
The youngsters, of course, delight in what is politely called ‘roleplay’, but what the Old Guard knows as gender fuckery. This means that not only do they feel equally at home in a ‘straight’ venue, but have no compunction to engage in gratuitous PDAs outside the (mythical) protection of a bona fide gay space. What’s to boot, even if you see two (or more) strangers snogging in such a situation, you have no idea if it is two straight guys just taking the piss, two real gay guys (whatever that means), or a gay guy and his straight friend taking the piss out of each other. It is, as Master Jack noted, a very strange world we live in.
And do not get Lin get started in on the subject of History, which the youngsters seem to think refers to what version of smartphone they currently own, or whether or not their hook-up apps have been properly updated. Youngsters just, well, live in the moment, with nary a care or interest in Culture or Heritage, those other Big Letter words that the Old Guard think they have sole proprietorship of.
If it wasn’t for our Struggle for Gay Rights, or the Sacrifice of the AIDS Era, Where Would You Be Today, Young Man? Lin considers this as circular logic, for the mere fact that we have gender-fluid, well-balanced, relatively sane and unfucked-up kids wandering around is the ultimate affirmation of the Struggle’s success. We hope.
I found it a bit difficult to figure out which side of the fence Lin himself straddles (sorry, one has to beware of bad puns in a review of a gay book). On the one hand, he excoriates the homonormative behaviour of ‘gay couples’ wanting to ‘marry’. But then he notes that all he has to do in order for Famous to get a visa and for them to live together forever, happily, is to become homonormative. Yes, Lin seems to say, there is a great big old rainbow out there for everyone.
March 6, 2026
I read this stunning personal narrative on Mr. Lin's relationship to gay bars, what they meant to him as a space of being seen, a space to be anonymous, a space to have fun, frolic, love and to show pride of who he is and the gay community at large.
As a teacher who teaches a lot of non fiction text, I am planning on teaching excerpts from "The Stonewall Reader" in which contains essays and personal narrative that describe activists experiences of what it is like to be oppressed, what it is like to be liberated as an openly gay person, who is often stifled and not allowed to love as they choose (including other members of the LGBTQ community).
I loved Mr. Lin's narrative. It read as one long, fascinating ethnography of the gay bar as the mecca for escape and the place to be if you wanted to find love, sex, or even platonic company.
The text laments that gay bars are disappearing due to this current generation's obsession and need for gay apps on their smartphones, and the idea of going out, to put yourself out there, to be both bold and vulnerable, has been shrinking, "maybe there isn't a term for a sense of loss when you don't know what your missing" (Lin 52).
In spite of this, Lin writes about the glamorous, the tawdriness of gay life that is also haunted by the specter of AIDS and HIV, and the ghosts of those who died from AIDS.
There is also the observation that quite a few gay spaces tend to be frequented by white, gay men who become hypocrites when they exclude communities of color (who happen to be black, Asian, Latinix) or have vitriol against women.
What makes this a insightful book is Lin's assessment that "as long as humans survive, there will be social spaces, that contain hierarchies negotiated in terms of power and exclusion" (Lin 250). For me this includes not only gay establishments, but gay apps from the smartphones.
But "identity is articulated through the places we occupy, but both are constantly changing" (Lin 250). In this notion, I am hopeful.
As a teacher who teaches a lot of non fiction text, I am planning on teaching excerpts from "The Stonewall Reader" in which contains essays and personal narrative that describe activists experiences of what it is like to be oppressed, what it is like to be liberated as an openly gay person, who is often stifled and not allowed to love as they choose (including other members of the LGBTQ community).
I loved Mr. Lin's narrative. It read as one long, fascinating ethnography of the gay bar as the mecca for escape and the place to be if you wanted to find love, sex, or even platonic company.
The text laments that gay bars are disappearing due to this current generation's obsession and need for gay apps on their smartphones, and the idea of going out, to put yourself out there, to be both bold and vulnerable, has been shrinking, "maybe there isn't a term for a sense of loss when you don't know what your missing" (Lin 52).
In spite of this, Lin writes about the glamorous, the tawdriness of gay life that is also haunted by the specter of AIDS and HIV, and the ghosts of those who died from AIDS.
There is also the observation that quite a few gay spaces tend to be frequented by white, gay men who become hypocrites when they exclude communities of color (who happen to be black, Asian, Latinix) or have vitriol against women.
What makes this a insightful book is Lin's assessment that "as long as humans survive, there will be social spaces, that contain hierarchies negotiated in terms of power and exclusion" (Lin 250). For me this includes not only gay establishments, but gay apps from the smartphones.
But "identity is articulated through the places we occupy, but both are constantly changing" (Lin 250). In this notion, I am hopeful.
