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Winter's Light: Reflections of a Yankee Queer
In stirring autobiographical essays and social commentaries, a prolific writer and gay rights pioneer--whose voice was stilled by AIDS in 1994--tells of the search for a place to belong.
199 pages, Paperback
First published February 1, 1997
About the author
John Preston
50 books82 followersJohn Preston wrote and edited gay erotica, fiction, and nonfiction.
He grew up in Medfield, Massachusetts, later living in a number of major American cities before settling in Portland, Maine in 1979. A writer of fiction and nonfiction, dealing mostly with issues in gay life, he was a pioneer in the early gay rights movement in Minneapolis. He helped found one of the earliest gay community centers in the United States, edited two newsletters devoted to sexual health, and served as editor of The Advocate in 1975.
He was the author or editor of nearly fifty books, including such erotic landmarks as Mr. Benson and I Once Had a Master and Other Tales of Erotic Love. Other works include Franny, the Queen of Provincetown (first a novel, then adapted for stage), The Big Gay Book: A Man's Survival Guide for the Nineties, Personal Dispatches: Writers Confront AIDS, and Hometowns: Gay Men Write About Where They Belong.
Preston's writing (which he described as pornography) was part of a movement in the 1970s and 1980s toward higher literary quality in gay erotic fiction. Preston was an outspoken advocate of the artistic and social worth of erotic writings, delivering a lecture at Harvard University entitled My Life as a Pornographer. The lecture was later published in an essay collection with the same name. The collection includes Preston's thoughts about the gay leather community, to which he belonged. His writings caused controversy when he was one of several gay and lesbian authors to have their books confiscated at the border by Canada Customs. Testimony regarding the literary merit of his novel I Once Had a Master helped a Vancouver LGBT bookstore, Little Sister's Book and Art Emporium, to partially win a case against Canada Customs in the Canadian Supreme Court in 2000. Preston also brought gay erotic fiction to mainstream readers by editing the Flesh and the Word anthologies for a major press.
Preston served as a journalist and essayist throughout his life. He wrote news articles for Drummer and other gay magazines, produced a syndicated column on gay life in Maine, and penned a column for Lambda Book Report called "Preston on Publishing." His nonfiction anthologies, which collected essays by himself and others on everyday aspects of gay and lesbian life, won him the Lambda Literary Award and the American Library Association's Stonewall Book Award. He was especially noted for his writings on New England.
Although primarily known as a gay fiction writer, Preston was also hired by a local newspaper, The Portland Chronicle, to write news articles and features about his adopted hometown of Portland. He wrote a long feature about the local monopoly newspaper, the Portland Press Herald, as well as many food articles movie reviews and other writing.
In addition, Preston wrote men's adventure novels under the pseudonyms of Mike McCray, Preston MacAdam, and Jack Hilt (pen names that he shared with other authors). Taking what he had learned from authoring those books, he wrote the "Alex Kane" adventure novels about gay characters. These books, which included "Sweet Dreams," "Golden Years," and "Deadly Lies," combined action-story plots with an exploration of issues such as the problems facing gay youth.
Preston was among the first writers to popularize the genre of safe sex stories, editing a safe sex anthology entitled Hot Living in 1985. He helped to found the AIDS Project of Southern Maine. In the late 1980s, he discovered that he himself was HIV positive.
Some of his last essays, found in his nonfiction anthologies and in his posthumous collection Winter's Light, describe his struggle to come emotionally to terms with a disease that had already killed many of his friends and fellow writers.
He died of AIDS complications on April 28, 1994, aged 48, at his home in Portland. His papers are held in the Preston Archive at Brown University.
Librarian Note: There is more th
He grew up in Medfield, Massachusetts, later living in a number of major American cities before settling in Portland, Maine in 1979. A writer of fiction and nonfiction, dealing mostly with issues in gay life, he was a pioneer in the early gay rights movement in Minneapolis. He helped found one of the earliest gay community centers in the United States, edited two newsletters devoted to sexual health, and served as editor of The Advocate in 1975.
He was the author or editor of nearly fifty books, including such erotic landmarks as Mr. Benson and I Once Had a Master and Other Tales of Erotic Love. Other works include Franny, the Queen of Provincetown (first a novel, then adapted for stage), The Big Gay Book: A Man's Survival Guide for the Nineties, Personal Dispatches: Writers Confront AIDS, and Hometowns: Gay Men Write About Where They Belong.
