TERRY DACTYL, trans girl's life from plague to plague

TERRY DACTYL
MATTILDA BERNSTEIN SYCAMORE
Coffee House Press (non-affiliate Bookshop.org link)
$18.00 all editions, available now

Rating: 4.5* of five

The Publisher Says: From iconic author and activist Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore comes a breathless search for intimacy and connection, from club culture to the art world, from the AIDS crisis to COVID-19.

Terry Dactyl has lived many lives. Raised by boisterous lesbian mothers in Seattle, she comes of age as a trans girl in the 1980s in a world of dancing queens and late-night house parties just as the AIDS crisis ravages their world. After moving to New York City, Terry finds a new family among gender-bending club kids bonded by pageantry and drugs, fiercely loyal and unapologetic. She lands a job at a Soho gallery, where, after partying all night, she spends her days bringing club culture to the elite art world.

Twenty years later, in a panic during the COVID-19 lockdown, Terry returns to a Seattle stifled by gentrification and pandemic isolation until resistance erupts following the murder of George Floyd, and her search for community ignites once again.

In propulsive, intoxicating prose, Terry Dactyl traces an extraordinary journey from adolescence to adulthood, delivering a vital portrait of queer identity in all its peril and possibility.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: It was my world, this one. The AIDS epidemic to COVID...yeah...my adulthood. So no, not the lesbian moms part, and I'm not trans, but it still feels very familiar if not very sweet and happy.

No book about this span is ever not going to center the experience of loss and grief. It was the fabric we cut our lives out of. It takes a lot of moxie to be openly trans, even now when you can imagine your lesbian moms being glad for you that you've found your Self, the real one. Terry never hides her identity. She is herself from giddy-up to whoa. It leads her into the loving embrace of her found family in New York just as AIDS begins scything them with its death sentence for being queer.

Why this is a book made for the run-up to Yule is it's about us who live in loss, who never get to be the happy little homebody, who always yearn for something gone beyond our reach. Its unconjoined nature makes it the right kind of read for a busy and distracted holiday...re-reading a sentence or two is absolutely ordinary in this book's world. What this read offers, in this "festive" season, is the company of someone who survived...without her loved ones. Terry's a survivor in the approving, tough and capable definition; also in the lonely, left-behind definition. As COVID threatens to ravage her world again, she retreats to her home in Seattle.

It's not her home. It's a different place with the same name. I relate...I'm from Los Gatos before Netflix, Austin before Infowars, Manhattan before 9/11. None of my homes are remotely the same as when I was growing into myself there. It was this fellow-feeling that kept me reading the non-linear, mosaic story that followed the vibes of the story not the plan of it.

Certainly an unusual choice to make, going home to weather a storm. I wish I'd been able to spend more time in her moms' company, and wanted some greater theme to emerge from their choices to give Terry's life a more theatrically-defined completeness. I know this story is more the way life is lived: moving from experience to experience while still working out what the hell just happened.

Completely successful on that measure. I'm glad I read the story. But now, please write something from Terry's mothers' point of view, please and thank you, Author Mattilda.

THE GODS OF NEW YORK: Egotists, Idealists, Opportunists, and the Birth of the Modern City, 1986-1990, wasn't that a time?

THE GODS OF NEW YORK: Egotists, Idealists, Opportunists, and the Birth of the Modern City, 1986-1990
JONATHAN MAHLER
Random House (non-affiliate Bookshop.org link)
$13.99 ebook, available now

A New York Times 100 Notable Books of 2025 selection

Rating: ?5*?1*?

The Publisher Says: A sweeping chronicle of four years in 1980s New York, a crucible that would transform the city and leave it more divided than ever—a rollicking, real-life Bonfire of the Vanities featuring larger-than-life personalities of Donald Trump, Spike Lee, Ed Koch, Al Sharpton, Rudy Giuliani, and countless others

New York City entered 1986 as a city reborn, with record profits on Wall Street sending waves of money splashing across Manhattan and bringing a once-bankrupt, reeling city back to life.

But it also entered 1986 as a city divided. Nearly one-third of the city’s Black and Hispanic residents were living below the federal poverty line. Thousands of New Yorkers were sleeping in the streets—and in many cases addicted to drugs, dying of AIDS, or suffering from mental illness. The manufacturing jobs that had once sustained a thriving middle class had vanished. Long-simmering racial tensions threatened to boil over.

Over the next four years, a singular confluence of events—involving a cast of outsized, unforgettable characters—would widen those divisions into chasms. Ed Koch. Donald Trump. Al Sharpton. The Central Park Five. Spike Lee. Rudy Giuliani. Howard Beach. Tawana Brawley. The Preppy Murder. Jimmy Breslin. Do the Right Thing, Wall Street, crack, the AIDS epidemic, and, of course, ready to pour gasoline on every fire—the tabloids. In The Gods of New York, Jonathan Mahler tells the story of these convulsive, defining years.

