‘The Elements’
By John Boyne
c.2025, Henry Holt
$29.99/496 pages

You weren’t proud of it.

Something you did in your past, yesterday, five years ago, a lifetime, you think of it sometimes and poke it like a bad tooth. You’re not proud of it but you paid for it anyhow, with time, money, apologies, or through a jury of your peers and you know this: as in the new novel, “The Elements” by John Boyne, the condemnation is harshest when the jury is you.

She changed her name again.

It was the first thing Willow Hale did when she rented the cottage on an island not far from Dublin. Isolation would help her sort things out: to figure out why her husband was in jail, why her daughter avoided her. Willow didn’t want anyone to recognize her as she came to terms with her role in what happened.

Though he was born with the skills of an athlete, Evan Keogh didn’t want to be a soccer star. He wanted to be an artist after he left the island, but he wasn’t talented enough. Coming to terms with that took a while, and he sold his body to older men to get by in the meantime. When he finally accepted his athleticism, it was not because he loved the game. It was because he loved revenge but satisfying that itch would ruin his life.

Medical students were annoyances that Freya Petrus had to endure.

Though she was a highly regarded burn surgeon, the truth was that she disliked humanity in general, perhaps because of childhood trauma she couldn’t forget. So, teeth gritted, no family, no friends, no close colleagues, she endured people, relying instead on a sordid hobby to soothe her memories.

Rebecca didn’t ask Aaron Umber to bring their son from Australia to Ireland, but there was a reason he did so, though Emmet balked at the trip. Emmet was at a tender age, not an adult but not a child anymore, either – 14, the same age as when something happened to Aaron that affected him forever.

Where to begin?

How about: “The Elements” is an incredible book.

How about from the very beginning of it, you’ll be captured by what feels like “The Twilight Zone” without the paranormal; like reading the news, and wincing.

Here, the lush Irish background that author John Boyne so lovingly portrays is secondary to his characters, each of them flawed, maybe irretrievably so, as they wrestle with culpability and self-indulgent recognition of the past. You’ll dangle from a string as four intertwined tales eke out in a delicious tease, detonating a little TNT on a page every now and then to keep you on the edge of your chair.

No spoilers here but the end of these four stories isn’t quite really an end, which will leave you flabbergasted, staring at the back cover for a few minutes after you close it.

Beware that there are adult themes inside this book, and they could be triggering. If that’s not a worry, let yourself be stunned by “The Elements.”

Love it? Guilty.

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Richard E. Cytowic, neurology professor at George Washington University, has written a memoir, “The Magician’s Accomplice: My Father and I in the Age of Anxiety,” about his complicated relationship with his father, Edmund R. Cytowic. “Big Ed,” also a doctor, was a larger-than-life figure who molded his family into a perfect image while hiding his drinking and drug use. In an interview edited for clarity, Dr. Cytowic spoke about magic as metaphor, memories, and gay life in D.C.

BLADE: What was your inspiration for writing this memoir? 

RICHARD CYTOWIC: It was something I felt I had to do. If I didn’t write it, I would go crazy. And it’s taken me about 10 years. It’s gone through many iterations. The first version started with my first day at Duke and had a dual narrative with myself as a young man, stumbling about making mistakes, and the older, wiser neurologist looking back on his younger self and commenting on it. That didn’t work out, but I realized the story was really about my father and me and our dynamic, how he shaped me to be just like him. At the time, I didn’t realize, because, when you’re too close to the material, you can’t see it for what it is. My sister’s observation in the memoir’s opening line, “Come hell or high water, you were going to be a doctor like him,” captures all my memories of him. And I am, I was.

BLADE: The interpretations you give some of your memories are striking. For instance, your family dancing onstage at a Liberace concert. From the outside it feels charming, yet there’s pain there.

CYTOWIC: It is an amusing anecdote. But it’s also sad because it shows we were all performers. We got up on stage effortlessly, we all knew our lines. We knew what to do, how to pose in front of 4,000 people, because we were Big Ed’s puppets for many years. And we just thought it was quite natural to perform because we had been doing this all our lives. 