Preston's writing (which he described as pornography) was part of a movement in the 1970s and 1980s toward higher literary quality in gay erotic fiction. Preston was an outspoken advocate of the artistic and social worth of erotic writings, delivering a lecture at Harvard University entitled My Life as a Pornographer. The lecture was later published in an essay collection with the same name. The collection includes Preston's thoughts about the gay leather community, to which he belonged. His writings caused controversy when he was one of several gay and lesbian authors to have their books confiscated at the border by Canada Customs. Testimony regarding the literary merit of his novel I Once Had a Master helped a Vancouver LGBT bookstore, Little Sister's Book and Art Emporium, to partially win a case against Canada Customs in the Canadian Supreme Court in 2000. Preston also brought gay erotic fiction to mainstream readers by editing the Flesh and the Word anthologies for a major press.
Preston served as a journalist and essayist throughout his life. He wrote news articles for Drummer and other gay magazines, produced a syndicated column on gay life in Maine, and penned a column for Lambda Book Report called "Preston on Publishing." His nonfiction anthologies, which collected essays by himself and others on everyday aspects of gay and lesbian life, won him the Lambda Literary Award and the American Library Association's Stonewall Book Award. He was especially noted for his writings on New England.
Although primarily known as a gay fiction writer, Preston was also hired by a local newspaper, The Portland Chronicle, to write news articles and features about his adopted hometown of Portland. He wrote a long feature about the local monopoly newspaper, the Portland Press Herald, as well as many food articles movie reviews and other writing.
In addition, Preston wrote men's adventure novels under the pseudonyms of Mike McCray, Preston MacAdam, and Jack Hilt (pen names that he shared with other authors). Taking what he had learned from authoring those books, he wrote the "Alex Kane" adventure novels about gay characters. These books, which included "Sweet Dreams," "Golden Years," and "Deadly Lies," combined action-story plots with an exploration of issues such as the problems facing gay youth.
Preston was among the first writers to popularize the genre of safe sex stories, editing a safe sex anthology entitled Hot Living in 1985. He helped to found the AIDS Project of Southern Maine. In the late 1980s, he discovered that he himself was HIV positive.
Some of his last essays, found in his nonfiction anthologies and in his posthumous collection Winter's Light, describe his struggle to come emotionally to terms with a disease that had already killed many of his friends and fellow writers.
He died of AIDS complications on April 28, 1994, aged 48, at his home in Portland. His papers are held in the Preston Archive at Brown University.
Librarian Note: There is more th
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
July 31, 2020
Omg I ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜 this book so much if you want to hear about life about being gay with aids in 90s and in small city, also the coolest 90 years old granny you will ever meet.
And I have rainbow tabs all over it, and I know will need to find all the books he worte
And I have rainbow tabs all over it, and I know will need to find all the books he worte
October 23, 2015
It's a fine collection of essays, though I found myself thinking if only John Preston had had more time, it could have been a real knock-out. Perhaps that sense of incompleteness is it's own message. Death at age 48 is a life truncated; how much fuller this collection could have been with a bit more time.
"A New England Chorus" is the essay which most completely lives up to the promise of the collection. The way it achieves this is by being personal enough to be "queer", but focused on the ordinary Yankees among whom Preston lived. In a subtle and moving way it says something real about both author and his fellows. It's also the essay which most sturdily stands the test of time. Where other essays in this collection feel a bit like historical artefacts - albeit worthy and interesting ones - "A New England Chorus" still feels contemporary - at least until Portland is overrun by the mega-plex and Yankeedom is pushed further Down East.
"A New England Chorus" is the essay which most completely lives up to the promise of the collection. The way it achieves this is by being personal enough to be "queer", but focused on the ordinary Yankees among whom Preston lived. In a subtle and moving way it says something real about both author and his fellows. It's also the essay which most sturdily stands the test of time. Where other essays in this collection feel a bit like historical artefacts - albeit worthy and interesting ones - "A New England Chorus" still feels contemporary - at least until Portland is overrun by the mega-plex and Yankeedom is pushed further Down East.
September 26, 2020
Despite its brevity, this last legacy of John Preston was a sweet find in the sale bin at Dog Eared Books Castro in San Francisco. With erudite introductions and section prefaces by author/editor Michael Lowenthal, and an introduction by Andrew Holleran, Winter's Light includes several essays and articles written by a beloved writer, editor and mentor in the gay literary world. Among the essays is Preston's speech given at a literary conference, which I witnessed as a then-aspiring author.