July 18, 2023
Winner of the National Book Critics Circle Award for Autobiography 2021
What an idea: Jeremy Atherton Lin tells his own coming-of-age story as a homosexual man through the lens of the history of the gay bar. Starting out in San Francisco and duly referencing queer literary icon Allen Ginsberg, Lin later moves to London and explores the scene there. The text mixes historical details with descriptions of bars, scenes and atmospheres, it adds some Proust, Adorno, and Tillmans, and all is intertwined with the very personal experiences of the author.
While Lin sees gay bars as archives of queer history, as places important to identity, he also stresses that they are not only threatened by rising property prices and the pandemic, but also illuminates more controversial angles like how the fact that LGBTQ+ people have more opportunities to blend into mainstream society affects decidedly queer spaces. Another important argument is that to him, gay bars were not safe spaces, and he did not want them to be - the conversation around this seems to have changed considerably.
Coming back to the aspect of identity though, Lin stresses that gay bars as communal spaces helped individual people to find their own place and character, and this is why it is justified to tell the story of the gay bar as an autobiography, or an autobiography via non-fiction about gay bars - it's this smart idea that renders the book so unique. Needless to say, there is also a lot of gay sex in here, and it's really well-written.
A special, interesting autobiography/memoir.
What an idea: Jeremy Atherton Lin tells his own coming-of-age story as a homosexual man through the lens of the history of the gay bar. Starting out in San Francisco and duly referencing queer literary icon Allen Ginsberg, Lin later moves to London and explores the scene there. The text mixes historical details with descriptions of bars, scenes and atmospheres, it adds some Proust, Adorno, and Tillmans, and all is intertwined with the very personal experiences of the author.
While Lin sees gay bars as archives of queer history, as places important to identity, he also stresses that they are not only threatened by rising property prices and the pandemic, but also illuminates more controversial angles like how the fact that LGBTQ+ people have more opportunities to blend into mainstream society affects decidedly queer spaces. Another important argument is that to him, gay bars were not safe spaces, and he did not want them to be - the conversation around this seems to have changed considerably.
Coming back to the aspect of identity though, Lin stresses that gay bars as communal spaces helped individual people to find their own place and character, and this is why it is justified to tell the story of the gay bar as an autobiography, or an autobiography via non-fiction about gay bars - it's this smart idea that renders the book so unique. Needless to say, there is also a lot of gay sex in here, and it's really well-written.
A special, interesting autobiography/memoir.
March 12, 2021
Journalists have been noting the rapid closure of gay bars for years and the economic strain of the past year's pandemic has certainly added to the demise of many more of these venues. So it feels especially poignant to read Jeremy Atherton Lin's nonfiction/memoir “Gay Bar” now as he catalogues his personal experience going to gay bars and other historic examples of notable establishments where gay people congregated. From this he considers the meaning of gay identity itself, notions of intimacy and the political/personal importance that these physical locations played in queer communities. The subtitle of this book “why we went out” feels especially poignant when considering why he and his long term partner 'Famous' went to bars to make friends, view the “scene” and have sex with other men. I really valued how candidly and explicitly he describes his experiences and what a positive example this gives of how sex is a part of Lin's own evolving sense of being a gay man and how an open long term relationship can work. His life, sensibility and values are very different from my own but I appreciate the intelligent and skilful ways he considers how experiences in gay-designated spaces can positively and negatively contribute to our personal and collective sense of gay identity.
Read my full review of Gay Bar by Jeremy Atherton Lin on LonesomeReader
Read my full review of Gay Bar by Jeremy Atherton Lin on LonesomeReader
April 13, 2021
"Gay Bar: Why We Went Out" has a weird format: it's a bit of a memoir threaded through the author's monograph on gay bars through the ages. The author grew up in the Bay Area, went to college in LA, and seems to have spent the majority of his adulthood in London, three of the best known gay metropoles; New York makes a few cameos as well, but absent are other notable gay cities--Sydney, Tel Aviv, Berlin, dare I include DC? As others have noted, this is a limited sampling, but for many gay folks the only cities to live in are these, anyway.
Lin is a talented writer, as I think most of the reviews I've read and heard readily admit. He can turn a sentence, and drop esoteric quotes and references seemingly effortlessly. He also ably describes his own experiences at gay bars, sharing specific songs and feelings and moments in a way that the reader feels situated there with him.
With that all said, I didn't really feel like I took too much away from this book. It felt like it didn't commit enough to either an interesting personal narrative or a comprehensive history to leave me with any lasting impression. As to the first, the author probably cannot help this; it's probably a rare thing to have a personal history worth putting to paper for others to consume, but I think that's all the more reason one would want to stick to telling others' stories--I think of The Deviant's War: The Homosexual vs. the United States of America by Eric Cervini and others that manage to convey important and underattended histories in engaging ways. This book had not enough of either to keep me very interested, and our book club managed about 10 minutes of discussion before moving on to other topics.
