‘When Memory Fades’
By Nathaniel Chin, MD
c.2026, St. Martin’s Essentials
$30/422 pages

Mom called you in a panic the other day.

She’d lost her keys and by the time you arrived to help, she’d found them. In the refrigerator.

These kinds of things keep happening, not often but often enough, and you don’t know quite what to worry about. But in the new book “When Memory Fades” by Nathaniel Chin, MD, you’ll learn about the journey ahead, for both of you.

You can’t remember why you walked into a room. You got lost last week, going to the bank. Popular wisdom says that things like that are normal as we age, but Chin says that’s not true – although the answer may not be a worst-case scenario, either. Yes, memory problems could just be signs of stress, dehydration, or lack of sleep – or is it time to see a doctor?

Chin says maybe, yes.

He was working his way through medical residency when his father, a geriatrician in Madison, Wisc., was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Chin, now a geriatrician, was blindsided, but that diagnosis also changed his life.

Here, he writes about the brain, and how Alzheimer’s and dementia are diagnosed, explaining that dementia has many faces and, depending on a doctor’s evaluation, memory problems might be slowed or improved. He shares his father’s illness with readers, but he also writes about his mother, a steadfast, steady caretaker.

Her story reminds reader-guardians to care for themselves, too.

Know how to talk the talk, so that you can have “a more productive” conversation with your doctor. Understand that there’s nothing “normal” about dementia or Alzheimer’s. Know the statistics – African Americans are affected with dementia twice as much as whites – and know how to lower your risks. Learn here what questions to ask, how to break the news to everyone, and any legal matters that will be important soon. And know how to tend to you.

Says Chin, “The best action you can take is to educate yourself… The more you understand, the better equipped you are to make sound judgments.”

Something’s off about Dad, just a lot of little things that don’t add up. When is it time to step in? “When Memory Fades” can help you decide.

Wise, wide-spread, comprehensive, and compassionately helpful, this is a book you can read and then take it to the doctor with your loved one. It’s a book that makes sense when nothing else does, and its biggest feature is that it smoothly transitions from easy-to-grasp science and charts, to gentle coaching for caregivers. Author Nathaniel Chin, MD writes with storytelling, humility, grace, and experience from both sides of the Alzheimer’s/dementia issue, and his words are reassuring but also urgent. Learn, but don’t wait, he says. Know how to safeguard yourself. See your doctor, and don’t fear testing. Watch for signs of depression. And never, ever stop asking for help.

Read those last seven words, and find “When Memory Fades” now. It’s a book to have on your shelf, whether you’re 45 or 95 because, as you’ll see, dementia happens and knowledge is key.

‘Qtopia: A Memoir of Love, Land and Liberation’
2026, University of Wisconsin Press
By Juda Bennett

Duffel packed, the new high school graduate could not fall asleep. “On the night before my departure, I stared at the duffel bag as if it were a body bag. We lived close to Dover, where the dead from Vietnam were shipped.” 

It is 1971, and Charles was leaving home to join a hippie commune in rural Virginia. “I kept imagining bodies fitting into the bag and popping out in the middle of the night,” Juda Bennett writes in his memoir, “Qtopia: A Memoir of Love, Land and Liberation.” During Bennett’s high school years from 1968-1971 some 35,000 U.S. soldiers were killed in the Vietnam War, the vast majority processed at Dover Air Force Base. 

Young Bennett was clueless about what lay ahead but he had a commune’s brochure in his pocket, certain his destiny was not in the military. “My father was a walking recruitment center, and my mother could have worked for the USO. Uncle Sam and the Andrews Sisters had nothing on them.” Inspired to find his way out of suburban Wilmington, Del., he boarded a Greyhound bus to Lexington, Va., and communes yet unknown. “Qtopia” is a serious, sexy and joyous memoir about a young man who knows he’s different in search of chosen family and, over coming decades, his own queer Utopia.