The Gods of New York is an exuberant, kaleidoscopic, and deeply immersive portrait of a city in transformation, one whose long-held identity was suddenly up for Could it be both the great working-class city, lifting up immigrants from around the world and the money-soaked capital of global finance? Could it retain a civic culture—a common idea of what it meant to be a New Yorker—when the rich were building a city of their own and vast swaths of its citizens were losing faith in the very systems intended to protect them? New York City was one thing at the dawn of 1986; it would be something very different as 1989 came to a close. This book is the story of how that happened.

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

My Review: That was the Manhattan I fell in love with. Not the one where St. Vincent's is a yuppie hutch. I watched the enshittification happen then; I was apparently ineffective in resisting it; now it's the entire country it's happening to, and I still feel ineffective.

Still slugging, though.

Michael Stewart, he of The Man Nobody Killed, kicks us off on our journey through the world that grew Felonious Yam into a cultural icon (mostly spite-driven because we all laughed at him then). After Ed Koch's second term ended, Giuliani became mayor, and shit went downhill fast.

If you know, you know.

The times were a-changin' and the seeds of the political hellscape of today were there and scaring some of us. I still feel bad we didn't stop it. Reading this year-by-year, carefully non-partisan reminder of my generation's abject failures on stages large and small did not fill me with ebullient glee. Fauci's horrific inaction during the AIDS crisis, lack of empathy and flexibility, reminded me of how loud the haters got when he was doing a much better job during COVID. If they'd been around for the ACT UP years....

This isn't history to me, the way it will be to all y'all who didn't live it; it's my past retold. I'm glad I read it. I got closure-sobs for things I'd forgotten I'd forgotten. It's not fun to live in interesting times...but who ever does not? The way the world works is upheaval and change and rage and hate simmer, then boil, then simmer...eternal cycles of it.

I'm so sorry we did not do better when there was a chance to stop the scum from rising above their capacity to understand basic morality. Mea culpa.

DISCO WITCHES OF FIRE ISLAND, fun urban fantasy *gay men only*

DISCO WITCHES OF FIRE ISLAND
BLAIR FELL
Alcove Press (non-affiliate Amazon link)
$14.99 ebook, available now

Rating: 4* of five

The Publisher Says: In the late 1980s, a coven of queer witches on New York's Fire Island strives to protect a young man facing a devastating tragedy.

A gripping novel of magic, romance, and hope—perfect for fans of The House in the Cerulean Sea, the Tales of the City series, and Red, White, and Royal Blue.

It’s 1989, and Joe Agabian and his best friend Ronnie set out to spend their first summer working in the hedonistic gay paradise of Fire Island Pines. Joe is desperate to let loose and finally move beyond the heartbreak of having lost his boyfriend to the HIV/AIDS epidemic.

The two friends are quickly taken in by a pair of quirky, older house cleaners. But something seems off, and Joe starts to suspect the two older men of being up to something otherworldly. In truth, Howie and Lenny are members of a secret disco witch coven tasked with protecting the island—and young men like Joe—from the relentless tragedies ravaging their community. The only problem is, having lost too many of their fellow witches to the epidemic, the coven’s protective powers have been seriously damaged.

Unaware of all the mystical shenanigans going on, Joe starts to fall for the super-cute bisexual ferryman who just happens to have webbed feet and an unusual ability to hold his breath underwater. But Joe’s longing to find love is tripped up by his own troublesome past as well as the lure of a mysterious hunk he keeps seeing around the island—a man Howie and Lenny warn may be a harbinger of impending doom.

The Disco Witches need to find help—fast—if they’re to save Joe and the island from the Great Darkness. But how? Fans of queer romances with a dash of fantasy will fall in love with this stunning novel of community, love, sex, magic, and hope in desperate times.

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

My Review: Delightful. In the midst of the devastation of AIDS, there's nothing left to do but laugh, find friends who love and care about you, and go right on with your pursuit of the merman who runs the ferry to your magical home.

We've all been there—don't front.

The kind of matter-of fact tone telling this wildly off-beam from consensus reality story is my jam. The men, reeling from their individual and social losses, are perfectly imperfect in their responses to new stressors while remaining open to changes. Circumstances aren't changing much in 1989, but the Disco Witches are vibrating to brighter days coming...if they can summon them up.

It's not like they're not optimists, all these people. You do not go to Fire Island to end it all from depression...as Joe discovers. They've been bitch-slapped by life as we gay men were all through the first ten or eleven years of that pandemic. It wasn't showing more than glimmers of being solved, so many many blessings went unremarked. I hope y'all can see, based on 2020's broader slap, how tough one had to be to keep it together.