Last night my friend Patrick, who invited me to this book club, sent around this article, by Bryan Washington, which talks about his own experiences in gay bars, but in more of an episodic, anecdotal way. Obviously, such topics are more appropriate for an NYT article and might not be able to frame a whole book, but I still felt like I got more out of this one article than Lin's whole book. Not only because Washington describes the experience of building gay community in less metropolitan settings (Lin spends a bit of time talking about Blackpool in the United Kingdom, but the balance of the book deals with the gay meccas), but because he talks about gay community in a way that Lin either purposefully or accidentally glosses over. Lin's telling is about sexual encounters, shocking sights and smells, and dynamics; Washington talks about the miracle of queer spaces, the way that queer people together are greater than the sum of their parts, the way we find each other through sex or substance abuse or niche cultural interest and from these unlikely origins create family; for all of Lin's baleful warning about apps, there's no replacing this lifegiving aspect of being a queer person, or the gay bar's role in facilitating these queer communities.
Lin is a talented writer, as I think most of the reviews I've read and heard readily admit. He can turn a sentence, and drop esoteric quotes and references seemingly effortlessly. He also ably describes his own experiences at gay bars, sharing specific songs and feelings and moments in a way that the reader feels situated there with him.
With that all said, I didn't really feel like I took too much away from this book. It felt like it didn't commit enough to either an interesting personal narrative or a comprehensive history to leave me with any lasting impression. As to the first, the author probably cannot help this; it's probably a rare thing to have a personal history worth putting to paper for others to consume, but I think that's all the more reason one would want to stick to telling others' stories--I think of The Deviant's War: The Homosexual vs. the United States of America by Eric Cervini and others that manage to convey important and underattended histories in engaging ways. This book had not enough of either to keep me very interested, and our book club managed about 10 minutes of discussion before moving on to other topics.
Last night my friend Patrick, who invited me to this book club, sent around this article, by Bryan Washington, which talks about his own experiences in gay bars, but in more of an episodic, anecdotal way. Obviously, such topics are more appropriate for an NYT article and might not be able to frame a whole book, but I still felt like I got more out of this one article than Lin's whole book. Not only because Washington describes the experience of building gay community in less metropolitan settings (Lin spends a bit of time talking about Blackpool in the United Kingdom, but the balance of the book deals with the gay meccas), but because he talks about gay community in a way that Lin either purposefully or accidentally glosses over. Lin's telling is about sexual encounters, shocking sights and smells, and dynamics; Washington talks about the miracle of queer spaces, the way that queer people together are greater than the sum of their parts, the way we find each other through sex or substance abuse or niche cultural interest and from these unlikely origins create family; for all of Lin's baleful warning about apps, there's no replacing this lifegiving aspect of being a queer person, or the gay bar's role in facilitating these queer communities.
March 3, 2021
I'm of two minds here. On the one hand, it was kind of fun tagging along with Lin to the hangouts of his past. I'm familiar with many of the ones in San Francisco and it was amusing to revisit them. On the other, I found him--to use a dated phrase--too cool for school. I thought the book was overwritten and that Lin was kind of impressed with himself. Maybe that's the only kind of person who is going to write a book like this in the first place, which is fair. There were just certain literary conceits that seemed unnecessary. Why is his partner--whose identity is certainly not hidden in the acknowledgments--Famous Blue Raincoat, Famous for short? Why can't he just be Jamie? Lin has clearly thought a lot about the idea of himself in these spaces, which is partially the point of a memoir like this, and by extension relates to how all gay people might experience gay bars, but it also ends up reading as remarkably self-involved at moments.
I also agree with some other reviewers who were disappointed that there wasn't more of a social historical overview of the development of gay bars and their wane in the wake of apps and online dating and hook-up sites. There were snippets of history thrown in, to be sure, but not in any organized fashion. Perhaps the publisher's description of the book was just a bit misleading on this front, which may not be the author's fault.
I also agree with some other reviewers who were disappointed that there wasn't more of a social historical overview of the development of gay bars and their wane in the wake of apps and online dating and hook-up sites. There were snippets of history thrown in, to be sure, but not in any organized fashion. Perhaps the publisher's description of the book was just a bit misleading on this front, which may not be the author's fault.
March 25, 2021
I read Gay Bar: Why We Went Out by Jeremy Atherton Lin on audio, through my library (get into it). The author narrates the audiobook, which I feels heightens the experience.