BLADE: It’s striking how in that moment you saw yourself becoming a monster like your father, trying to be the center of attention. You told Liberace, “I have a piece ready to play if you want.”

CYTOWIC: And he said, “This is my show, Richard.” He saw that even at 10 years old, I was trying to take over the center stage. But that’s what we were taught. We were supposed to shine and perform and just be charming, in a way that made us totally false. My impetus for this memoir was to try to understand Big Ed. For stories like this where you have an alcoholic father out of control, it’s so easy for everybody to say, “Oh, my God, I hate him, I can’t stand him.” What I call “You son of a bitch, look what you did to me” stories, those are the easiest stories in the world to tell. But it doesn’t tell anything about the monster, so you have to ask: Was the monster hurt or lonely? Why did he act that way? What made him the way he was? Was there some original wound that he was acting out on himself? So, in the end, instead of a “You son of a bitch” story, it’s really a love story to Big Ed, trying to show some compassion to him and understanding what sort of creature he was.

BLADE: At one point you describe him as high camp. I wonder if you if you ever thought that he might have been gay or bisexual, if deeply closeted? 

CYTOWIC: I wonder that too. I don’t have any proof one way or the other, but he certainly was sexually very outspoken. He had all those nude orgy parties and took pictures all the time. I’m sure that goes on all the time now in D.C., but back then, it must have been very unusual. The fact that he could convince people to take part in all that, have them dress up in costumes and pose for pictures, you just have to laugh and think, wow, what a force of nature he was. And mentioning camp, he was camp in the sense of Susan Sontag’s definition, which is a singular incandescent figure who is one thing, an exaggeration, and that was him. He instilled in me a taste for the offbeat and the unusual. If something was normal, I wasn’t interested, but if it was a little off, that was attractive. 

BLADE: You mention being drawn to camp figures like Auntie Mame and Liberace. 

CYTOWIC: When I saw “Auntie Mame” at Radio City Music Hall, I was in the first grade, so I was five years old. I loved that movie so much because all that craziness was so familiar. Patrick making drinks in the morning, I did that. And my classmates and peers didn’t do anything like that, though it took a while to realize what an unusual life we were living, my mother, sister, and I with Big Ed. 

BLADE: The theme of magic and magic tricks runs through the book, which connects so much of life with your father and even your life outside. 

CYTOWIC: Magic is a real through line, because two things were prominent with Big Ed. One was the cameras. He had tons of cameras, and the other was the magic, which he did constantly. So would I. When we went to the lake in the summer, I would entertain neighbors and guests by putting on a big magic show. I even made up my own trick. As I say, magic is about telling people you’re going to fool them and then fooling them. Having them know what they’re seeing isn’t possible, and yet they believe it.

BLADE: It feels like such a perfect metaphor for your family. 

CYTOWIC: It’s the spectator’s ability to hold two different, contradictory perspectives at the same time. That’s what we did. On the outside, we were a lovely family, everybody would compliment us when we went out to dinner. Back then, with children in restaurants, everybody said, “Oh my god, they’re going to start screaming and running around,” and we were the opposite. My sister and I were dressed up, I had a little coat and clip-on tie. We cleaned our plates, which my father really liked. And then people would come over and compliment my parents on what lovely children they had. Even the proprietor would say, “Doc, your kids are welcome here anytime.” We went against expectations. Here’s this picture perfect little family, so sweet and lovable, and yet behind the scenes, it was absolute chaos. That was the magic, the illusion that we were this lovely family on the surface, while behind the scenes, all hell was breaking loose. 

My sister to this day still hates my father. Every time we talk about him, she says, “I hated him. I couldn’t get out of the house fast enough.” She’s frozen in her perspective, and I went instead and looked, to find out who he was, what made him kick? Why was he this way? How did he make me the way I am? And how did I emerge with my own personality? Also, in turning away from the “You son of a bitch” kind of approach and moving to one of trying to understand him, that’s the magic trick that that brings him back, like the dove that’s hidden, and then you produce some silk scarves and, abracadabra, the dove reappears again, all whole. 