Love did keep us together like the awful Captain and Tenille song smarmed. "There is no friendship without failure," a truism I read here, ran through my mind as Ronnie behaved like a dick to people who accept him as he is; then it really hit me: all the friends I've ever really loved have forgiven me my failings, and I theirs. Howie and Lenny, the titular Disco Witches, embody this ethos as they journey on past their disco heyday into a world they still love, but from the outside now. Protecting these new boys is easiest from the perimeter, guys. It's quite moving seen from my perspective, and will probably not be notable to thirtysomethings.

I'm very sure this book is not remotely heterosafe. There's a lot of just...not for y'all...information and opinion.

Babyqueers encouraged to check what the elders got up to. We weren't always old, my little chickadee. *nostalgic sigh* The read was fun and is a well-aimed summertime/Pride Month/beach read. Well done, and well worth your time and treasure for the fun it gives.

THE MAN NOBODY KILLED: Life, Death, and Art in Michael Stewart's New York, forty-two years and it's still fresh as tonight's news

THE MAN NOBODY KILLED: Life, Death, and Art in Michael Stewart's New York
ELON GREEN
Celadon Books (non-affiliate Amazon link)
$14.99 ebook, available now

Rating: 4.5* of five

The Publisher Says: The first comprehensive book about Michael Stewart, the young Black artist and model who died after an altercation with the police in 1983, from Elon Green, the Edgar Award-winning author of Last Call.

At twenty-five years old, Michael Stewart was a young Black aspiring artist, deejay, and model, looking to make a name for himself in the vibrant downtown art scene of the early 1980’s New York City. On September 15, 1983, he was brutally beaten by New York City Transit Authority police for allegedly tagging a 14th Street subway station wall.

Witnesses reported officers beating him with billy clubs and choking him with a nightstick. Stewart arrived at Bellevue Hospital hog-tied with no heartbeat and died after thirteen days in a coma. This was, at that point, the most widely noticed act of police brutality in the city's history. The Man Nobody Killed recounts the cultural impact of Michael Stewart’s life and death.

The Stewart case quickly catalyzed movements across multiple communities. It became a rallying cry, taken up by artists and singers including Madonna, Keith Haring, Spike Lee, and Jean-Michel Basquiat, tabloid legends such as Jimmy Breslin and Murray Kempton, and the pioneering local news reporter, Gabe Pressman. The Stewart family and the downtown arts community of 1980s New York demanded justice for Michael, leading to multiple investigations into the circumstances of his wrongful death.

Elon Green, the Edgar Award–winning author of Last Call, presents the first comprehensive narrative account of Michael Stewart's life and killing, the subsequent court proceedings, and the artistic aftermath. In the vein of The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace and His Name is George Floyd, Green brings us the story of a promising life cut short and a vivid snapshot of the world surrounding this loss. A tragedy set in stark contrast against the hope, activism, and creativity of the 1980’s New York City art scene, The Man Nobody Killed serves as a poignant reminder of recurring horrors in American history and explores how, and for whom, the justice system fails.

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

My Review: Elon Green's followup to Last Call, again centering the life and murder of someone very much not like his cishet Jewish self, gets the tones of his subject's life and murder spot-on.

It's a gift not all have. I think his evident curiosity about people, the whys that drive them to the wheres that force us to hear about them, shines through in this exploration of all parties to this crime. Stewart, a young man of borning fame for a talent still developing, does not have much of a documentary footprint outside his still-early recognition from the downtown Manhattan art scene. He is of necesity flattened in affect thereby; he had little time and no special reason to leave behind a trove of thinking, essays, manifestoes; he is known only because his death interrupted his rise to Basquiat-levels of celebrity. It doesn't change the outrage vented by the white establishment liberals on the MTA-cop murderers, it doesn't alter by a jot the klieg-lights-and-klaxons that the murder of young Black men by white men set off, only to subside as the relentless slopping of the media trough with more acceptable outrages that refocus attention away from systemic racism accomplishes its task.

Michael Stewart died in vain. His death did not stop cops from killing other young Black men on the regular, nor dissuade the occasional white amateur from trying it...getting tried...getting off.

Elon Green doesn't shy away from the ugliness inherent in this story. He uses the limited materials about the victim to flesh him out as much as possible. It's just that the system itself, the perps it's enabled, the horrors of living in a world that views your existence as a provocation deserving of death, has a much larger footprint. It's thus that the system and its publicity becomes the focus of the book (hence my docked half-star). That might leave the reader wondering why Stewart got such prominent billing on the cover. Because we are accustomed to centering the white person(s) over the victims of color, we're accustomed to the perps (eg Derek Chauvin) getting media attention. It was his fate to be the killer cop who ignited, finally, #BlackLivesMatter and #SayHisName...could as easily have happened with one of Ahmaud Arbery's murderers, or Michael Stewart's. Follow those links, white people. Look at the titles of each article. Think about what you are seeing. Really THINK.