Through Jeremy's encounters and the experiences of his friends, lovers, acquaintances we get to see the seemingly ephemeral Gay Bar. The Gay Bar as a location for people to gather and express themselves, as as the location of queer history-both where it occurs and where it is passed on.
I found Jeremy Atherton Lin's writing to be strikingly vivid, Gay Bar made me nostalgic for experiences I've never had.
Side note: Gay Bar has amazing book covers. I love them both!
Through Jeremy's encounters and the experiences of his friends, lovers, acquaintances we get to see the seemingly ephemeral Gay Bar. The Gay Bar as a location for people to gather and express themselves, as as the location of queer history-both where it occurs and where it is passed on.
I found Jeremy Atherton Lin's writing to be strikingly vivid, Gay Bar made me nostalgic for experiences I've never had.
Side note: Gay Bar has amazing book covers. I love them both!
June 14, 2025
This is a 3 for me because I already knew a lot of the content, so I didn’t feel like I learned much. However, it’s a lot of great content for anyone less familiar with gay history and gay culture. While it touches on other genders and sexualities, it’s a light touch. It is primarily a book about gay men and what life has been like for them since before AIDS was a US crisis.
March 19, 2021
I remember visiting my first gay bar. I remember trembling with anticipation and fear. I remember stepping inside and feeling the beat of the music vibrating on my skin, and the energy of the people around me vibrate in my soul. I remember feeling like suddenly, I knew where I belonged.
It is a difficult thing to watch as the spaces that provided me and my community safe haven shutter and close. This book asks the question; what are we losing? It also asks all the questions in between.
While exploring his past through stories of gay bars, pubs and clubs he's visited, Lin, magically takes us along with him evoking nostalgia, lust, and excitement through his words. While describing his own experiences I began to reflect on my own. It makes you wonder how many shared experiences gay men have of their times in these spaces.
I simply loved the idea of this book. I loved all the thought provoking questions and musing Lin offered up as well as just reading about his own stories.
It all simply worked, and I think any gay man of a certain age will truly enjoy the trip down memory lane that can be found in these pages. And if you're not of a certain age, this is a great way to step into the mind of a generation of gay men that came before, are still here now, and have plenty of nights out ahead of them!
It is a difficult thing to watch as the spaces that provided me and my community safe haven shutter and close. This book asks the question; what are we losing? It also asks all the questions in between.
While exploring his past through stories of gay bars, pubs and clubs he's visited, Lin, magically takes us along with him evoking nostalgia, lust, and excitement through his words. While describing his own experiences I began to reflect on my own. It makes you wonder how many shared experiences gay men have of their times in these spaces.
I simply loved the idea of this book. I loved all the thought provoking questions and musing Lin offered up as well as just reading about his own stories.
It all simply worked, and I think any gay man of a certain age will truly enjoy the trip down memory lane that can be found in these pages. And if you're not of a certain age, this is a great way to step into the mind of a generation of gay men that came before, are still here now, and have plenty of nights out ahead of them!
September 21, 2021
Jeremy Atherton Lin's
Gay Bar: Why We Went Out
is an interesting juxtaposition of sociology and personal memoir focused on gay bars.
Pre-pandemic, did you go to bars or pubs often? Did you frequent them when you were younger?
At different points in my life I enjoyed hanging out with my friends at bars. There’s a camaraderie at bars that’s always fun to watch as an observer, as everyone goes to bars for different reasons, but the less enamored I became of crowds the less frequently I went.
In Gay Bar: Why We Went Out , Lin traces the history of the gay bar through time, from truly secret places where discovery could be deadly, to places where joy could reign unfettered, even for a few hours, from places where people gathered to mourn, to spots that have their own places in their neighborhoods.
Lin also touches on his own experiences at gay bars through his life, mainly in three cities—Los Angeles, London, and San Francisco—with a few others thrown in sporadically. He talks about what it’s like to feel like you belong in a space, the furtive and sometimes shocking discoveries and encounters he had, and the connections he made—one in particular which changed his life.
This was an interesting read for Pride Month and it’s very well-written and well-researched. However, I felt like the book struggled with what it wanted to be. Was it a memoir or social commentary? I also wish Lin had touched on the role gay bars play in small communities—it’s much different than the meccas he touched on.
Check out my list of the best books I read in 2020 at https://itseithersadnessoreuphoria.blogspot.com/2021/01/the-best-books-i-read-in-2020.html.
See all of my reviews at itseithersadnessoreuphoria.blogspot.com.
Follow me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/the.bookishworld.of.yrralh/.
Pre-pandemic, did you go to bars or pubs often? Did you frequent them when you were younger?
At different points in my life I enjoyed hanging out with my friends at bars. There’s a camaraderie at bars that’s always fun to watch as an observer, as everyone goes to bars for different reasons, but the less enamored I became of crowds the less frequently I went.
