Fuck. What a difficult review this is for me.
I don't have many idols/celebrity crushes/heroes. They inevitably turn out to be flawed humans, and often flawed in ways I have major trouble with. This, unfortunately, happened to me with Billy Porter, who was a standout for me in terms of queer representation in media. Well, he still is, of course, and that's what's so hard.
What makes it doubly difficult, is that my main issue isn't directly from the book. But this isn't a novel, it's a memoir, and so it's kind of difficult to separate. But I'll try to break it down.
I'll start with the THING. The thing that was the breaking point, and left me with this dilemma. It happened towards the end of the book. As I was listening to Billy Porter tell his story I looked up things he mentioned on YouTube or in Google searches. Songs from musicals, people, outfits. Things like that. Which is when I found an image of him dressed in the carcasses of a few dozen sables. I have zero tolerance for people who wear fur for fashion. I think you have to be a pretty shitty human being to do so, placing vanity as a value above compassion and respect for the lives of others. Like, if the revolution was now, it would be guillotine-worthy.
And so how do I reconcile my sympathy and solidarity for his story as a gay Black child-and-then-man, for the oppression, rejection, ridicule, and violence he experienced and overcame, with my view of him as a shit-baked oppressor himself? How do I celebrate his enormous talent and breakthrough representation, while feeling this raw anger at him?
It isn't the first time I've had to compartmentalize people, or issues. But I hate that I have to, and would probably be happier if I had remained ignorant.
But how was the book, you ask? 😂
Well, it was good. Not flawless, but mostly good. Porter's story is in some ways predictable, but that doesn't mean it isn't interesting or important. The fact that it is possible to assume that he experienced bullying, abuse, racism, rejection, etc. is an indictment of our society, and to those of us working in activist spaces not in any way a surprise. The personal details of his story are, of course, unique, and as told by him -- incredibly touching and inspiring and heartbreaking and painful and many more emotions.
Somewhere around the middle of the book, I found myself somewhat frustrated. I might not be able to describe exactly why, but at least in part: Some things were a bit repetitive, and seemed more like mantras Porter needs to attach to his narrative than descriptions of what happened or his internal responses to them. While I have NO DOUBT WHATSOEVER that all the prejudices are real (too Black, not Black enough, too gay, too flamboyant, all the things) there comes at a point a sense that he's saying: I am by so far the best performer in the world and I should have gotten the role in any audition I ever did, and not getting each and every one is in itself proof of the racism. By the gazillionth "I slayed!" I wasn't sure I was buying it anymore. Well, not not-buying it, because I DO believe him when he says this is the main factor that affected his career. Like I said, it's hard for me to be accurate here, because the truth is the truth and it's racist and homophobic as hell, but there is some sense of over-compensation or propping up in *how* it's told, in some of these instances that bothered me. Yes, this is it, parts of the how, definitely not the what.
(That said, some of the revelations about particular people and productions are jaw-dropping and hard (but then, not hard) to believe. Rage inducing. I can't really fault Porter for hyper-focus on the prejudices, because going through your entire life with these weights not only limiting you but defining you is a core aspect of oppression.)
If that were all, I probably wouldn't even mention it. The attempt to describe this feeling is probably overblowing it and possibly problematic in other ways. But around this time (when Porter is at the beginning stages of his career, and up until he reaches a crisis point and then a dry period) some other things creep in: Porter drops some hints about his problems with intimacy (he goes into it a *bit* more towards the end of the book). And these hints suddenly make other things starkly clear: Porter can spend half a chapter describing the music sheet and key he sang in and the accompaniment and how many bars... But entire relationships are skimmed or skipped over and no emotional life is apparent. This is mystifying in a memoir. I don't want voyeuristic exposures, but yes, some idea of what your emotional life is like during the key time periods you describe. Some idea of the significant relationships, significant places, and other life experiences.
After the middle, the pace picks up again, and I actually literally shed tears when Porter describes how his role in Pose came into being, and even before that, the upturn in his career and fortunes.
Throughout, I was also a bit frustrated with Porter's politics. He's exactly intersectional enough to talk about the politics that relate to his Black and gay identities, with a nod to trans brethren, and some very limited discussion of poverty. But that's it: Not even a nod to issues such as sexism, immigration, prisons, police, military imperialism -- while making broad political statements (many of which sounded like a summary of social media memes, not any kind of actual analysis) that can be summarized as: Trump bad, Biden/Kamala good. Well, not so much, my friend. And you are in a unique position to know better.
So how the hell do I rate this? I want to give it 5 stars and 1 star simultaneously. Meeting in the middle at 3 doesn't capture the complexity. For now, leaving unrated and going to drown my sorrows in work.