“We are leaving; you don’t need us,” was the popular refrain in the day from the Crosby, Stills & Nash song “Wooden Ships.” Communards like young Charles (going by the moniker C.B. with a full beard covering his handsome, androgynous features) were living it. How far this is from urban queer stories of the ‘70s. For this reason alone, it is marvelous reading about hot naked hippies farming together in the country, living and loving in secluded teepees when everything seemed possible. Novels like “Drop City” by T.C. Boyle (2003) and “Arcadia” (2012) by Lauren Groff set in hippie communes had no gay characters, only free-love for straights. When C.B.’s parents arrive to visit his back-to-the-land commune North Mountain bearing gifts like the orange powder Tang and Frosted Flakes, he “maintained” as the saying went.  “It was a great time for visitors to see how hard we had worked—fields of sorghum swaying in the breeze, acres of vegetables in neat rows with beans, tomatoes and peppers hanging down….I was still thin as a matchstick, but I was a strong and muscular matchstick,” he tells the story of his development. By contrast, he had considered suicide before leaving home; this memoir fills in the pain, too.

There are times when C.B.’s voice as a teen communard with a secret is so authentic and rich, it is like reading fictional stories of American innocents on journeys of their own like J.D. Salinger’s character Holden Caulfield or Demon Copperhead from rural Virginia by Barbara Kingsolver. He tells us there was this guy Mark at North Mountain who had been pressuring him to sleep on the mattress next to his. C.B. was known as the only gay at North Mountain. One of the hippie women warned him Mark is “a square, the biggest downer.” Stepping out of the memoir, C.B. directly addresses the reader about the Mark issue, “I don’t want to write about Mark anymore because he’s not important to my story, and I didn’t even like him.” Got it. Hitchhiking with C.B. is like that, too.

“I got my best ride of the whole hike from a truck driver named TJ….If an eighteen wheeler…is willing to stop for you, it is because the driver wants something from you…I will forever remember this trucker as the most beautiful man I could have had sex with if I weren’t so innocent.”

North Mountain required the hippies work one week a month in Richmond to earn cash for the commune. For C.B., this translated into seven communards living in one small apartment on this cultish mission. It was in a Richmond park where he meets a stranger who would sexually abuse him over a month until C.B. ends it. Furious, the man threatens to shut down the commune if he does not obey. In a state of panic, C.B. attempts suicide by overdosing on every pill he can get his hands on. The memoir takes the reader through the author’s horror by deepening the shadows. What was the specific nature of the abuse?  How did this stranger have credible power to threaten the commune? Entitled “What It’s Like to Die,” the chapter is a skillfully told, expressionistic turning point from an innocent’s hell to salvation at the intentional queer Lavender Hill commune in Central New York. C.B. desperately needed to “find my people.” 

He’s a resilient young man after living in three communes by the time he hit San Francisco. His two gay neighbors on Ashbury Street—Crow and Moonsnake—pressure him to get a new “hippie name.” Walking home from Golden Gate Park he zeroes in on a passing streetcar, “North Judah.” Goodbye “Charles,” Judah will be his new hippie name. Crow and Moonsnake, approve: “If that’s what the Universe called out to you.” If you remember the Sixties…

 “Too often,” Bennett writes, “we think of dropouts as withdrawing from life, but in truth, I think they are in a heightened state of seeking their rightful path and purpose. Nothing stays the same.” Juda Bennett remains a believer to this day, “Always putting my faith in my journey to Utopia”.

(Charles Francis is president of the Mattachine Society of Washington, D.C., and author of “Archive Activism:  Memoir of a ‘Uniquely Nasty’ Journey.”)

Eliot Glazer is a self-proclaimed ‘very bad gay guy.’ It’s a title the man wears with pride; he got his start writing for hit shows like The Boys and New Girl, imbuing every series with the dry, constantly dark humor that has come to define him as a creator. It’s a style of comedy that he carried into his career as a comedian, with the past few years seeing Glazer alternate between writing on hit shows and making audiences laugh through his stand-up. He uses each platform to hilariously describe his many mistakes, commenting on the chaotic gay community while emphasizing how bad he is at fitting in with the rest of his homosexual species. 

While his many fans have heard Glazer speak about this, these observations are often packaged through TV writing or punchlines, rarely getting to the heart of what it means to feel like you’re bad at being yourself. His audience has never gotten the chance to know the moments that forged Eliot as a ‘bad gay’ and what he truly means with this label — until now. 

In his new book, The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Gay, Eliot Glazer writes a collection of essays that show a side audiences have never seen before. In his own words, it is “a documentation of gay failures” and a “catalog of wrongs and misses,” a vulnerable exposé on the artist that audiences have loved for years. He humorously describes the lessons that built him and the moments that left him feeling distanced from his own community. And, throughout all the laughs (and occasional tears), Glazer makes readers question if maybe they’re a ‘bad gay’ too — and would that really be such a bad thing?