BLADE: Your descriptions of gay life in D.C. during the ‘80s are fascinating. What’s been the biggest change in that world nowadays? 

CYTOWIC: When I came to D.C., you really couldn’t be out in a broad sort of way. So you cultivated a circle of friends, you learned to entertain and throw parties, you did fabulous things. There was a lot more cohesiveness in this world because we all protected one another. I was out but I didn’t make a big deal of it. And it was only when I interviewed for the position of chief resident of Neurology at GW, that it became well-known. I kept meeting people through the process, including David, a psychiatrist who was training to get his neurology certification. I went to his place and talked some more and felt so comfortable talking to him. He mentioned he and the woman he was seeing were going out that night and asked, “You want me to get a date for you?” I said, “Well, David, that’s very nice. Thank you, but I’m gay.” I didn’t realize that he would tell everybody so that when I finally accepted the job and showed up, everybody knew already that I was gay. It helped that there was a physician, an assistant Dean, in the department who was also gay. So we were naturally sympathetic to one another and he was very helpful. It really helped, too, that GW was, and still is, the gayest medical school in the country. If a student at another medical school had problems because he was gay, being bullied, he would transfer to GW. It became a magnet for medical students all over the country. Also, I remember thinking, I’m six blocks from the White House. It doesn’t get any better. At that time, D.C. was a very gay city, so it was easy to make friends and pick up tricks or whatever I wanted to do. 

The cell phone has ruined so much because you can’t get people to commit to anything. Instead of saying, “Let’s have dinner next Tuesday at 7:30,” they say, “Well, I don’t know what I might be doing. Something better might come along.” I don’t how people socialize anymore because it’s all so last minute. It drives me crazy. I used to throw sex parties in the ‘90s. I called them “office parties” because they were in my office. I took over from a group that socialized first, starting with drinks and hors d’oeuvres, and then they announced, “time to take off your clothes.” And I said, “No, you cannot mix a social setting with a sexual setting. It doesn’t work like that.” I took over, and set strict rules, one being, everybody arrives at the same time. You’ve got to be here between 8 and 8:15, or else the door is locked, and you’re not getting in. Because so many other parties had people showing up two hours after it started, when things got hot. If you make things hot from the get go, then everybody has a really good time. Now, I don’t know what people do. I’m out of the loop. My orgy days are over. 

BLADE: What do you hope readers will take away from “The Magician’s Accomplice?” 

CYTOWIC: How to be yourself. I learned how to be myself and not be at the mercy of other people’s expectations. I developed the attitude of, I don’t care what other people think, because their opinion doesn’t affect me one way or the other. So when I write something, I’m not trying to prove a point or convince people. I say, “Here’s what I know. Here’s what I’ve been through. Take a look if you find it useful.” Maybe my experiences will help you.  

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‘Mounted: On Horses, Blackness, and Liberation’
By Bitter Kalli
c.2025, Amistad
$22/192 pages

One thousand, two hundred pounds and four legs.

Put that between your knees and you’ll find out what real horsepower is. You’re five feet off the ground, moving as fast as a car on a downtown street, hooves pounding as hard as your heart. Dangerous? Maybe. But as you’ll see in “Mounted” by Bitter Kalli, your ancestors did it and so can you.

When they were a young child, “around the age of six or seven,” someone gave Bitter Kalli a set of “pony books,” the kind that appeal to young girls, mostly white ones. Kalli wasn’t entirely comfortable identifying as a girl then but they adored the books, in part because the stories featured the kinds of friendships and acceptance Kalli wanted. After devouring those stories, they begged their parents for riding lessons from a nearby Brooklyn stable.

Fast forward to 2014, when Kalli was 17 years old, an experienced equestrian, a trans individual, and a protester at college. During that protest, they watched the horses that carried the police, and wondered what those animals saw in the crowd.

For that matter, what did horses see throughout Black history?

In times of slavery, it was not uncommon for fleeing slaves to steal a horse or two to get away faster. Kalli shares heart-pounding tales of escape, sharing examples of how human chattel was often compared to that of equines in newspaper ads, as slaveholders mourned the latter loss much deeper than the former.