In Gay Bar: Why We Went Out , Lin traces the history of the gay bar through time, from truly secret places where discovery could be deadly, to places where joy could reign unfettered, even for a few hours, from places where people gathered to mourn, to spots that have their own places in their neighborhoods.
Lin also touches on his own experiences at gay bars through his life, mainly in three cities—Los Angeles, London, and San Francisco—with a few others thrown in sporadically. He talks about what it’s like to feel like you belong in a space, the furtive and sometimes shocking discoveries and encounters he had, and the connections he made—one in particular which changed his life.
This was an interesting read for Pride Month and it’s very well-written and well-researched. However, I felt like the book struggled with what it wanted to be. Was it a memoir or social commentary? I also wish Lin had touched on the role gay bars play in small communities—it’s much different than the meccas he touched on.
Check out my list of the best books I read in 2020 at https://itseithersadnessoreuphoria.blogspot.com/2021/01/the-best-books-i-read-in-2020.html.
See all of my reviews at itseithersadnessoreuphoria.blogspot.com.
Follow me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/the.bookishworld.of.yrralh/.
January 27, 2022
Honestly, this book is more of a 2 star, "it was [an] ok" book, mostly because I didn't find the author and his personal stories that interesting, and I found myself skimming as fast as I could over those sections, skimming/skipping over quite a lot of the book, in fact. However, I did very much enjoy and appreciate the gay and social history aspects of this book, and learned a lot from those sections (which were nicely documented with copious footnotes, thanks), thus the bump up to three stars.
February 12, 2021
When I first stumbled upon this book, I thought it was a history of gay bars. To some extent, it is, but it’s also more than that. Carried through is a soulful, euphoric personal journey. With numerous think pieces and essays asking if gay bars are still necessary, I’m not sure this book answers the question; but it doesn’t have to. Instead, it makes clear that gay bars can’t be easily defined, boxed in. They’re messy and full of contradictions. But that’s what makes them — and this book – interesting.
February 25, 2021
My favorite parts of this book are the several instances when the author lists pop songs that he liked in the late 00s, because I too liked many of those songs.
April 29, 2021
This book was a great read! The author's voice sounded honest about his experiences with gay bars and people he came across. I'm surprised to learn that women chose to have their bachelorette's party at a gay bar. There were many references in this book I wasn't aware of like the crimes against gay in the UK. I was aware of the nightclub shooting in Florida. I'm surprised of the X-Rated actions in the gay bars dance floor the author and his companion attended. I have been to a small gay bar and nothing like that happened haha.. I can't imagine how it's considered passion by burying his face to another's armpit. I'm surprised to learn that there are public urinal in London to collect discarded semen where men rendezvous in public places to reduce the odor left on the streets or alleyways. Interesting to know when the vocabulary of gay, gay bar, and coming out was first introduced. I liked the mentioned of Vietnamese in Little Brown books lately, this one and The Chain!
This book was told first hand of the author's experience at gay bars. The book started out at bars in London, then Los Angeles, back to London before heading off to San Francisco and so on. At the bar in London, the guys just shuffled him around and pushed him down onto his knees asking him to suck someone because his was the biggest one there while somebody commented that the place reeked of the smell of penis. There are pictures in each chapter and within the chapters.
Gay Bar was well written and an interesting read! Good history coverage of different gay bars and transferred of ownership and name changes. I'm glad that when gays became more exposed and less closeted, bars sprouted out all over to give people the place to feel acceptable and completely comfortable. I have been reading a lot of fiction these past few years that this nonfiction surprised me with many big vocabularies I couldn't understand and many references like a research paper. Not an easy read or am I getting less smart for reading too many fictions with simple vocabularies..
xoxo, Jasmine at www.howusefulitis.wordpress.com for more details
Many thanks to Little Brown for the opportunity to read and review. Please be assured that my opinions are honest.
This book was told first hand of the author's experience at gay bars. The book started out at bars in London, then Los Angeles, back to London before heading off to San Francisco and so on. At the bar in London, the guys just shuffled him around and pushed him down onto his knees asking him to suck someone because his was the biggest one there while somebody commented that the place reeked of the smell of penis. There are pictures in each chapter and within the chapters.
Gay Bar was well written and an interesting read! Good history coverage of different gay bars and transferred of ownership and name changes. I'm glad that when gays became more exposed and less closeted, bars sprouted out all over to give people the place to feel acceptable and completely comfortable. I have been reading a lot of fiction these past few years that this nonfiction surprised me with many big vocabularies I couldn't understand and many references like a research paper. Not an easy read or am I getting less smart for reading too many fictions with simple vocabularies..
xoxo, Jasmine at www.howusefulitis.wordpress.com for more details
Many thanks to Little Brown for the opportunity to read and review. Please be assured that my opinions are honest.