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“[Comedy] is the only language that I speak,” laughed Glazer, as he discussed what made him pursue a career in the genre. “Clearly it’s a defense mechanism…but I also feel like it’s the only way I can communicate with other people.” And he certainly does communicate; each of the book’s essays provides an almost too-relatable anecdote from the man’s life. Whether it’s almost getting outed by a ruthless high school drama teacher or dealing with ‘demon twinks’ on Fire Island, Eliot’s exploits will resonate with most gay men who grew up in the closet and have dabbled in their city’s local nightlife. 

Yet while funny, readers may be shocked at the amount of vulnerability that Glazer offers within each page. Readers quickly learn that his self-prescribed status as a ‘bad gay’ comes from a lack of easy connection with the other gay men around him. Living in larger cities means that he is constantly thrust into loud parties, drug-fueled exchanges, and otherwise boisterous outings that those around him seem to love. He emphasizes that he in no way judges that lifestyle, but that he’s never felt at ease in these bombastic settings, causing the anxiety in these essays…as well as some of the funniest jokes. Because, as Glazer explains, “I just kind of have to find a way to joke about it to keep it from being more uncomfortable than it might already be…it’s just a way to survive.”

In the humor, Glazer offers an uncomfortably relatable image of queer anxiety. He recounts moments most would try to forget, like one heartbreaking scene where of being so nervous about being judged at a party that he suffers a panic attack and never even goes in, leaving before anyone even has the chance to judge him. Eliot expressed how uncomfortable it was to transcribe moments like this — a far cry from his usual comedic writing — but knew that it was because they were so uncomfortable that he had to include them in his book. 

“The more vulnerable you are, the more you connect to people, the more they relate to you,” he said. “I like the idea of reaching other queer people and gay men who don’t necessarily feel the opportunity to share that sense of social anxiety or whatever feelings might bring shame to them, because I do feel like we as a community self-impose a level of pressure that I’m just yearning to break through.”

It’s an unfortunate truth of many gay circles; in the age of social media, countless groups in society have become fixated on appearing perfect, with many gay men desperately evading any chance of appearing ‘cringe’ to their judgmental peers. This is not everyone, of course, but it’s an issue pervasive enough that countless men just like Glazer feel uncomfortable being their genuine selves in gay spaces, not even finding the freedom of authenticity within their own community.

Glazer has faced this issue all his life, but through each essay of The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Gay, readers watch as the man comes to love himself beyond some pre-set image he’s been told to fit into. It’s a realization that only came from years of self-work, time that Eliot hopes to spare readers by being so vulnerable and inviting them into his own journey through his writing. 

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Eliot lives in Los Angeles and is actually hosting a discussion of the book at BookSoup — moderated by renowned Drag Queen and LA local, Trixie Mattel —on Tuesday, August 11th. He raved about how excited he was, and how he hopes this event will help connect him with anyone else who thinks they’re a ‘bad gay,’ saying, “I want other people to feel the comfort to acknowledge what makes them feel awkward or weird in the world…I do really hope, very selfishly, that I can meet other people who need to express and have catharsis in just also being like me too, me too.”

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And that is the core message of The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Gay: there is no wrong way to be queer. Eliot Glazer invites you to laugh at his many fumbles while reminding you that if you connect with him, that doesn’t mean you’re wrong! Rather, it means you’re not alone. And that for however isolated you may ever feel in the queer community, there are always people like Eliot out there, ready to relate to all of your mishaps and show you you’re not a ‘bad gay’ — you’re just a different kind of queer.

For his second book, local author Rasheed Newson showcases LA queer history, steamy cruising spots of yesteryear, and what it meant to be gay and Black during the golden age of Hollywood.

After a lifelong love of old Hollywood and two decades working in the entertainment industry, “There’s Only One Sin in Hollywood” is a story Newson always wanted to tell. Newson’s writing work includes shows like “Lie to Me,” “Narcos,” “Bel-Air,” and others.

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Following the fictional life of backlot fixer Aaron Toissant, Newson’s most recent novel showcases the glimmering facade of what it means to be successful in Hollywood during this time. 