Many Americans are unaware of the rich contributions that African Americans made to the settling of the West. Kalli examines a popular movie, deconstructing it and adding real history to the Hollywood tale.

“What we know as the Wild West would not exist without the 182,000 enslaved people living in Texas in 1860…” they say.

Horses are featured in many of the world’s religions. Horsey language lends itself to the erotic. Even, says Kalli, “Black and brown youth in Brooklyn” understood the appeal of a good-looking Polo pony…

Take a good study of the cover of “Mounted.” Appreciate the artwork, notice the design. Then add this book to your “Things I Never Really Thought About” list, because you’ll think about it now. And you’re going to want to read every delicious word.

Horses have been hiding in plain sight in Black history for centuries, but author Bitter Kalli pulls them to the forefront, turning each facet of the subject over for deeper examination and additional thought. Happily, you won’t feel forced to do that; their writing comes across like an invitation to a warm, intimate conversation, the kind you get while casually hanging out with a new group of friends on the patio. What you learn is highly intriguing, and you won’t ever see horses in the same way again.

Beware that this book has one explicit chapter inside, but it fits the narrative and you won’t mind. You’ll be too busy enjoying what you read and wanting more. For horse lovers and history lovers alike, “Mounted” is the perfect ride.

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‘Hotshot: A Life on Fire’
By River Selby
c.2025, Atlantic Monthly Press
$27/326 pages

How you doing?

Everything good? You need anything, something to drink, a plate of food, a hug, just say the word. If you’re here, you should at least be happy about it. As in the new book “Hotshot” by River Selby, there’s a problem if something’s wrong.

River Selby never set out to be a hotshot firefighter.

They never set out to do anything, in fact, but to stay alive while doing drugs, selling sex for food and money, working as a stripper and a waitress, and living for a time with a man under a bridge. It wasn’t the life they imagined when they became a runaway as a tweenager. Fighting fires was never on the radar until too many losses and an “unraveled” life, bulimia, and a series of fast-food jobs sent them into a deep depression. The suggestion from a friend, a lifeline thrown, made Selby realize that they “would have tried anything.”

“A week later,” they said, “I was hired. Two weeks after that I was on my way to New Mexico for my first fire assignment.”

Quickly and clearly, a big goal became apparent: Selby wanted to be a hotshot, to feel the “reverence” and camaraderie that elite firefighters enjoy, to know the excitement of chasing a raging fire – but they were told, “You can’t be a hotshot. You’re a girl.”

Two years later, the dream was realized after all when they were hired as “the first woman” of a hotshot crew, a fact of which the supervisor reminded Selby constantly. Sexual harassment and constant put-downs instantly became on-the-job concerns, none of which could be reported for fear of reprisals. That intensified Selby’s bulimia, sending them on an emotional tailspin, unsure of themselves and the root of the anxiety and feelings of inadequacy.

They sought therapy – and things again became clear.

“If you really believe that about yourself,” a therapist told them, “then someone taught you to believe it.”

In the past few months, there have been a lot of new memoirs about fighting fires, each as timely as the last. In the midst of them comes “Hotshot,” which is absolutely not a made-for-TV book. It’s different.

Yes, you’ll find some danger inside here and some edge-of-your-seat pages but mostly, fires aren’t all that need fighting in author River Selby’s account. From the opening pages, they plainly let readers know that their back story isn’t what you might expect from someone in a gutsy profession; in fact, this memoir might instead change your definition of “gutsy” as the actual fires they battled take somewhat of a back seat. In the fiery wake of #MeToo, that can get squirmy but Selby’s stories from history, ecology, and geology make great ballast.

This is a worthy book for adventurers, and for readers who wonder what it’s like for a nonbinary person in a deeply swaggering world. “Hotshot” may rankle you, it may inspire you, it may open your eyes to your own soul, so find it and read. With this book, you’ll love doing it.

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‘Just Good Manners’
By William Hanson
c.2025, Gallery Books
$28.99/272 pages

So. Many. Forks.