April 17, 2021
I came to this book through Parul Sehgal's NYT review where she notes, correctly, that at its best, this book finds profundity in the regular mundane descriptions of bars, drugs, lovers, sex, being in an open relationship, having younger men to fuck (loved the 20-something guy who refuses anal because of the "administrative work" involved). It's moving because it's real, felt, and impressions of which I have felt.
At its worst, as Sehgal notes, Lin tries to be profound and this is when the book is at its most mundane. This is a critical ode to the gay bar and so there will be tainted nostalgia. ("Gay is an identity of longing and there is a wistfulness to be holding it in a building", "Identity is not just inscribed in our bodies, but articulated in places we inhabit.") This leap of profundity grates sometimes.
The biggest flux this book is trying to put its finger on is what it means to be gay today after legislations protecting certain aspects of queer life like marriage, market, and military (what the radical queers fought against assimilating towards), even as it threatens other parts of queer life, like the ongoing legal tussles over trans people's rights.
Are we post-gay, where you are gay but over it? ("The dissolution of identity is the ultimate civil rights achievement") Or should being queer today insist on intersectionality (Lin quotes a shirt, "Not gay as in happy, queer as in Fuck Your Borders") Queerness becomes a starting point towards coalition building, as opposed to quarantining within a minority status. A more expansive queerness.
The book zooms between San Fran, LA, and London. Lin uses history in between anecdotes, and commentary in between dialogues. There's a sense of being rooted to both an academic sincerity and personal nostalgia. Sometimes the narrative feels stuck, unable to drive either deep enough. But when it soars, with tossed off lines of great meaning and resonance, it really kicks.
At its worst, as Sehgal notes, Lin tries to be profound and this is when the book is at its most mundane. This is a critical ode to the gay bar and so there will be tainted nostalgia. ("Gay is an identity of longing and there is a wistfulness to be holding it in a building", "Identity is not just inscribed in our bodies, but articulated in places we inhabit.") This leap of profundity grates sometimes.
The biggest flux this book is trying to put its finger on is what it means to be gay today after legislations protecting certain aspects of queer life like marriage, market, and military (what the radical queers fought against assimilating towards), even as it threatens other parts of queer life, like the ongoing legal tussles over trans people's rights.
Are we post-gay, where you are gay but over it? ("The dissolution of identity is the ultimate civil rights achievement") Or should being queer today insist on intersectionality (Lin quotes a shirt, "Not gay as in happy, queer as in Fuck Your Borders") Queerness becomes a starting point towards coalition building, as opposed to quarantining within a minority status. A more expansive queerness.
The book zooms between San Fran, LA, and London. Lin uses history in between anecdotes, and commentary in between dialogues. There's a sense of being rooted to both an academic sincerity and personal nostalgia. Sometimes the narrative feels stuck, unable to drive either deep enough. But when it soars, with tossed off lines of great meaning and resonance, it really kicks.
May 28, 2021
2.5
I both enjoyed this and found it incredibly annoying. Certain "profundities" are so cloyingly sentimental in their performed intellectualism that I have to laugh, and the motif of Proust references make me want to vomit out of their abundant pretention. Lin also focuses a tad too much for me on gay bars as cruising spots, gay identity being predicated on the sex act (even if this is a bit critiqued by a twenty-something he meets later on who rejects anal for its necessitating too much "administrative work"). Gay bars and, on a parallel level, gayness, are not just notions defined by the prolific sexing Lin partakes in, which points a bit to his own tunnel vision and subsequent erasure of his periphery in these spaces. Regardless, it's a well-written treatise on contemporary queerness and the ways in which these spaces are both overstated and understated in their relevance to the queer community at large, a message deserving of this book and a possibly better one to follow.
I both enjoyed this and found it incredibly annoying. Certain "profundities" are so cloyingly sentimental in their performed intellectualism that I have to laugh, and the motif of Proust references make me want to vomit out of their abundant pretention. Lin also focuses a tad too much for me on gay bars as cruising spots, gay identity being predicated on the sex act (even if this is a bit critiqued by a twenty-something he meets later on who rejects anal for its necessitating too much "administrative work"). Gay bars and, on a parallel level, gayness, are not just notions defined by the prolific sexing Lin partakes in, which points a bit to his own tunnel vision and subsequent erasure of his periphery in these spaces. Regardless, it's a well-written treatise on contemporary queerness and the ways in which these spaces are both overstated and understated in their relevance to the queer community at large, a message deserving of this book and a possibly better one to follow.