The novel’s journey follows Toissant’s life and eventual investigation into the suspicious death of fictional closeted Black actor Xavier C. Barlow. The narrative of their intertwining lives is told through Toissant, where he chronicles their journey for the ONE Archives in Los Angeles. 

The novel is set during a pivotal time for the LGBTQ+ rights movement, years before the Stonewall riots and marriage equality, and under the Hays Code era of Hollywood.

The Hays Code governed the U.S. film industry from 1934 to 1968 with a list of restricted topics movies couldn’t include in their subject matter, leading to censorship. During the same time, the Cold War’s Red Scare also contributed to blacklisting and censorship.

These strict guidelines were made after a wave of conservative religious critics threatened to boycott films and values they claimed were “immoral,” according to the 1995 documentary “The Celluloid Closet,” which critiques 100 years of LGBTQ+ depictions in film.

The guidelines were made by a federal motion picture commission, and the code was named after the Republican political operative who helped shape it, Will H. Hays, according to the encyclopedia site Britannica.

A list of things prohibited, according to the film, includes: profanity, sex perversion, open-mouthed kissing, lustful embraces,  seduction, rape, abortion, white slavery (which included prostitution and sex trafficking), nudity, and obscenity.

The Hays Code plays a part in the novel, where Aaron witnesses Xavier and other closeted actors do subtle changes to make the film queer-coded to those in the know. This becomes a central plot point in the book, leading readers to the dark side of the industry.

During this time period, it was illegal to be gay or participate in gay sexual acts, and many states had legal restrictions on people wearing opposite gender clothing. It was unsafe and career-ruining to be an out gay person during this period.

Homosexuality wasn’t decriminalized in California until 1975, with the passing of AB 489, according to the California State Archives.

The heightened level of danger and secrecy plays out in the novel as studio leaders do whatever it takes to protect their investment and monetary returns.

“Hollywood has done a very good job of convincing everybody that we’re this town where anything goes, and we just want to tell your story,” Newson said. “We are actually a very cautious, rather conservative business.”

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Even today, LGBTQ+ representation and being out in the entertainment space remains an uphill battle. 

LGBTQ+ inclusion in film hit a three-year low in 2025, GLAAD’s annual Where We Are in Film study found. This decrease in LGBTQ+ characters disproportionately affects LGBTQ+ characters of color. “Of the 112 LGBTQ characters recorded, 34 (30%) are characters of color, a decrease from the 36% counted the previous year,” according to the report.

Much of the opulence and Hollywood parties featured in the novel are set in the backdrop of real-life Black and queer Hollywood hotspots like the Dunbar Hotel, the Biltmore, Central Avenue, and the Crown Jewel. 

Newson called Central Avenue the “heart of Black Hollywood in the 50s and 60s.”

Deed restrictions and discriminatory practices — like redlining — prevented Black families from living in or making a life in any other neighborhoods, according to the LA Conservancy website, leading to a prevalent Black arts scene in Central Avenue.

“I loved writing about the Crown Jewel (Cocktail Room) and how Black queers had a hard time sometimes getting into white gay spaces,” Newson said. “Even in gay spaces, racism is still a problem. Your average gay white man may not have been any more racially evolved than your average straight white man.”

“That there was segregation among queers is something we don’t like to talk about; it sort of just doesn’t come up in your average queer history,” he added.

Police targeting and discriminatory practices played a key part in the later portion of the novel.

Newson highlighted common practices of the time, including raids on suspected gay bars — which police called “fairy dusting,” according to Newson — and entrapment practices where undercover police posed as gay men to then arrest gay men they seduce or were propositioned by. 

Black and Latino gay men endured especially harsh treatment from police, and lesbians were also subjected to raids in addition to bogus charges, detentions and beatings during this time, according to Atavist Magazine.

Newson also called out Los Angeles Police Department’s then-chief Bill Parker by name in the novel (via Touissant’s character), highlighting his targeting of gay men during his run as chief from 1950 to 1966.

Newson wrote, “his police force operated like a band of slave catchers. They stalked, entrapped, beat, captured, and sometimes killed their targets. High on their list of enemies were sex perverts — namely, homosexuals.”

Additionally, a pivotal point of the book highlighted the Black Cat Tavern raid in Los Feliz.

Predating the Stonewall riots by two years, the Los Feliz raid took place in 1967 on New Year’s Day and was the site of violent enforcement of anti-homosexuality laws and sentiment during that time. 

