8-GAY NEWS--August 1978
by Robin E. Smith
The Circulator
Last year the Circulator and her lover went to a Gay Pride March in Big Urban City. They arrived at 9:30. a.m., and half an hour before the march was supposed to start, just in time to overhear the F.U.W.E. (Feminists United for Women's Equality) representative announce to the March Committee that if F.U.W.E. wasn't allowed to march first in line, they would personcott the march.
Since it looked like a long argument, the Circulator and her lover began strolling down the line. Just in back of F.U.W.E. was the men's motorcycle club, Prickthrottle. They were counting biceps, and comparing leather jackets. The Circulator asked them what they did for their livings; they told her Prickthrottle's current membership consists of 12 podiatrists, four dentists, two bankers, a salesman, three nurses, one minister, one typist, two file clerksand an accountant.
The third group in line wasHonesty, the Pentecostal gay group. They collared the Circulator's lover and asked if she'd been washed in the Blood of the Lamb. The Circulator's lover is Jewish..
By this time F.U.W.E. had won he argument, and the line began
PRATER VIOLET
A CLASSIC NOVEL OF FILMMAKING-
ONE OF THE BEST SHORT NOVELS IN ENGLISH WRITTEN IN THIS CENTURY The New Republic
Some good summer reading-the reissued Prater Violet by Christopher Isherwood
A quiet month. I fantasize about doing an entire column reviewing books which do not exist, with titles that I could invent, and cliches that would cast a startling brilliance on routine subjects... you know, sort of like this: Ruby Port's new novel of love, greed and liberation sizzles on every page with liquid fire; OR Joe Blow's new saga of the sea, Son Of Jaw's Two, will earn him so much money he may never write a
word again. may never a
But I shall be kind. I shall gently layer my articulate venom over only one charming piece of drek, Sheila Weller's lovely and contrived bit of autobiography, Hansel and Gretel
In Beverly Hills (Morrow, $8.95). Its tan, purple and black cover is subtle enough to accompany one to the Polo Room of the Beverly Hills Hotel,
moving slowly up the street. Among the ranks of male riot police lining the sidewalks was a solitary woman cop. She got into trouble because the lesbian groups kept breaking out of line to shake her hand. Some of them tried to stroke her uniform. Finally the other police arrested her for loitering and disturbing the peace.
By noon, the first groups of marchers had reached the park, and the temperature was 110 degrees in the shade. The Circulator discovered that the vendors, in anticipation of the march, had raised the price of soft drinks to $5.86 a can. After the Circulator and her lover bought two cokes, they settled on the grass in the amphitheater to hear the speeches at the gay men's rally.
The first speaker, Tiffany Yawl, the aging famous writer, praised tearoom sex. "Until the restrooms of America are free, none of us are free!" Dr. Freenald Newhouse, author of Painless Homosexuality, said that his straight patients were just as sick as his gay patients"What America needs is treatment!"
Alan Demerov, founder of Gays United, concluded with a ringing exhortation: "Gays United cannot
by Rich Grzesiak
continue its lobbying without your dollars; our memberships are now at an all-time, low, never-to-be-repeated, rock-bottom price of $35! Yes! For just $35, you too can join Gays United..."
The Circulator and her lover retreated to the lesbian rally. When they arrived, a collective was at the mike, leading a cheer-"Whaddawe hate? PATRIARCHY! Whaddarewe for? MATRIARCHY! Give us an M-O-T-H-E-R.! Whaddoes it spell?" After the cheer was over, the moderator introduced Dr. Lany Gratian, the first up-front lesbian. ever to run for City Council. Dr. Gratian said, in closing, "What irritates me is all the unrealistic talk in the woman's movement about not compromising one's principles. A vote is a vote is a vote!" Terry Klink, of Demeter Records, jumped up and denounced Dr. Gratian as a bourgeois revisionist, a sister-hater, and probably a man in disguise. Dr. Gratian replied that her gender was unquestioned and offered to produce three ex-lovers to prove it. Before matters could deteriorate any further, the moderator called for ten minutes of silent Group Guilt..
The Circulator and her lover decided to go watch the last segments. of the march arriving at the park entrance. As they stood by the gates, Temple Bet Bris Slecha (House of the Sorry Covenant), the local Jewish gay group, came in, followed by its Mother Auxiliary. The mothers numbered two hundred strong, and were chanting "Such NICE boys and girls! Such NICE boys and girls!" The Circulator's lover almost had a stroke.
Between the covers
where it should be placed prominently so that it will not be used as the martini coaster it begs to be.
Now let's be fair instead of judgmental. Ms. Weller has composed a princess novel about herself and a gay hairdresser, and supposedly that puts her in some excellent company. But she is no George Sand, and she has been honest enough to admit it. More importantly, she has taken the unprecedented step of announcing that not only will there not be a sequel to this novel, but she may not do a second one! This is fabulous news, but I am certain that the literary tradition she has ennobled will continue in other less gifted hands.
What is wrong with Hansel and Gretel and why am I so unkind to books like this which many people obviously love? Let's start with the last word of the last sentence: love. The fly-leaf of the dust cover begins with this description: "This warm, lovely, loving novel..." When you start with that level of hype, there's no place to go but up. And Ms. Weller tries, struggles. Her prose is breathless. Her dialogue is racy but banal. "Oh, bitch, bitch, bitch" sighs one character (they all sigh), but he quickly adds the underlying question of the book: "Did I teach you how to bitch, darling?" The word 'darling' has never hesitated to ir ritate me with its phony, artificially informal tone. The word 'darling' occurs and reoccurs with such frequency in this book that I myself. came to adopt its usage. Right, dar-
ling? No, darling, even Ms. Weller has the predictable put-down for. mean darlings like me: "Me and my goddamn cynicism. That's what's keeping me lonely."
The other tendency I strongly object to in this type of novel is its lack of imagination. It is autobiography rendered into fiction. This is otherwise known as reality transformed into redundance. The only way to get out of this bind, if one is a clever writer, is to say it with style or dazzle your reader with your technical ability. Ms. Weller tries to be stylish but it's only cute. She has been writing as a freelance journalist for the last ten years, so she has the ability; it's just her talent that keeps getting in the way. So ultimately, Ms. Weller puts hack book reviewers like me into a corner. I have nothing nice to say about it ("jolly good try, darling"), and because there is nothing to judge artistically, I am forced to evaluate the people -of all things-the characters she produces. Allow me to be a good sport and say that I loved every one of the characters she has cut out. from her and our subculture and placed into the novel. But this is no way to review a book. This is a work to possess, admire, but not to read.
But all is not that bad, darlings (there, see what Sheila's done to me!). There is the lyrical Erskine. Lane, author of Game-Texts: A Guatemalan Journal (Gay Sunshine
(Continued on page 11)
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