You’re glad you’re not doing the dishes at the end of this dinner – but in the meantime, what’s protocol? If this event wasn’t a make-or-break, filled-with-repercussions kind of deal for you, you wouldn’t care; you’d use one fork, one spoon, and enjoy your meal, thank you. So please pass the salt and the new book “Just Good Manners” by William Hanson.

Dining at a restaurant not long ago, Hanson noticed a glaring difference between how his fellow Brits order a meal, and how Americans do it. We might share a language, he says, and we’re a lot alike but we’re also different in many ways. Manners are one of them.

It may seem that formal manners are archaic, even quaint, but Hanson says that they’re needed now more than ever. Manners help smooth social transactions. They leave room for grace in many situations, and they help put people at ease.

“Contemporary etiquette,” he says, “is rooted in six key principles.”

Humility is what ensures that everyone at your meeting or dinner is comfortable, not just you. Hospitality welcomes everyone to the table. Knowing one’s rank shows respect. Says Hanson, “politeness takes patience” and humor, as manners evolve. And although it sounds counter-intuitive, manners are somewhat based on passive-aggressiveness, which helps you be direct, but not too much.

Here, you’ll learn how to deal with introductions in different situations and what to do with a pronoun faux pas. You’ll see that merely greeting someone can be fraught with danger, so be sure you know who’s who before you enter a room. Learn to avoid five “taboo” topics when engaging in small talk. If you’re interrupted, know how to kindly gain control of a conversation again. Find out how the use of slang tells a listener who you really are. Know how to be a good guest, and the kind of host people appreciate.

And yes, you’ll learn about those many, many forks.

You do not live in a bubble. You don’t work in one, either, and smoothing ruffled feathers is needed more than ever in today’s world so maybe it’s time to learn how to do that from a very unruffled source. With “Just Good Manners,” it could even set you apart.

Indeed, author William Hanson makes a case for politeness-as-diplomacy here, in a book that’s very Brit-centric but that includes anecdotes about disastrous situations in other countries. Tales like those are fun to read, in a Schadenfreude way, but they also illustrate why it’s essential to understand other cultures in business settings as well as in many casual events. If that sounds daunting, rest assured that Hanson uses his own advice, putting readers at ease with humor and charm and by taking the scariness out of manners by making them an easy, maybe even enjoyable, challenge.

You won’t feel scolded when you read “Just Good Manners,” but you will learn enough to be someone people want around. It’ll give you confidence. Before your next big event, it’ll give you something to chew on.

‘Judy Garland: The Voice of MGM’
By Scott Brogan
c.2025, Lyons Press
$65/405 pages

The monkeys used to scare you a lot.

The Wicked Witch was one thing but those flying simians with their booming voices? Ugh, they gave you nightmares for weeks. And despite that you knew how things would end – you’d seen the movie annually, for heaven’s sake – let’s just say you spent a lot of time covering your eyes. So now be like a Lion. Get uncowardly and find “Judy Garland: The Voice of MGM” by Scott Brogan.

When most people think about Judy Garland, two images come to mind: the teenager in pigtails or “The one-dimensional image of an always suffering and always tragic Garland.” Neither one, says Brogan, is totally correct. In reality, Garland was “positive, joyful, and funny.”

Her parents, Ethel and Frank Gumm, were performers who moved their little family around Michigan and Wisconsin before landing in Grand Rapids, Minn., where their youngest child, Frances, was born in 1922. An adorable baby, little Frances loved an audience almost from the time she could walk; her parents happily added her to the family troupe.

In 1926, the Gumms performed their way across the country to Los Angeles, where Frances and her sisters appeared in many shows, but critics were not entirely impressed. Still, Ethel pushed and the girls toured with Paramount Circuit in the northwest, and then in Chicago in 1934 where Frances had “one of [her] biggest career milestones.”

By 1935, she was formally using the name “Judy Garland” onstage and she’d secured informal representation. That same year, she signed a contract with MGM, a studio that took a near-total control it “would exert over Garland’s personal life” and her schedule, denying her wish to be with her father at the end of his life and dictating what she ate or didn’t eat.

Still, says Brogan, their methods worked: by the time Garland was 20 years old, her “career seemed to know no limits.”