The peaceful protest that followed a month after was one of the first forms of LGBTQ+ resistance for gay rights in the nation. The still-standing bar, now called The Black Cat, became California’s first LGBTQ+ historical landmark in October 2023.

“It was sort of fun because it rewards you (the reader) for knowing the history, but it doesn’t punish you for not knowing,” Newson said of the inclusion of the raid.

The novel’s local hotspot highlights don’t stop with historical significance. 

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Filled with a mix of deep, meaningful love connections and steamy one-time hookups, the book also highlights LA’s cruising scene. 

Popular cruising spots during this time that Newson wanted to highlight include: Pershing Square, LAX bathrooms, the Subway Terminal Building, Central Library, the Biltmore Hotel’s men’s bar, and Griffith Park.

Newson’s addition of real-life LGBTQ+ history into his fiction writing is not new. His first book, “My Government Means to Kill Me,” did the same while covering a young Black man coming into his identity during the AIDS epidemic in New York.

He is currently working on his third book, based on a Black gay serial killer in San Francisco during the 1970s. 

“There’s Only One Sin in Hollywood” is available now anywhere books are sold.

‘Kids, Wait Till You Hear This! My Memoir’
By Liza Minnelli, as told to Michael Feinstein
c.2026, Grand Central
$36/ 421 pages

Twenty feet In front of you, and you can’t see a thing.

Even the closest faces are in shadow – lit, but not quite enough for you to see for sure what the people there are thinking. Still, you can hear them, their gasps, their laughter, and applause. Such is life, on-stage. Now read “Kids, Wait Till You Hear This! My Memoir” by Liza Minnelli, as told to Michael Feinstein, and read about it beyond the spotlight.

Almost from the moment she was born, Liza Minnelli was famous.

It was inevitable: her mother was Judy Garland. Her father was director Vincente Minnelli. Her godparents were Hollywood glitterati, her neighbors were famous, her playmates would be famous someday, too.

But her life wasn’t all starlight and happiness.

She made her stage debut as a toddler. She became her “mother’s caretaker” at age 13.

At 16, she had a growing career of her own – one that her mother tried to stop. But, she says, “In her own way, Mama was wonderful to me. Try understanding – she was my mother, not a movie star…. I knew her as the person who loved me and always would.”

At 19, Minnelli was working, happy, and madly in love with the man who’d become her first husband, and life was wonderful – until she came home one day to find him in their bed with another man. Before they were divorced, she lost her beloved mother, and became “engaged” to two other men simultaneously, neither of which made it to the altar with her.

She married her second husband, the son of one of her mother’s former co-stars, in 1974 but her love affairs and addictions led to a second divorce.

Her third husband was a stage manager.

She doesn’t have much good to say about her fourth, and last, husband.

Overall, she says, “You gotta play the comedy for all it’s worth and leave ‘em laughing. Even when your heart is breaking.”

Are you expecting bluntness, sass, or attitude here? Good, because that’s what you get inside “Kids, Wait Till You Hear This!” It’s strong on honesty and don’t-give-a-flip. It’s wonderfully edited, so it moves fast. It’s eye-opening and funny and a pleasant surprise for a first, and only (so far), memoir.

Even better, author Liza Minnelli (with best friend, Michael Feinstein) is really quite candid and nicely gossipy, starting from the beginning. There are some Hollywood folks, in fact, who are feeling edgy because of what’s inside this book and the secrets spilled. Minnelli and Feinstein seemed to have fun telling her story, and they comfortably lure readers in.

That’s not to say that it’s all a cabaret. Minnelli tells about her addictions and recoveries, her marriages and why she wed two gay men, and the losses she endured, including miscarriages, deaths, and broken relationships. The bad balances well with the good for a tale that’s several notches above most celebrity memoirs. “Kids, Wait Till You Hear This!” is, in fact, a real joy to read, a genuine bright spot.

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‘Poking the Squid: What We Can Learn from Animal Sex’
By Perrin Roosevelt Ireland
c.2026, W.W. Norton
$29.99 241 pages

Birds do it.

According to Cole Porter, bees do, too, but it’s not exactly what he imagined. Wild and tame, avians, insects, and mammals all have sex – although not always as you’ve been told or for reasons you might think. Even educated fleas do it and, as in the new book, “Poking the Squid” by Perrin Roosevelt Ireland, humans can learn from them all.

