Eau de Jo

University of California Press

California: Land of the free, the brave, and the gay. This heart-lifting literary biopsy of gay rights’ progression in Southern California (Los Angeles, specifically) is a delight to read. For those of you who have ever stood in the face of adversity, protest poster in hand, Gay L.A. will remind you exactly why you did so. For the rest, it will open your eyes to the continuing need for civil rights activism on all planes.

The non-fiction novel is a chronological retelling of the way gay community has evolved in the past hundred years. Though both stories and people vary, the one element that does not change is each generation’s responsibility to push the envelope a little more than its predecessor. After all, where would Lindsey Lohan be today if Marlene Dietrich and Greta Garbo hadn’t been gender-bending wearers of pants? In the closet, of course!

From scintillating behind-the-scenes tales of Hollywood’s 1920s heyday, to the rigid role-playing of the 1950s, to the moving protests against the government’s indifference in the face of the AIDS epidemic, this historical work reads like a novel. All the work big Hollywood names of the '20s and '30s had to go to remain closeted is fascinating. Gay L.A. states that celebrities could be open and “out” in private circles, but they kept their flamboyancy far from public eye. Thanks to Twitter, paparazzi, and camera cell phones, celebs no longer have this luxury—which makes reading about the elaborate lengths famous gay people went to in those days all the more interesting. (Did you ever wonder where the term “beard” marriage came from? Even “lipstick lesbian” is an invention of a bygone era.)

As far as an accurate representation of the GLBT community, I’d have to say that these authors did a fairly evenhanded job. They are able to approximate the delicate balancing point between the telling of gay men’s and lesbian’s stories—although less attention is paid to transgender narratives. This gap in information might just be due to the lack of research and archived information on transgender identities, which is accurate for the time periods covered but still somewhat disappointing.

The amount of GLBT history that I gleaned from this book is astounding. For instance, I’d never heard the gay agenda addressed in a respectful and literal way. I’ve always wondered why conservatives fling the phrase around to depict gays as child-molesting monsters seeking world domination. The “gay agenda” always sounded so ludicrous to me, an offensive mischaracterization of a disenfranchised group’s fight for equality. Apparently such a thing actually existed at one point! Take, for example, the difference between L.A.’s early gay rights political activists fighting for domestic partnership benefits and a satiric website like The Homosexual Agenda. We have the ability to be flippant about the “gay agenda” in the 21st century because of the hard-won battles fought by those who went before us.

Gay L.A. is a two-fold motivational work: it is both a call to action and to remembrance. It ends on a hopeful note, reminding us that the battle has not been won but that much progress has been made. It also reminds modern-day civil rights proponents of just how much blood, sweat, and tears it took to get us where we are today.

Review by Sam Williams

By Malika Mokeddem
Translated by Laura Rice and Karim Hamdy
Grasset & Fasquelle

I must admit that I approached Malika Mokeddem’s memoir with trepidation. I found it hard to believe that I would enjoy a life story recounted only in terms of the men involved. In retrospect, however, it is possible that a telling of Mokeddem’s story would not have been thoroughly explained without the background she provides on her men.

Mokeddem, a French Algerian immigrant, was raised in a society that encourages huge discrepancies between the treatment of men and women, to say the least. Her traditional upbringing gives her a sharp and discerning eye for the ways in which her life differed from the men around her and Western women all over the world. It takes a little bit of reading to reach a point where Mokeddem’s relationships with men move out of predictability—specifically, past the first chapter.

Titled “The First Absence,” chapter one is a laundry list of the ways in which Mokeddem's father failed her and occasionally borders on the melodramatic. (Oh, Freud, where would literary criticism be today without your theories? In a much less disturbing place, I think. But I digress.) Once this chapter is out of the way, Mokeddem explains in moving detail the most important relationships she’s had with men—from her first mentor, to her brother, to her longtime lover and partner. These men both establish and interrupt the expectations Mokeddem holds for men, and she shares openly the ways in which she has been disadvantaged and healed through these relationships.

Mokeddem’s writing retains the heartbreaking beauty of the French language even through translation, which is partly why I enjoyed it so much. She has a particular talent for turning a phrase, and the vulnerability and wisdom transmitted through her work is undeniable. She walks a fine line between conversational and lofty writing, never veering too extremely to lose her charm and approachability as a character.

My Men does suffer moments of dependent thinking; for example, at the end of the chapter on the author’s brother: “How long will the men I love continue to force me to sum up love’s failures—until I lose track of the years?” These low points are and far between, however, and definitely not enough so to make the story disappointing to the feminist reader. Mokeddem shows herself an indomitable female character with her own set of foibles and fears, and her unique perspective makes her memoir worth reading for any reader, feminist or otherwise.

Review by Sam Williams