Page through “Judy Garland: The Voice of MGM” and you’ll instantly know that you’re in for a treat: this book is loaded with photos, stills, publicity shots, and newspaper recreations. There’s a lot to look at here, but what there is to read is better.

Author Scott Brogan makes Judy Garland his raison d’ȇtre in this book, but it’s not entirely all about her. Brogan shares an overview of the movie studio that made her famous, including what is arguably her most top-of-mind film, the gossip that surrounded it then, and the mythology that still lives on. There’s a comprehensive list of World War II-era appearances that Garland made, and what happened at each one. If you’re expecting dirt-dishing, you’ll read about her father’s secret, her marriages, and her addictions, but not in an over-the-top scandalous way. Brogan is factual, inclusive, and respectful, just as you’d want.

If you’re planning on having guests soon, put “Judy Garland: The Voice of MGM” away or your guests will want to read, rather than mingle. It’s the kind of coffee-table book that, for fans, will make you Get Happy.

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‘Passionate Outlier: Gay Writers and Allies on Their Work’
By Frank Pizzoli
c.2025, Rebel Satori Press
$18.95/246 pages

“Passionate Outlier” is a collection of 20 interviews and book reviews by freelance journalist Frank Pizzoli, covering gay authors, with one lesbian and one ally. Ranging from 2007 to 2019, Pizzoli talks with authors like Edmund White, John Rechy, Daniel Mendelsohn, and Salman Rushdie, and covers books about Gore Vidal and Christopher Isherwood. He captures great writers speaking about literature, politics, and gay life, while providing all necessary background on them.

Sadly, two of Pizzoli’s subjects, Edmund White and Felice Picano, have passed away since the book’s publication. Both writers were part of the “Violet Quill” a group of New York gay authors that met in the early ‘80s. Pizzoli interviews the then three surviving members, White, Picano, and Andrew Holleran. They speak at length about the history of the group and its myth. They only met eight times from 1980 to 1981, divvying up subject matter among them, and as they mention, writing is mainly a solitary activity. Yet the idea of the group endures as helping shape gay literature as a serious genre, not just “pornography” as it was previously considered. They also discuss White’s passionate argument with a critic over the very idea of gay literature; White believed in it, while the critic fiercely thought it was impossible. White also mentions that the harshest reviews of his work came from other gay men. Indeed, he responds to criticism from other authors included in this book, such as Daniel Mendelsohn and Christopher Bram. This back and forth throughout makes the book feel like an extended conversation between several writers.

Gore Vidal also serves as a connecting thread. Although he died before Pizzoli could interview him, his presence is greatly felt in many pieces. A review of Michael Mewshaw’s memoir of his friendship with Vidal, and an interview with Vidal’s official biographer Jay Parini show Vidal’s “thin skin,” drunken conversations, and litigiousness; he threatened to sue White over a play that imagined conversations between a Vidal-like figure and Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh. Christopher Bram, author of “Eminent Outlaws,” a history of gay writers, discusses Vidal’s intense rivalry with Truman Capote. Vidal’s works were deeply researched, but Capote was the more natural writer. Others talk about how his longtime partner Howard Austen was the only one who could get him to “shut up” when he was misbehaving.

Pizzoli allows the authors to reveal themselves in conversation. John Rechy, famous for his debut novel about male hustlers, “City of Night,” was Mexican-American but light-skinned enough to pass; a teacher changed his name from Jose to John. “City of Night” came from letters he wrote friends, which he sent to a magazine as the beginning of a novel, which forced him to write. He felt like writing the novel was betraying the secrets of the hustlers, prostitutes, and customers he knew so well.

Scholar, playwright, and novelist Martin Duberman discusses the political history of the gay rights movement and its connections with similar struggles, arguing that the Black Movement’s embrace of their difference helped gay people accept that they were not “inferior” to straight people. He wonders if marriage equality will lead to gays accepting government wrongdoing, because protesting would show “ingratitude.”