If you read through scientific papers on animal reproduction, you might notice something unusual: for scientists, the word “sex” means a lot of different things.

Says Ireland, “It’s used to describe behaviors, biology, life histories, and more.”

That might be because animals are not simply binary.

Take, for instance, hyenas. It’s easy for the casual observer to mistake a male hyena for a female and vice versa because of stereotypes of anatomy. Mating, for hyenas, requires subordination for the male and a nifty trick on the part of the female’s body to get things done.

Our feathered friends are no birdbrains, either: black-browed albatrosses were once thought to be monogamous but global warming seems to have changed their nesting habits sometimes. Male flamingos have sex with one another, as a territorial thing; other birds and animals form same-sex pairs for other reasons.

The Chinese mantis eats her mate after fertilization. Female snakes, alpacas, guinea pigs, and monkeys are anatomically able to enjoy sex. Genitalia between species varies quite a bit; in fact, the vaginas of ducks “are highly complex.” Lionesses will mate up to 100 times when in heat. Female damselflies will change into a “third sex” to avoid overly aggressive mating males. Bearded dragons can change their sex, if needed, as can yellow clown goby fish. And seahorse pregnancy and birth sparked a book banning in Tennessee.

So, asks Ireland, if animals, including us, vary so much in biology and life, “… why are we using the word sex like it means something, anything, consistent?!”

Pick up “Poking the Squid,” page through it a few seconds, and you’ll see that the information here is largely told through cartoon-like drawings mixed with captions. It seems to be something on the lighter side, but don’t let that artwork fool you.

Author Perrin Roosevelt Ireland offers readers solid information that cozies up to the scholarly, with hard science, philosophy, feminism, and quotations from researchers to support it, thus furthering the narrative and hitting the points squarely. If you see the art and expect something lighthearted, comic, and small-talk-worthy, you could be disappointed.

On the other hand, if you want solid, wryly serious facts, you’re in for a treat.

There’s lots of learning to be gleaned here, and some slight nudge-wink whimsy to emphasize the absurdity of wrong-headed thinking. This can make readers feel like they’re in-the-know on the jokes, and the playfulness balances the seriousness of the information well.

So, serious, scholarly, or slightly silly, none of these are negative but you’re going to know what you want from a book like this. For the right reader, someone in the mood, “Poking the Squid” is wild.

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‘Transcendent: A Memoir’
By Laverne Cox
c.2026, Gallery Books
$30/238 pages

OK, let’s just say it: You’re tired of lies.

They come from above, behind, from either shoulder. They’re repeated, laid out in a line, told as if they’re true but they’re not. You wish people would stop lying to you. As in the new memoir “Transcendent” by Laverne Cox, you wish you could tell the truth about yourself.

Sissy.

If the bullies in the neighborhood weren’t constantly calling Laverne Cox that name, then Cox’s mother was. “Sissy,” was just one word, though; the others were worse. The boys would say those things while they beat Cox, when they could catch her. Her mother screamed at her gentle child who didn’t like “boy” activities.

Even at eight years old, says Cox, “I was a prim and proper lady.”

Despite the verbal abuse about her perceived feminine behavior and a furtive, failed attempt at conversion therapy, Cox’s mother sent her and her brother to the Alabama School of Fine Arts, where Cox learned to dance. It was a lifeline for her, and the talent gained there helped Cox get into college in Indiana.

From there, Cox expected to find fame and fortune in New York City.

And yet, the abuse she suffered as a child held Cox back, and the words “There is something wrong with me” became a daily mantra.

“I didn’t know how to say it.” Cox says. “I’m a girl.”

There were therapy sessions to get to that point, as Cox learned the language and skills needed to speak the truth. Landing a sense of style helped, as did her brother’s support, a handful of friends, and happy, scent-infused memories of her mother’s make-up table.

At each step, Cox says, “I was expressing myself, I was also allowing myself to edge closer to my girlhood.”

Let’s start here: “Transcendent” is a difficult read – not for style, but for substance.

From her earliest memory of being sexually abused as a toddler; to verbal and physical abuse from many sources; to what, judging by photo captions, seems perhaps like forgiveness, author Laverne Cox glosses over nothing. Be ready, in other words, for pages and pages of memories that, like a roller-coaster, will make you cringe and want to hide your eyes, although doing so would be a mistake.