Preston extols the virtues of Portland, Maine, where he spent his last years after living in several other cities. Working class men, barbers, fishermen, restrained yet polite townsfolk, and relatives are among his favorite people, most of whom learned to accept his being gay, despite their own beliefs, or while they lived their manly lives in a not-exactly closeted way.
As an integral part of gay and lesbian organizations and activism, Preston wrote about the balance he maintained, and his stalwart efforts to effect acceptance in a 'not too big, not too small' city that behaves more like a town. Clashes between conservative townspeople in nearby Ogonquit are recounted.
The eventual introduction of AIDS, in the community, and endured by him to his death, make up the latter section with intimate profound effect. Also notable are his essays about homophobic violence, including the compelling interview with hate crime victim Bob Gravel, and Preston's account of community reactions to the murder of Charles O. Howard, whose death was later fictionalized in Stephen King's It.
End notes include a complete list of Preston's published works; required reading for anyone with an interest in 20th-century gay writing.
Preston extols the virtues of Portland, Maine, where he spent his last years after living in several other cities. Working class men, barbers, fishermen, restrained yet polite townsfolk, and relatives are among his favorite people, most of whom learned to accept his being gay, despite their own beliefs, or while they lived their manly lives in a not-exactly closeted way.
As an integral part of gay and lesbian organizations and activism, Preston wrote about the balance he maintained, and his stalwart efforts to effect acceptance in a 'not too big, not too small' city that behaves more like a town. Clashes between conservative townspeople in nearby Ogonquit are recounted.
The eventual introduction of AIDS, in the community, and endured by him to his death, make up the latter section with intimate profound effect. Also notable are his essays about homophobic violence, including the compelling interview with hate crime victim Bob Gravel, and Preston's account of community reactions to the murder of Charles O. Howard, whose death was later fictionalized in Stephen King's It.
End notes include a complete list of Preston's published works; required reading for anyone with an interest in 20th-century gay writing.
September 4, 2024
“EVERYTHING WAS SO BEAUTIFUL!”
John Preston is one of the gay community’s iconic writers. He is probably most famous for the novel Mr. Benson. His novel Franny, the Queen of Provincetown is one of my favorite gay novels. Winter’s Light: Reflections of a Yankee Queer was posthumously published by the University Press of New England in 1995. John Preston was lost to AIDS in April 1994, at the age of 48. The book is edited by Michael Lowenthal, who also contributes an introduction. Andrew Holleran provides the foreword. A valuable list of the complete works of John Preston appears at the end of the book.
In his foreword, Andrew Holleran writes, “Preston zeroes in on the gay, and human, dilemma: How to find a home.” John Preston eventually found a home—and community—in Portland, Maine. The first four and the last of the six sections in Winter’s Light–The Importance of Telling Our Stories, The Men of Maine, Letters from Maine, A New England Chorus, and Down East—contain fascinating essays that describe Preston’s search for home and community, how he found it in Maine, and his life in Maine.
In 1986, John Preston was diagnosed as HIV-positive. The fifth section in Winter’s Light is titled Some of Us Are Dying and includes powerful writings on AIDS. In the essay titled “Some of Us Are Dying,” Preston writes, “If we allow our fears to let us deny our connection with people who are facing death, we make a mockery of our attempt at a communal existence.” Community was of the utmost importance to John Preston. The last line of “Some of Us Are Dying” is, “No one should have to fight . . . [the] battle alone.”
In “AIDS Writing,” a speech which John Preston delivered at OutWrite 1990, he emphasizes that the problem with writing about AIDS is that “the emotions are too raw. And the scale is too great.” Preston describes himself as “a scribe,” “not the author of the story, but the means for telling the story, the tool used by people to let the world, their families, their friends, understand what is going on.”
Michael Lowenthal considers the essay titled “Living with AIDS, 1992” to be John Preston’s “Most profound attempt to document and make sense of his illness.” Preston begins this harrowing essay: “I woke up one morning in May of 1991 with excruciating pain. It was so strong that it made any movement impossible.” While in the hospital, Preston finds out that he has “a bizarre form of pneumonia,” but it is not Pneumocystis. He tells us, “I had escaped death, barely.” Preston is told that he can check out of the hospital after ten days. He couldn’t wait for anyone to come and get him: “I was too eager to leave. I was so weak I could barely walk, but I managed to get dressed and get by the nurses and leave on my own energy. Whan I first got outside the building I thought I was still under the influence of drugs. Everything was so beautiful!”