A surprising interview is Salman Rushdie, whose novel “The Golden House” has a character struggling with gender identity. He carefully researched the subject and spoke with friends to get it right. With thoughtful questions and reflective responses, “Passionate Outlier” shows the talent, diversity, and interconnectedness among gay authors.

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‘Make Sure You Die Screaming’
By Zee Carlstrom
c.2025, Random House
$28/304 pages

Sometimes, you just want to shut the door and forget what’s on the other side.

You could just wipe it from your memory, like it didn’t occur. Or create an alternate universe where bad things never happen to you and where, as in the new novel “Make Sure You Die Screaming” by Zee Carlstrom, you can pretend not to care.

Their mother called them “Holden,” but they’d stopped using that name and they hadn’t decided what to use now. What do you call an alcoholic, queer, pessimistic former ad executive who’s also “The World’s First Honest White Man,” although they no longer identify as a man? It’s a conundrum that they’ll have to figure out soon because a cop’s been following them almost since they left Chicago with Yivi, their psychic new best friend.

Until yesterday, they’d been sleeping on a futon in some lady’s basement, drinking whatever Yivi mixed, and trying not to think about Jenny. They killed Jenny, they’re sure of it. And that’s one reason why it’s prudent to freak out about the cop.

The other reason is that the car they’re driving was stolen from their ex-boyfriend who probably doesn’t know it’s gone yet. 

This road trip wasn’t exactly well-planned. Their mother called, saying they were needed in Arkansas to find their father, who’d gone missing so, against their better judgment, they packed as much alcohol as Yivi could find and headed south. Their dad had always been unique, a cruel man, abusive, intractable; he suffered from PTSD, and probably another half-dozen acronyms, the doctors were never sure. They didn’t want to find him, but their mother called…

It was probably for the best; Yivi claimed that a drug dealer was chasing her, and leaving Chicago seemed like a good thing.

They wanted a drink more than anything. Except maybe not more than they wanted to escape thoughts of their old life, of Jenny and her death. And the more miles that passed, the closer they came to the end of the road.

If you think there’s a real possibility that “Make Sure You Die Screaming” might run off the rails a time or three, you’re right. It’s really out there, but not always in a bad way. Reading it, in fact, is like squatting down in a wet, stinky alley just after the trash collector has come: it’s filthy, dank, and profanity-filled. Then again, it’s also absurd and dark and philosophical, highly enjoyable but also satisfying and a little disturbing; Palahniuk-like but less metaphoric.

That’s a stew that works and author Zee Carlstrom stirs it well, with characters who are sardonic and witty while fighting the feeling that they’re unredeemable losers – which they’re not, and that becomes obvious. 

You’ll see that all the way to one of the weirdest endings ever.

Readers who can withstand this book’s utter confusion by remembering that chaos is half the point will enjoy taking the road trip inside “Make Sure You Die Screaming.” 

Just buckle up tight. Then shut the door, and read. 

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‘What is Queer Food? How We Served a Revolution’
By John Birdsall
c.2025, W.W. Norton
$29.99/304 pages

‘Dining Out: First Dates, Defiant Nights, and Last Call Disco Fries at America’s Gay Restaurants’
By Erik Piepenburg
c.2025, Grand Central
$30/352 pages

You thought a long time about who sits where.

Compatibility is key for a good dinner party, so place cards were the first consideration; you have at least one left-hander on your guest list, and you figured his comfort into your seating chart. You want the conversation to flow, which is music to your ears. And you did a good job but, as you’ll see with these two great books on dining LGBTQ-style, it’s sometimes not who sits where, but whose recipes were used.

When you first pick up “What is Queer Food?” by John Birdsall, you might miss the subtitle: “How We Served a Revolution.” It’s that second part that’s important.

Starting with a basic gay and lesbian history of America, Birdsall shows how influential and (in)famous 20^th century queer folk set aside the cruelty and discrimination they received, in order to live their lives. They couldn’t speak about those things, he says, but they “sat down together” and they ate.

That suggested “a queer common purpose,” says Birdsall. “This is how who we are, dahling, This is how we feed our own. This is how we stay alive.”

Readers who love to cook, bake or entertain, collect cookbooks, or use a fork will want this book. Its stories are nicely served, they’re addicting, and they may send you in search of cookbooks you didn’t know existed.