I assume you're sentient and I don't need to spell it out for you.

It's an infuriating read. I wanted the results not to be the results. It is history so of course I was disappointed. But, and all y'all who "just can't, too hard," with these books on difficult topics, think about how supremely spoiled and privileged a stance that is. Michael Stewart and his mother couldn't just ignore it. They had to live it, she lived it until she died.

Does it still feel too hard? Or can you use that rage, outrage, sympathy for a mother who outlived her child, to power some practical resistance? The US is sliding into a new era of sanctioned violence against those They hate. Does that not seem important enough to do actual work to oppose?

LAST CALL: A True Story of Love, Lust, and Murder in Queer New York

LAST CALL: A True Story of Love, Lust, and Murder in Queer New York
ELON GREEN
Celadon Books
$27.00 hardcover,available now

Rating: 4.75* of five

NOW A DOCUMENTARY SERIES STREAMING ON MAX!

A 2022 BEST CRITICAL OR NONFICTION WORK NOMINEE FOR THE ANTHONY AWARD! Bouchercon takes place 8 through 11 September 2022.

WINNER OF THE 2022 EDGAR AWARD FOR BEST FACT CRIME

The Publisher Says: The gripping true story, told here for the first time, of the Last Call Killer and the gay community of New York City that he preyed upon.

The Townhouse Bar, midtown, July 1992: The piano player seems to know every song ever written, the crowd belts out the lyrics to their favorites, and a man standing nearby is drinking a Scotch and water. The man strikes the piano player as forgettable.

He looks bland and inconspicuous. Not at all what you think a serial killer looks like. But that’s what he is, and tonight, he has his sights set on a gray haired man. He will not be his first victim.

Nor will he be his last.

The Last Call Killer preyed upon gay men in New York in the ‘80s and ‘90s and had all the hallmarks of the most notorious serial killers. Yet because of the sexuality of his victims, the skyhigh murder rates, and the AIDS epidemic, his murders have been almost entirely forgotten.

This gripping true-crime narrative tells the story of the Last Call Killer and the decades-long chase to find him. And at the same time, it paints a portrait of his victims and a vibrant community navigating threat and resilience.

SOMEONE SENT ME A SIGNED COPY! THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

My Review: It's an awful feeling to realize that you're not a serial-killing statistic by sheer chance. I'm taller and a little younger than this serial killer's victims. But I was there, in the relevant places at the relevant times; absent a quirk of chance, I would be dead like any one of those poor closeted bastards.

And it took a straight man to shine a long-missing light on the case. One case, not several as it was treated for a long time. In fact, I was pretty much unaware of the case until Elon Green's book hit my shelves.

I’d found the story by accident, surfaced by an errant Web search. Most of these so-called true crime cases don’t stay with me, but this one I couldn’t let go. Once I got past the murders and the investigations, and my own disbelief that it had all been forgotten—a string of killings in New York City didn’t merit so much as a Wikipedia entry?—I became obsessed with the lives of the victims. I became obsessed with the lives they wanted but couldn’t have. Here was a generation of men, more or less, for whom it was difficult to be visibly gay. To be visibly whole.

Doesn't that just say it all. Yes, things are...or were...getting better for the QUILTBAG community. The world's scum, however, can't abide that and decided to start victimizing the most vulnerable among us, the trans folk and the kids just figuring themselves out. How long before this kind of targeted killing spree happens again? If it hasn't, that is, and we're just unaware of it because it suits the statistics collectors not to look for this particular pattern.

I'm not going to say the name of the perpetrator of these disgusting crimes. He's still alive. That would be unthinkable in capital-punishment obsessed Murruhkuh...except his victims are faggots, so, well...maybe he didn't oughta have done it but, you know....

This list is of the men whose lives, blighted by homophobia and the dishonesty it's forced on so many for so long, were taken by a man without a soul.

Peter Anderson
–and–
Tom Mulcahy
–and–
Anthony Marrero
–and–
Michael Sakara
–and–
Fred Spencer

You are not forgotten. Thanks to a straight man, whose intersecting interests and requirements...he didn't suddenly become a writer, he was alert to the story that wasn't told, and that is how good work gets done!...led him to come and tell us all about what we weren't really supposed to know, or to hear about even. It makes law enforcement look as thuggish and homophobic as, sad experience has taught me, most any gay man can tell you they actually, regrettably, but inexcusably are.

As to the overall journalistic establishment...look into a mirror, y'all. Say it aloud: "I am homophobic." Because, you know by now, you slept on a story that wasn't about you, or about people you love. (This most definitely includes gay journalists.)

Sleep tight.