September 29, 2023
A tired old queen reliving their party days. An over-sexed telling of bar-days from an old gay. How Groundbreaking /s. I was hoping to learn about gay bars from around the world that were influential to the gay liberation movement but what I got was a gay only going to white gay bars in white gay areas. It was a mediocre book at best.
March 2, 2021
A mix of memoir, history lesson, and literary quotes. All the things I enjoy mixed in my non-fiction. I really adore the raw truth of the author’s history and the closely examined meaning of so much of that history.
November 3, 2021
Was close to abandoning this halfway through the almost aggressively off-putting first chapter, but so glad I stuck with it: once it gets to LA & SF I was in a complete swoon. Such a pleasure to "see" so many places I also love deeply through somebody else's eyes, memories, experiences.
September 3, 2021
This book attempts to be part memoir, part rumination on queer theory, and part LGBTQIA+ history. It fails at all three. Pretentious and boring.
Read
March 8, 2021DNF at 30% (I have decided that I'm no longer going to star rate DNFs on Goodreads)
Gay Bar: Why We Went Out is sold in the synopsis as a look at the gay bar phenomenon both throughout history and its place in modern queer culture, alongside the author's own personal experiences therein, however, several times while reading I found myself questioning whether I'd actually read the synopsis properly and that I wasn't thinking of a completely different book!
In all fairness, there are some very interesting historical facts in this book, and I liked that it was split into different cities and the culture in their gay bars. But I felt that the actual history of gay bars was pushed to the side in favour of telling the author's own personal experiences. This is, of course, fine - I love memoirs and have enjoyed similar books where facts and statistics are mixed with stories from the author's own encounters - however, what we saw in this book was really quite vulgar and over detailed descriptions of the author having all kinds of sex in gay bars with his partner, which was not at all what I was expecting going into this book, and a lot of these scenes felt rather gratuitous.
Furthermore, the author frequently came across as very pretentious (and at times a bit creepy, especially when he talks about not being able to follow the 'rules' of not being lecherous in a club), particularly when talking about young queer people today and their identities and safe spaces - it often sounded a lot like the right-wing 'snowflake' rhetoric that I'm sure we're all familiar with. There also was not a lot of nuance and the author rarely spoke about trans people and people of colour and their experiences with gay clubs, instead focussing on the white cis gay male experience. Overall, I just couldn't continue on with this one as it made me seriously uncomfortable, and I don't recommend it in lieu of other fantastic books on the subject.
Thanks to Netgalley and Granta Books for an eARC in return for an honest review!
Gay Bar: Why We Went Out is sold in the synopsis as a look at the gay bar phenomenon both throughout history and its place in modern queer culture, alongside the author's own personal experiences therein, however, several times while reading I found myself questioning whether I'd actually read the synopsis properly and that I wasn't thinking of a completely different book!
In all fairness, there are some very interesting historical facts in this book, and I liked that it was split into different cities and the culture in their gay bars. But I felt that the actual history of gay bars was pushed to the side in favour of telling the author's own personal experiences. This is, of course, fine - I love memoirs and have enjoyed similar books where facts and statistics are mixed with stories from the author's own encounters - however, what we saw in this book was really quite vulgar and over detailed descriptions of the author having all kinds of sex in gay bars with his partner, which was not at all what I was expecting going into this book, and a lot of these scenes felt rather gratuitous.
Furthermore, the author frequently came across as very pretentious (and at times a bit creepy, especially when he talks about not being able to follow the 'rules' of not being lecherous in a club), particularly when talking about young queer people today and their identities and safe spaces - it often sounded a lot like the right-wing 'snowflake' rhetoric that I'm sure we're all familiar with. There also was not a lot of nuance and the author rarely spoke about trans people and people of colour and their experiences with gay clubs, instead focussing on the white cis gay male experience. Overall, I just couldn't continue on with this one as it made me seriously uncomfortable, and I don't recommend it in lieu of other fantastic books on the subject.
Thanks to Netgalley and Granta Books for an eARC in return for an honest review!
June 30, 2026
*Re-read June 2026 -
Well, I'll say it, I'll hold my hands up and say I got it wrong. My initial reading of this in 2021 prompted me to give a glowing review of 5 star worthiness. All I can say is I must have been tripping balls!
Atherton Lin's narcissistic book should be renamed Gay Bar: Why I Went Out With My Life Partner And We Sucked Many Cocks And Sniffed Sweaty Armpits!
The wider perspective of the gay scene is only ever really mentioned to frame and loop back to his own experience - look at ME, listen to ME! He is like Just Jack in Will & Grace!! The history of the gay scene is pretty much reduced to drunken fumbling in dark places whilst huffing poppers and denigrating those that are on the borders of the scene.