Sometimes, though, you don’t want to be stuck in the kitchen, you want someone else to bring the grub. “Dining Out” by Erik Piepenburg is an often-nostalgic, lively look at LGBTQ-friendly places to grab a meal – both now and in the past.

In his introduction, Piepenburg admits that he’s a journalist, “not a historian or an academic,” which colors this book, but not negatively. Indeed, his journeys to “gay restaurants” – even his generous and wide-ranging definitions of the term – happily influence how he presents his narrative about eateries and other establishments that have fed protesters, nourished budding romances, and offered audacious inclusion.

Here, there are modern tales of drag lunches and lesbian-friendly automats that offered “cheap food” nearly a century ago. You’ll visit nightclubs, hamburger joints, and a bathhouse that feeds customers on holidays. Stepping back, you’ll read about AIDS activism at gay-friendly establishments, and mostly gay neighborhood watering holes. Go underground at a basement bar; keep tripping and meet proprietors, managers, customers and performers. Then take a peek into the future, as Piepenburg sees it.

The locales profiled in “Dining Out” may surprise you because of where they can be found; some of the hot-spots practically beg for a road trip.

After reading this book, you’ll feel welcome at any of them.

If these books don’t shed enough light on queer food, then head to your favorite bookstore or library and ask for help finding more. The booksellers and librarians there will put cookbooks and history books directly in your hands, and they’ll help you find more on the history and culture of the food you eat. Grab them and you’ll agree, they’re pretty tasty reads.

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You’re going to be on your feet a lot this month.

Marching in parades, dancing in the streets, standing up for people in your community. But you’re also likely to have some time to rest and reflect – and with these great new books, to read.

First, dip into a biography with “Marsha: The Joy and Defiance of Marsha P. Johnson” by Tourmaline (Tiny Rep Books, $30), a nice look at an icon who, rumor has it, threw the brick that started a revolution. It’s a lively tale about Marsha P. Johnson, her life, her activism before Stonewall and afterward. Reading this interesting and highly researched history is a great way to spend some time during Pride month.

For the reader who can’t live without music, try “The Dad Rock That Made Me a Woman” by Niko Stratis (University of Texas Press, $27.95), the story of being trans, searching for your place in the world, and finding it in a certain comfortable genre of music. Also look for “The Lonely Veteran’s Guide to Companionship” by Bronson Lemer (University of Wisconsin Press, $19.95), a collection of essays that make up a memoir of this and that, of being queer, basic training, teaching overseas, influential books, and life.

If you still have room for one more memoir, try “Walk Like a Girl” by Prabal Gurung (Viking, $32.00). It’s the story of one queer boy’s childhood in India and Nepal, and the intolerance he experienced as a child, which caused him to dream of New York and the life he imagined there. As you can imagine, dreams and reality collided but nonetheless, Gurung stayed, persevered, and eventually became an award-winning fashion designer, highly sought by fashion icons and lovers of haute couture. This is an inspiring tale that you shouldn’t miss.

No Pride celebration is complete without a history book or two.

In “Trans History: From Ancient Times to the Present Day” by Alex L. Combs & Andrew Eakett ($24.99, Candlewick Press), you’ll see that being trans is something that’s as old as humanity. One nice part about this book: it’s in graphic novel form, so it’s lighter to read but still informative. Lastly, try “So Many Stars: An Oral History of Trans, Nonbinary, Genderqueer, and Two-Spirit People of Color” by Caro De Robertis (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill. $32.00) a collection of thoughts, observations, and truths from over a dozen people who share their stories. As an “oral history,” you’ll be glad to know that each page is full of mini-segments you can dip into anywhere, read from cover to cover, double-back and read again. It’s that kind of book.

And if these six books aren’t enough, if they don’t quite fit what you crave now, be sure to ask your favorite bookseller or librarian for help. There are literally tens of thousands of books that are perfect for Pride month and beyond. They’ll be able to determine what you’re looking for, and they’ll put it directly in your hands. So stand up. March. And then sit and read.