As this book progresses, Cox’s story does, too. We see a child who knows a truth but has no words for it. The child becomes a teen with a bursting sense of self, then a young adult who craves love as she’s stretching her wings. By the time Cox advances to writing about her career and the abuse is (mostly) over, readers will breathe a well-deserved sigh of relief. Whew, you’ve winced through a harrowing tale to reach a satisfying but not complete update.

Fans of Cox’s work will want “Transcendent,” as will anyone who’s transitioned, is thinking about it, or loves someone who has. It’s a rough read, but a necessary one, then, and that’s no lie.

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Books for Pride by various authors
c.2026, various publishers
$18.95 – $29.00

How many times have you marched so far this month? Seems like there’s always a reason to gather and walk during Pride, but save some time for yourself, too. You’ll want to reflect, rest, and read these great books about living your best Pride month. 

No doubt, you’ve thought once or twice about stepping away from society as it is, and moving somewhere more accepting. So read “Qtopia: A Memoir of Love, Land, and Liberation” by Juda Bennett (University of Wisconsin Press, $18.95), the story of doing exactly that, and how it turned out.

Back in the ‘70s, Bennett fled the suburbs and all it represented, and went “back to the land,” to a commune named Lavender Hill. Some of the places he’d lived before then had promised way more than they delivered, but Lavender Hill was different – more rural, more open, more queer, much better. But you know all good things must end, and that includes “queer utopia.” The only thing left was to re-enter the mainstream, a journey unto itself, and one worth reading.

Speaking of memoirs, in “Gay Mormon Dad” by Chad Anderson, art by Remy Burke (Graphic Mundi, $21.99), you’ll read about Anderson’s life as a husband (to a woman), a father, and a man who seemingly had it all but it wasn’t right, and he wasn’t happy. He was gay, but acknowledging it, telling his family and his church family, could mean the loss of everything he loved. It’s a story that may be familiar to you, in some way, and it’s a quick read.

For most of his life, Joseph Osmundson dreamed about getting pregnant and having a family. The former didn’t happen and, as for the latter, as he writes in his memoir, “Spawning Season: An Experiment in Queer Parenthood” (Bloomsbury, $27.99) the journey for a gay man to become a father can have plenty of roadblocks.

When two women approach Osmundson to be a sperm donor, it appears that his ultimate dreams are about to come true. Things go swimmingly – until race enters the conversation. Are the words “donor” and “dad” the same? Read this powerful book, and think about it.

And finally, if parenthood as a gay person is something that’s a case of maybe-later, then “Good Morning Moon: A Snapshot of an American Family” by Brad Gooch (Harper, $29) is a book to find. It’s the story of late-life love, surrogacy, and identity as Gooch learns about himself as he learns to be a good Dad. This is a great book for older fathers, and anyone who’s on the parental fence, later in life.

If these great books aren’t enough for you, or if you’re looking for something different for Pride, then head to your favorite bookstore or library and ask the staff there to help you find your next best read. They’ve got a lot of books to put in your hands, a lot of sunny afternoons full of relaxing and promise, so march on out, get a new book, and happy Pride!

‘Devout: Losing My Faith to Find Myself’
By David Archuleta
c.2026, Gallery Books
$29/290 pages

So just make up your mind already.

The decision is very much in your control – or, at least that’s how it’s supposed to be. It’ll be your future, your path, and seizing it may not just be necessary, but mandatory. It’s your life, and no one can live it for you. As in the new memoir “Devout” by David Archuleta, that goes for career and for love, too.

Born to parents who both had musical careers before they wed, David Archuleta remembers an early childhood growing up in a Hispanic Mormon community in Florida, where kin was always nearby. He was six when his parents moved the immediate family to Utah; the first thing he remembers about that is the snow, and how it was so cold, it burned.

Because music was in his blood, Archuleta grew up singing and dancing, often with his mother whom he calls “my rock.” It was his father, however, who encouraged him to perform; first, with a gentle push, then a shove toward a career Archuleta didn’t really want.

But he did want to make his father happy, so he went along with the contests, embarrassing meet-and-greets with stars, and uncomfortable introductions. Slowly, though, performing became more fun, and Archuleta made friends.