In his editor’s note to “Down East,” the last essay in Winter’s Light, Michael Lowenthal observes, “’Down East’ is the New Englander’s equivalent of ‘over the rainbow,’ more a state of mind than an actual location.” In the first paragraph of “Down East,” John Preston writes, “You can never reach Down East. As soon as you arrive in a place, it can no longer be Down East. Down East must be somewhere else.” He says, “I’ve heard at least twelve versions of one story in the years I’ve lived in Maine.” This story involves a bar in a fishing village Down East where the fishermen go. These fishermen are all gay. They feel no need to go to cities to be gay because in the village they have each other, they have community. Preston feels that if he were to go to this village, he “might find a wonderful reality . . . but I would never have the dream again.”
John Preston ends “Down East” with the following memorable sentence: “And that’s the risk of striving to make dreams come true, that as good as the reality might be, I can never know if it will equal the splendor of the fantasy I can hold forever.”
Winter’s Light was supposed to contain more material than it does, but John Preston died before the book was completed. We are fortunate to have these beautifully written essays by John Preston.
John Preston is one of the gay community’s iconic writers. He is probably most famous for the novel Mr. Benson. His novel Franny, the Queen of Provincetown is one of my favorite gay novels. Winter’s Light: Reflections of a Yankee Queer was posthumously published by the University Press of New England in 1995. John Preston was lost to AIDS in April 1994, at the age of 48. The book is edited by Michael Lowenthal, who also contributes an introduction. Andrew Holleran provides the foreword. A valuable list of the complete works of John Preston appears at the end of the book.
In his foreword, Andrew Holleran writes, “Preston zeroes in on the gay, and human, dilemma: How to find a home.” John Preston eventually found a home—and community—in Portland, Maine. The first four and the last of the six sections in Winter’s Light–The Importance of Telling Our Stories, The Men of Maine, Letters from Maine, A New England Chorus, and Down East—contain fascinating essays that describe Preston’s search for home and community, how he found it in Maine, and his life in Maine.
In 1986, John Preston was diagnosed as HIV-positive. The fifth section in Winter’s Light is titled Some of Us Are Dying and includes powerful writings on AIDS. In the essay titled “Some of Us Are Dying,” Preston writes, “If we allow our fears to let us deny our connection with people who are facing death, we make a mockery of our attempt at a communal existence.” Community was of the utmost importance to John Preston. The last line of “Some of Us Are Dying” is, “No one should have to fight . . . [the] battle alone.”
In “AIDS Writing,” a speech which John Preston delivered at OutWrite 1990, he emphasizes that the problem with writing about AIDS is that “the emotions are too raw. And the scale is too great.” Preston describes himself as “a scribe,” “not the author of the story, but the means for telling the story, the tool used by people to let the world, their families, their friends, understand what is going on.”
Michael Lowenthal considers the essay titled “Living with AIDS, 1992” to be John Preston’s “Most profound attempt to document and make sense of his illness.” Preston begins this harrowing essay: “I woke up one morning in May of 1991 with excruciating pain. It was so strong that it made any movement impossible.” While in the hospital, Preston finds out that he has “a bizarre form of pneumonia,” but it is not Pneumocystis. He tells us, “I had escaped death, barely.” Preston is told that he can check out of the hospital after ten days. He couldn’t wait for anyone to come and get him: “I was too eager to leave. I was so weak I could barely walk, but I managed to get dressed and get by the nurses and leave on my own energy. Whan I first got outside the building I thought I was still under the influence of drugs. Everything was so beautiful!”
In his editor’s note to “Down East,” the last essay in Winter’s Light, Michael Lowenthal observes, “’Down East’ is the New Englander’s equivalent of ‘over the rainbow,’ more a state of mind than an actual location.” In the first paragraph of “Down East,” John Preston writes, “You can never reach Down East. As soon as you arrive in a place, it can no longer be Down East. Down East must be somewhere else.” He says, “I’ve heard at least twelve versions of one story in the years I’ve lived in Maine.” This story involves a bar in a fishing village Down East where the fishermen go. These fishermen are all gay. They feel no need to go to cities to be gay because in the village they have each other, they have community. Preston feels that if he were to go to this village, he “might find a wonderful reality . . . but I would never have the dream again.”
John Preston ends “Down East” with the following memorable sentence: “And that’s the risk of striving to make dreams come true, that as good as the reality might be, I can never know if it will equal the splendor of the fantasy I can hold forever.”
Winter’s Light was supposed to contain more material than it does, but John Preston died before the book was completed. We are fortunate to have these beautifully written essays by John Preston.
