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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
23 of 28 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
Pass This By!,
By A Customer
This review is from: Queer Street: The Rise and Fall of an American Culture, 1947-1985 (Hardcover)
Queer Street advertises itself as an anecdotal history of New York's gay life in the 20th century. This is blatant misrepresentation. There are precious few anecdotes of any kind. The names went by, hundreds of them, people I've never heard of, places that have long since ceased to exist, and of which and of whom he told me nothing. If you don't already know, you're not worth his time to tell you. One thing I have gleaned about Mr. McCourt as a young man: he must have been insufferable.An astonishing proportion of the book is endless gush over one female walking cliché after another-Bette Davis, Maria Callas, Judy Garland, and a nauseating infinitude of others (whom he refers to familiarly by their first names, though he never knew them personally). He's one of those fag hag fags. He worships women and despises them. "I don't trust any kind of woman. I say, anything that bleeds for three days and doesn't die can't be trusted." (p. 225) Okay, it's funny, albeit hateful. It's also a bit pathetic. I get this image of some aged dance queen decades from now citing Madonna, Jennifer Lopez, Britney Spears and Christine Aguilera as the apotheosis of gay culture in our time, and spending 600 pages to do it. I kept reading it anyway because, to be fair, the prose really is lovely, despite some inherent problems. Apparently, McCourt's editor gave up early. There are dozens of petty typos, and sentence upon sentence that makes no syntactic sense, as if McCourt changed his mind about (or simply forgot) where it was going halfway through writing it, and never went back to look at it again. As I read this thing, I started out bewildered; then I was infuriated; finally, I'm prepared to look at it as just another brick in the foundation wall of the Human Comedy Theatre. Lots of people have the urge to embarrass themselves in public, though few go to this extreme length to do it. It reads like forty years' worth of journal entries, blatantly self-indulgent stuff written for the author's own pleasure. That's fine. Beats watching TV. But writing such stuff is one thing, publishing it another.
13 of 17 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
The McCourt Strikes Again,
By
This review is from: Queer Street: The Rise and Fall of an American Culture, 1947-1985 (Hardcover)
This book bills itself as a history of 20th-century gay culture, but it's nothing of the sort, which may account for some of the infuriated reviewers here. Hmmm... a gay history where Victoria de los Angeles gets referenced 6 times in the index, and Samuel Delany doesn't make it at all (but Marilyn Hacker does!)?What the book really is is a collection of opinionated comments on life and culture (some of it gay) by Harold Bloom's favorite author (I should have been warned in advance by Bloom's effusive jacket blurb about "the McCourt"). Only about half the book makes sense (and I suspect it will be a different half, depending on the reader), but since it's over 500 pages, you can read the half that makes sense to you and skip the rest and still get your money's worth. There are some oddities in the book, perhaps reflecting a lack of editing. What are we to make of the reference to Rock Hudson's wife Phyllis Yates (106)? Is this a typo (but the indexer doesn't catch it)? A trick of memory (there but for my surname go I)? Or another of the imaginary characters which people the book, like Diana Devors (220-221)? Is McCourt's discussion of alcoholism (378-9) just wrongheaded? Or is it a deliberate parody of pomo jargonism? Which of the many "interviews" in the book actually took place (in "real life" rather than the author's head)? Beats me! I confess to finding the book infuriating at first, but eventually charming.
9 of 13 people found the following review helpful:
3.0 out of 5 stars
Obtuse and infuriating, but .....,
By fml66 "fml66" (Nashville, TN) - See all my reviews
This review is from: Queer Street: The Rise and Fall of an American Culture, 1947-1985 (Hardcover)
The book is infuriating because it is willfully solipsistic. The author is clearly writing to an intended audience, but it's unclear who that audience is; the publisher would like you to think that the book is a "seminal" record of a "mad, bygone era," but it is more accurately described as an obtuse memoir of a particular high-culture gay man's adventures, and as an elegy to a period of time in that culture that is gone and is never to return. McCourt has said that this is a treatment of how gay culture moved from being marginalized and yet somehow pure, to commodified and therefore lacking. But that is not really what this book is about, either; it "ends" in 1985 (if not much earlier than that), with the death of Rock Hudson, and that can't be really described as the point in time at which it became okay for gay people to be treated as a mainstream target market by advertisers. Nor is it ever really clear what loss McCourt is bemoaning. The jacket copy says that he's bemoaning the "death of queer culture," but that's not true; he's lamenting the transformation of that culture from one thing to another. More than anything else, this book is a catalogue of reference points and lists from the late forties, the fifties, and the early sixties, with a lot of impenetrable language, a lot of name-dropping, a lot of tangential versification, dialoguing, and other stream-of-consciousness gibberish, a lot of metaphors from old camp-classic movies ("All about Eve" being the most prominent), and a hilarious "interview" with Bette Davis (it is hard to ascertain whether this interview really occurred or is a figment of McCourt's imagination). It's an occasionally compelling book if you have some connection to these reference points, either because you lived with them and through them or because you know people who did, or because you were "schooled" by people who did (and who forced you to watch "All about Eve" as many times as it took for you to "get" it). But if all of that is meaningless to you, this book will probably be meaningless as well, and McCourt sure doesn't go out of his way to make it less meaningless to you. McCourt makes Edmund White look like a minimalist.
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