The writing is self-centred, egocentric, puerile narcissism and the title of the book highly misleading in terms of content. This is not a book of gay scene history, it is a book of Lin and Lin alone. It's all about him!
1 star
Original review:
This was a fantastic book, looking at the history, the significance and impact of gay bars around the world, not only from the author's personal perspective, but in regards to the wider communities and districts in which they are situated.
Jeremy Atherton Lin's writing is honest, punchy, humorous and at times, emotional (especially when discussing the impact of the early days of HIV/AIDS).
His timeline runs fairly parallel with my own so it is interesting to hear his trajectory through the years of "growing up and going out". It was funny to hear about the changes in parts of London and San Francisco as well, seedy pubs transformed into trendy bars with multiple changes of ownership and therefore differing uses of the same buildings, depending on the landlord's agenda.
I thoroughly enjoyed this title.
Well, I'll say it, I'll hold my hands up and say I got it wrong. My initial reading of this in 2021 prompted me to give a glowing review of 5 star worthiness. All I can say is I must have been tripping balls!
Atherton Lin's narcissistic book should be renamed Gay Bar: Why I Went Out With My Life Partner And We Sucked Many Cocks And Sniffed Sweaty Armpits!
The wider perspective of the gay scene is only ever really mentioned to frame and loop back to his own experience - look at ME, listen to ME! He is like Just Jack in Will & Grace!! The history of the gay scene is pretty much reduced to drunken fumbling in dark places whilst huffing poppers and denigrating those that are on the borders of the scene.
The writing is self-centred, egocentric, puerile narcissism and the title of the book highly misleading in terms of content. This is not a book of gay scene history, it is a book of Lin and Lin alone. It's all about him!
1 star
Original review:
This was a fantastic book, looking at the history, the significance and impact of gay bars around the world, not only from the author's personal perspective, but in regards to the wider communities and districts in which they are situated.
Jeremy Atherton Lin's writing is honest, punchy, humorous and at times, emotional (especially when discussing the impact of the early days of HIV/AIDS).
His timeline runs fairly parallel with my own so it is interesting to hear his trajectory through the years of "growing up and going out". It was funny to hear about the changes in parts of London and San Francisco as well, seedy pubs transformed into trendy bars with multiple changes of ownership and therefore differing uses of the same buildings, depending on the landlord's agenda.
I thoroughly enjoyed this title.
April 21, 2021
Quirky, unemotional, over-intellectualized history of the author going to gay bars, with not enough detail about his hookups or private life to make it interesting. It's difficult to get through because of his rambling writing style, which will put three different things in one paragraph, including quotes from two people and his own commentary. Lin thinks it's really cool to quote other authors in the middle of another subject, which will make this a book that literary elitists might enjoy.
But the author needs to learn how to properly write, stop trying to put sly prose on every page, avoid overusing adjectives, and connect with his emotional self. It was too much detail about basic facts regarding specific gay clubs or the feel in the air in L.A. and London. It was not enough about the people or the stories. In the end I didn't care about nor have any greater appreciation of gay bars.
But the author needs to learn how to properly write, stop trying to put sly prose on every page, avoid overusing adjectives, and connect with his emotional self. It was too much detail about basic facts regarding specific gay clubs or the feel in the air in L.A. and London. It was not enough about the people or the stories. In the end I didn't care about nor have any greater appreciation of gay bars.
December 22, 2022
This is, basically, a glorified personal classified ad, which at least partly accounts for its success.
I found Gay Bar tiresome, mostly because of the style, but pushed on, because it was loaned to me by a friend. The parts giving historical background and nuggets of sociological observation are interesting and would make (two? three?) good essays, but they're mixed with what GR classifies as a memoir, which is more of a consistent gender performance on the part of the author, insistently self-advertising himself and his lifestyle throughout the book: I am handsome, I've been places, I've done attractive things, am in a long-lasting relationship, which doesn't stop me from having plenty of casual sex.
I found Gay Bar tiresome, mostly because of the style, but pushed on, because it was loaned to me by a friend. The parts giving historical background and nuggets of sociological observation are interesting and would make (two? three?) good essays, but they're mixed with what GR classifies as a memoir, which is more of a consistent gender performance on the part of the author, insistently self-advertising himself and his lifestyle throughout the book: I am handsome, I've been places, I've done attractive things, am in a long-lasting relationship, which doesn't stop me from having plenty of casual sex.
January 3, 2021
An absolute and total joy of a read, thank you Jeremy Atherton Lin for your fine words and thank you Dan from Granta Publishers for sending me a proof copy, I ❤️ you xx
June 23, 2021
Too narrow-focused to author's experiences to be of much interest to anyone else.
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