I have a rule: Never sleep with anyone who can’t tell you what he’s reading.
I realized that I hardly ever write or blog about the books I’m into, so I think it’s time to change that (especially in the event that the male gaze has fallen on my blog and it abides by my own steadfast doctrine).
Who Was That Man? A present for Mr. Oscar Wilde- by Neil Bartlett
I’ll be honest; this was a text I was required to read in undergrad, but I never got through the whole thing. I saw it sitting on my shelf last week and decided that now was as good a time as any to rekindle my romance with academic dandyhood.
It’s a text that probably won’t inspire awe in someone who doesn’t identify as a gay male*, but assuming you know the cantor of the frilly underground, it’s a text about exploring home, the known, and our past. I actually find the “our” a little troubling, but that’s probably giving too much critique of the book for the purposes of a “go read this thing” post.
It’s nice to read a “homosexual historical text” that doesn’t feel jaded for once. To be fair, I might be projecting.