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March 29, 2025Winter's Light: Reflections of a Yankee Queer
By John Preston
JEFF KEITH’S COMMENTS
[five stars] I liked this book a lot. John Preston grew up in a suburb of Boston, and after coming out as gay, lived in a variety of different cities, writing novels and journalistic articles for a living. Eventually, in his thirties, he decided that he loved New England and moved to Portland, Maine. This book is about gay life in Maine in the 1980s and early ‘90s. Unfortunately, Preston contracted HIV/AIDS at some point, and he died in Portland in 1994, so this collection of his writings was published posthumously.
There are a couple of things that I have trouble accepting at face value: the Portland barbershop guys who have no trouble accepting him as openly gay, and the story “Down East” about a tiny village that has a happy gay bar that never gets bothered by anyone.
I lived in small-city New Hampshire for a while in the 1970s and kept a diary, but eventually got tired of that world. I guess one way that Preston could survive in Portland was that he had a wide reputation as a published writer. One of his early Maine writings is the chapter reprinted here called “An Interview with Bob Gravel.” This is the distressing story about a man who tries to keep living in his hometown of Lewiston after he realizes that he is gay, but eventually gets harassed so much that he feels he has to move away. Later chapters describe the tragic killing of Charlie Howard in Bangor in the 1980s, and how it led to things opening up legally somewhat in the state.
A striking and inspiring series of chapters in this book are about the rich socialite grandmother named Franny Peabody who became a strong advocate for LGBTQ rights and AIDS services after her grandson died of AIDS.
I love to find books like this that give vivid descriptions of the lives of gay men of my generation. I have some “survivor’s guilt,” of course, because I have survived into old age.
By John Preston
JEFF KEITH’S COMMENTS
[five stars] I liked this book a lot. John Preston grew up in a suburb of Boston, and after coming out as gay, lived in a variety of different cities, writing novels and journalistic articles for a living. Eventually, in his thirties, he decided that he loved New England and moved to Portland, Maine. This book is about gay life in Maine in the 1980s and early ‘90s. Unfortunately, Preston contracted HIV/AIDS at some point, and he died in Portland in 1994, so this collection of his writings was published posthumously.
There are a couple of things that I have trouble accepting at face value: the Portland barbershop guys who have no trouble accepting him as openly gay, and the story “Down East” about a tiny village that has a happy gay bar that never gets bothered by anyone.
I lived in small-city New Hampshire for a while in the 1970s and kept a diary, but eventually got tired of that world. I guess one way that Preston could survive in Portland was that he had a wide reputation as a published writer. One of his early Maine writings is the chapter reprinted here called “An Interview with Bob Gravel.” This is the distressing story about a man who tries to keep living in his hometown of Lewiston after he realizes that he is gay, but eventually gets harassed so much that he feels he has to move away. Later chapters describe the tragic killing of Charlie Howard in Bangor in the 1980s, and how it led to things opening up legally somewhat in the state.
A striking and inspiring series of chapters in this book are about the rich socialite grandmother named Franny Peabody who became a strong advocate for LGBTQ rights and AIDS services after her grandson died of AIDS.
I love to find books like this that give vivid descriptions of the lives of gay men of my generation. I have some “survivor’s guilt,” of course, because I have survived into old age.
July 2, 2025
“We have to get it all down. All we can expect of our writing that does get published is that it create the historic documents that might make sense to people in the future. That’s all published AIDS writing can how to be today.”
So moving - reminded me how much I love Maine & New England.
So moving - reminded me how much I love Maine & New England.
December 25, 2013
A deeply personal collection of writings from man still probably best known for his pornographic novel, Mr. Benson: A Novel. It's very New England, maybe a little too 'rah, rah,' but I'm a Southern Californian and have often been castigated for being one, so that place attachment and identity speak loudly for me, even if I've never been to Maine. This quote (from the essay "A New England Chorus") probably sums up (except for the justifiable angry parts) this volume:
But many of my new neighbors took a certain pride in the fact that I wrote and that I was quoted in the national press. Whenever I was mentioned in the national media as the New York Times, people were excited about the publicity, even if they weren't sure what it meant to have me saying those things about gay life here in Portland. Most wanted to avoid the erotica, however; we seemed to pretend I didn't really write that. Once the New York Times Book Review quoted me on the meaning and function of pornography. When the article was published, however, no one in Portland mentioned it for the longest while. Finally a lawyer I know puffed up his chest in preparation for some battle and brought himself to say, "Provocative quote in the Times, John." That was about it.
I wonder sometimes if, when I'm not around, other men don't say something like, "He's a queer writer, but he's our queer writer."
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews