¡HOLA PAPÍ!, memoir in essays of an accidental queer sage

¡HOLA PAPÍ!: How to Come Out in a Walmart Parking Lot and Other Life Lessons
JOHN PAUL BRAMMER
Simon & Schuster
$26.00 hardcover, available now

Rating: 3.75* of five

The Publisher Says: From popular LGBTQ advice columnist and writer John Paul Brammer comes a hilarious, heartwarming memoir-in-essays chronicling his journey growing up as a queer, mixed-race kid in America’s heartland to becoming the “Chicano Carrie Bradshaw” of his generation.

The first time someone called John Paul (JP) Brammer “Papi” was on the popular gay hookup app Grindr. At first, it was flattering; JP took this as white-guy speak for “hey, handsome.” Who doesn’t want to be called handsome? But then it happened again and again...and again, leaving JP wondering: Who the hell is Papi?

What started as a racialized moniker given to him on a hookup app soon became the inspiration for his now wildly popular advice column “¡Hola Papi!,” launching his career as the Cheryl Strayed for young queer people everywhere—and some straight people too. JP had his doubts at first—what advice could he really offer while he himself stumbled through his early 20s? Sometimes the best advice to dole outcomes from looking within, which is what JP has done in his column and book—and readers have flocked to him for honest, heartfelt wisdom, and of course, a few laughs.

In ¡Hola Papi!, JP shares his story of growing up biracial and in the closet in America’s heartland, while attempting to answer some of life’s toughest questions: How do I let go of the past? How do I become the person I want to be? Is there such a thing as being too gay? Should I hook up with my grade school bully now that he’s out of the closet? Questions we’ve all asked ourselves, surely.

¡Hola Papi! is for anyone—gay, straight, and everything in between—who has ever taken stock of their unique place in the world.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: There are a lot of quotable quotes and pithy aperçus in this book:

We can't change the events of our lives. They happen, and there they are. But the lines we draw to connect those events, the shapes we make and the conclusions we reach, those come from us. They are our design.
–and–
But one thing I’ve learned, and I’ve learned it more solidly than maybe I’ve learned anything else, is that humans are incapable of looking at anything clearly. Even the facts of our own lives—we can only hold a few at any given time, and they shift, they slip through our fingers, they rearrange themselves into new shapes and conspire to tell a different story.
–and–
I thought of myself more as “a person with unique difficulty accessing heterosexuality.”

See? I defy you not to lard these into your next all-gay klatsch and smile becomingly modestly as everyone tells you how wise you are. (Don't front...you know that's exactly what you thought as you read them.)

But as a story of JP Brammer's life the structure is wanting, and I wanted. I didn't reject the advice-column bits. I didn't resent their presence or simply find their simplicity simplistic. There is virtue in simplicity! Matisse was certainly correct, quoted in the "How to Describe a Dick" chapter, "First you have to forget all the {advice/memoir tales} that have been {written} before." And that is a tall, skinny, mushroom-headed problem. (This was occasioned by a question lobbed at Brammer, "how can I go on when I'm so obviously a failure?") Again, to quote but this time Brammer himself, with a freeze-framed penis before him, "I stared at it blankly. It stared back." (Which reminds me, go watch The Boys season 3, episode 1. Haw.) But that dick, the one JP Brammer needed to describe? He needed to describe it for work and where there's work there's deadlines and one of those was barrelling down on him. The dick in question, paused on his screen, needed to be described for the porn-ad website...one of those with glitzy photos and ads for things the guys doing the sex acts unquestionably do not need to concern themselves with...that needed clicks. That his words needed to elicit, because this isn't one of the dirty-boy blogs where the scenes are still-framed on, um, action shots shall we say.

This exisential crisis..."what the hell is there to say about this tediously same-ol' same-ol' goverment issue genital organ?"...is resolved, of course, though honestly it's by no means certain that his inspired choice made it onto that site. It's really not an area in which I have a lot of interest or expertise, those teasy-squeezy parts of the porn world. "All or nothing" is more my motto but at sixty-plus I'm just not, erm, titillated by suchlike carryin' on as in days of yore.

(Okay, I think Rob's already bored reading this so I can safely add "it says here.")

The issue for me in this read isn't the framing device or the chatty tone or the unabashed goofiness. It's the way it doesn't make *a*book* but a collection of columns. While there is charm in that, it's not what I expected when I was told that it was a memoir. I got the message from the subtitle, which is perfect..."How to Come Out in a Walmart Parking Lot and Other Life Lessons"...but it doesn't make a memoir. The Lambda Literary folk didn't just make up the category it was nominated within...the marketing stresses memoir. Advice, yes; essay, certainly; gay, goodness me yes! Not memoir.

So readers are cautioned to adjust expectations going in to the fun, the roller-coaster of emotions, the single-mindedly survival focused, read. I'll say this for Author Brammer: He knows the structure of an anecdote, the precise emotional trajectory of a story, like the veins on...um...well, he knows what he's up to.

There is no way I can get off this horse (!) without sounding double-entendre-y as hell. Go on and buy it.