Does listening to audiobooks count as reading? Here it does. Let’s discuss your favorite reads — or listens.
All tagged nonfiction
For readers interested in a nuanced look at coming out later in life, particularly in the mid-2000s – a time when acceptance was growing but still fraught with homophobia and fears of ostracism – “The Lie” offers an authentic, if imperfect, reflection.
As usual, Larson’s storytelling brings history to life in vivid detail, a rare skill in nonfiction, but here, the ambitious scope feels unwieldy – even for a pro. The concurrent narratives and numerous characters create a sprawling account, yet “Demon” lacks the cohesion and emotional depth that defined his best works.
"Woe" serves as both a touching tribute to a beloved cat and a comforting reminder to those who have lost a four-legged friend that their sorrow is valid and shared.
While the graphic novel was initially intriguing, it felt a bit lacking in depth, particularly considering its length. I also began to question the necessity of Backderf telling this story. He was only a passing acquaintance of Dahmer, so the armchair psychology and hindsight observations felt a tad inflated.
This is a classic for a reason. Nothing I say about this novel will diminish its relevance, but I must be honest with myself and others when I say that I didn’t really enjoy it.
Alexander Chee’s essay collection is first and foremost a showcase of his nearly unmatched talent. It's a celebration of the craft, of teaching and of the relentless pursuit of one’s artistic vision. Yet, for all its brilliance, the book is dreadfully boring.
An interesting retrospective on how sitcoms helped pave the way for broader queer acceptance, with “Hi Honey, I’m Homo!” Matt Baume offers a mostly lighthearted read for fans of pop culture and LGBTQIA+ history.
Through original and sourced research, the author traced the often fraught path to introduce positive portrayals of queer people to the masses, but this isn’t the kind of behind-the-scenes tell-all that will help elevate the book beyond its niche target audiences.
I had put off reading Saeed Jones' "How We Fight For Our Lives" for years, expecting a depressing, harrowing manifesto about the multitude of ways America fails Black men. Let this be a lesson in not judging a book by its cover, because Jones instead offers readers a sometimes funny and relatable exploration of growing up gay.
A choppy narrative and sparse illustrations made it difficult to truly connect with the emotional turmoil Crewes walks the reader through. Initially intended as a 10-page micro-comic, it certainly appears that was the right length for a story that felt incredibly thin.
Between the bloat, uneven pacing and self-absorption you’ll quickly find yourself tired of the lecture and wondering how a book that started promisingly can derail so quickly.
Hutchinson’s conversational writing style allows readers to connect with his experiences and fill in the blanks with their own. It's a reminder that sometimes you’re simply hiding scabs, but you’re never too old to heal the wound. While not necessarily targeted to young adults, the author – a prolific writer in that genre – uses short, fast-paced chapters that mirror the chaos of his internal life.
Complicated and challenging, Walt Odets' "Out of the Shadows" is not a comfortable read. Part psychology text and part memoir manifesto, it is aimed at helping cis-gendered gay men live authentic and complete lives: emotionally, physically and sexually.
Derf Backderf's "Kent State: Four Dead in Ohio" takes readers beyond the iconic photograph, offering a meticulously researched and haunting graphic novel about the events that occurred on May 4, 1970, between students at Kent State University and the Ohio National Guard.
Making my way through this epic often felt like a slog. It was frustratingly repetitive but also enlightening, forcing me to re-examine my own biases against someone who, I think now, is largely misunderstood as an artist and person.
For expecting this to be a frothy history, I was surprised by the detailed explorations of how the sausage was/is made – from studio system contracts to politicking and power grabs. People looking for an exhaustive recap of the awards themselves will be disappointed as Schulman presents more a chronicle of Hollywood in 11 eras, with the Oscars serving as a (sometimes loose) connective thread to introduce the films, actors and creators that defined each generation.
For readers that want to brush up on the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s, the “March” series is an exemplary feat of storytelling that exposes the hypocrisy, violence and injustice that spurred the movement while celebrating the everyday people who protested – and died – for desegregation and the passing of the Voting Rights Act.
While not as well-known in the mainstream as the Pride flag, the pink triangle – the Nazi concentration camp symbol for prisoners convicted under Paragraph 175, the German law that criminalized homosexual activity among men – is an enduring and important marker of queer history that morphed from an emblem of shame into a symbol of activism.
After a choppy start, Edgar Gomez’s engrossing memoir, “High-Risk Homosexual” morphed into an interesting dissection of cultural expectations, acceptance and self-discovery.
A mashup of true crime, memoir and history, the story is more glossy magazine feature than stodgy tome and stands as a love letter to libraries, and the crucial role these institutions play in building healthy communities and safeguarding democracy.
Paced like a thriller – there’s short chapters and each has a clear focus – Egan stays rooted in basics and not minutiae. There’s detail on the inner workings of the KKK, state and national politics, “Roaring 20s” culture and immigration panic to provide a contextual foundation, but the author keeps everything aligned to his thesis: how Indiana served as a microcosm for a growing wave of racism in northern states, and the resisters who fought it.