Meanwhile, back home, everything was breaking apart. A “family friend” whom Archuleta refuses to name accused his father of abuse. He was exonerated, but it affected the family’s closeness and they stopped being affectionate.

That was a painful backdrop to Archuleta’s soaring career, his appearances on Star Search, friendships with other rising stars, his runner-up spot on “American Idol,” tours, and recording contracts. His father kept pushing him.

But there was one thing missing.

Since he was a boy, Archuleta had known that he was attracted to men, but his Mormon faith taught him that that was unacceptable. Kissing, his abuelita said, was wrong. He tried hard to date girls, in the most chaste way. Anything past that was against God – and anything at all with a man was unthinkable.

Though it absolutely favors his personal life and dwells on it a bit too much, “Devout” strikes an otherwise nice balance between that, author David Archuleta’s career, his sexuality, and his faith. The latter two are loaded with controversy.

You don’t need to be Mormon to fully understand the faith part; Archuleta offers non-Mormons a brief education, so readers can see the importance of the Church’s teachings in his life and why he felt the need to abandon it as his understanding of his bisexuality grew. It’s emotionally raw and honest, but also so respectful that it almost bears re-reading. Such candor and the heart-on-his-sleeve tone you’ll sense are features in the entire book, alongside Archuleta’s family’s struggles and his learning to strike out alone.

It’s harmonious in more ways than one, and fans will be happy.

So, too, will anyone who wants a unique memoir with a dose of faith, or someone who’s an “American Idol”watcher. Find “Devout” and be sure to share. You won’t mind.

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‘Mighty Real: A History of LGBTQ Music, 1969-2000’
By Barry Walters
c.2026, Viking
$35/496 pages

Step, step, tap, back step.

Shimmy in a circle, left hand waving over your head, shake your tail feathers, repeat to the beat. Once there was a time when you could do any dance in your sleep, but it’s been a while. So read “Mighty Real” by Barry Walters, and see if your toes don’t tap.

Fifty-seven years after Stonewall, and here we are: LGBTQ musicians still face scrutiny for their sexuality because, says Walters, music isn’t created for gay listeners. No problem: LGBTQ artists and writers have often penned lyrics carefully in order to say what can’t be said, “coding” songs for gay audiences that straight (and ignorant) listeners can dance to and enjoy with apparent obliviousness.

Walters offers “just a few” examples.

Lou Reed sang about trans people in the late ‘60s and offered a rallying song for the Gay Liberation Front in 1972, the latter of which felt like a message to a then-11-year-old Walters. Janis Joplin claimed she was straight, but she had several girlfriends. Motown singers often offered sometimes-ambiguous lyrics.

John Lennon’s hand placement on the back cover of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band made Walters begin to understand that he was different from other boys.

David Bowie is on his list, of course, as is Bette Midler, Elton John, Donna Summer, and Queen. You’ll find Judas Priest here, Green Day, and punk music. The Village People are included in this book, also Grace Jones, Duran Duran, and Cher, Whitney, Melissa, Latifah, and the lyrics from several blockbuster movies.

Two of Prince’s band members were lesbians, and they heavily influenced his albums. Diana Ross’s “I’m Coming Out” cemented her position in LGBTQ culture, and Michael Jackson’s inclusion here takes much careful consideration.

Read about Olivia Newton-John and the B52s. And then there’s Sylvester, for whom Walters has a soft spot in his heart. Sylvester’s death still makes Walters cry.

In his preface, author and music writer Barry Walters points out that music is what you make it and that it’s interpreted differently by each individual. To that end, this book naturally consists of preferential history and personal opinions about singers, bands, albums, and songs.

Agree or disagree. That’s where much of the appeal lies in “Mighty Real.”

Here, Walters wraps his memories around his choices, giving readers room for their own views, memories, and list making. Music-loving readers might also be surprised to note who’s not on Walters’ list – there aren’t many country performers here, for example, and the overall list focuses entirely on music from roughly 1968 to the year 2000, mostly on the kinds of songs you’ll want at the club or party. Again, discuss, and curate your own playlist.

This is a hefty book, but the chapters are browse-able and generally short enough to read in under five minutes. It’s nostalgic, yet also serious in the history it presents. This is the kind of book you want to leave near your album collection, or wherever you get your tunes. But finding “Mighty Real” is your first step.

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