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384 pages, Paperback
First published May 1, 1997
In “Cinnamon Skin,” Edmund White proclaims: “People are wrong to imagine teenage boys want to shoot their loads; what they want is a union of souls which will only incidentally result in a tangling of arms, thighs, loins. Teenagers do not fetishize big cocks, hairy chests, powerful biceps, or blond hair and thick necks; their desire is too general to respond to anything less than eternal love and their love is vague and powerful enough to ennoble any body at all” (29).
When a men’s magazine asks Allan Gurganus to submit some of his fiction, the editor rejects it because its protagonist a gay sailor. You want to rub our noses in it? Gurganus wants to say, “‘I bet if I were Toni Morrison and you phoned to ask me for a story, and I sent you one about my fellow black people, you sure wouldn’t use the term “rubbing their noses in it,” I betcha’” (55). So true, in my experience, anyway.
Andrew Holleran says, “Denial is always astonishing in retrospect, that one was able to compartmentalize oneself, to proceed with one part while putting another on ice. As long as I was only writing poems to Livingston in my notebook at Fort Benning . . . I was part of the mainstream” (93).
Charles Silverstein: “Most people don’t understand the difference between guilt and shame. The distinction is central in the lives of gay men, particularly those over thirty. I often masturbated in my adolescent years and felt guilty about it. Guilt means one has done something wrong, which could have been avoided. It’s a matter of will; I could have chosen not to jerk off. In reality, it made no difference whether I masturbated or not. The toxin was within me. What I was [my italics], not what I did, resulted in my deep sense of humiliation. My homosexuality was the shame built into me, and embarrassment over my condition created self-hate. It made no difference that I bedded women. I knew the truth. That’s what shame is about, and I learned it well” (117).
Christopher Bram: “Compared to fiction, real life has more characters and incident than necessary. My coming out was a prolonged narrative with a surprising continuity of people. I suspect I write novels instead of short stories because my past is full of such long, tangled strands” (133).
Douglas Sadownick: “Just because a person does not recall a rotten feeling does not mean it is nowhere to be found. A wound from early childhood that remains ignored will find ways to manifest in the present” (223).
“Gay psychologists suggest that a gay man’s relationship to his father material to a special case, different from heterosexual men, hypothesizing that a guy born gay falls in love with the first man (rather than woman) he meets on the scene. (The theory here is that the libido, with its inner godly programming teases the ego complex out from the Self through the first great romance.) The literal father, if he is a kind man, will deflect the nuclear projection of libido, which is devastating enough; if he’s an asshole, he will repudiate the gay boy. All this takes place unconsciously, of course, yet it is often the filter through which the light of gay love shines, giving ‘love/hate’ new meaning” (226).