Gay bar : why we went out

Lin's debut combines memoir, cultural history, and academic assessment of gay bars and the role they've played in gay men's lives, specifically in the places he's called home: Los Angeles, San Francisco's Castro district, and London, where he met his future husband (referred to as Famous) and currently resides. Much of the history covers the 1960s, '70s, and '80s, when gay bars not only served as cruising spots but also as centers of political activism. Lin, however, is late to the game. Born in 1974, he is living in what the media refer to as a "post gay" world, as cities gentrify and the gay bar loses its importance in an age of Grindr and civil unions. Yet he and Famous still find freedom, fun, and sex in gay bars even as they "loitered in the fading-away." Lin's writing veers from conversational to academic, covering topics from Proust to fisting, and he remains engaging throughout. This is an excellent read-alike for Maggie Nelson's The Argonauts (2015) or tightly focused cultural histories like Tim Mohr's Burning Down the Haus (2019).

In this captivating debut, essayist Lin explores the gay bar as a cultural institution whose time may have passed. Focusing mainly on Los Angeles, San Francisco, and London, Lin delves into centuries of written and oral histories to chart the development of the first gay bars from as far back as the 13th century through to today, the roles different establishments played in gay liberation movements, and the many venues that have closed due to lack of traffic, rent increases, or transformation into heterosexual hangouts. He also muses on contemporary queer youth's desire for quiet "safe spaces" as opposed to the fun, raucous, and often "raunchy" meeting places of years past. It isn't all glowing nostalgia, though; Lin skewers what he sees as gay bars' "persecution of the effeminate" gay man, and recaps a mid-1970s racial profiling controversy at Studio One in Los Angeles in which claims were made "by black and Chicano men that they were frequently denied entrance." Lin's writing is mostly sharp, though there are some bumps, as with a staid academic reference to Foucault and wordplay that can land with more of a thud than a zing ("We head to a venue less sleazy, more cheesy," he writes about a bar-hopping night out). Nonetheless, this cogent cultural history sparks more often than not. Readers who want to go beyond Stonewall will find plenty to consider. (Feb.)

A writer's intimate trans-Atlantic history of gay bars. In his first book, Lin examines queer history through the lens of what he sees as a vanishing institution: the gay bar, which, in recent years, has been "under threat not so much by police, but a juncture of economic factors like unchecked prop-erty speculation and an upsurge in stay-at-home gays." With raw, voyeuristically explicit detail, the author escorts readers through the crowded, smoky gay bars of London before turning to erotic adventures in California, where he came of age in the early 1990s. Lin chronicles his experiences with his husband, "Famous," and their barhopping days cruising together for sex, but there's a lot more here than just sex in dark corners. Lin vividly describes the evolution of gay hot spots in London, including details on a two-mile viaduct channeling through the city, which has housed "raunchy clubs" and even "a small theater [that put] on gay plays." He also looks at the ever evolving nature of queer life in San Francisco and vividly recalls his memorable early experiences there. "The streets," he writes, "were like advent calendars: I wanted to open each door and reveal a bisexual hippie, leather daddy, elegant transvestite, friendly bull dyke wielding tat-too gun, sleazy yogi, stoned poet, skateboarder too lazy to resist my advances. I wanted to eat it all up." Lin grounds his randy travels with sobering ruminations on the deleterious effects of lingering prejudice, gentrification, cultural assimilation, and homonormativity. Though the narrative occasionally darts around too frenetically--it would have benefitted from a tighter organizational structure--the author remains locked in on his subject, creating a consistently engrossing story. As last call descends on many iconic gay bars, Lin's unfettered reminiscence and sharp wit will resonate especially with older readers, who will enjoy the sweet nostalgia embedded in this entertaining history. "Gay bars are not about arriving," he writes. "The best ones were always a departure." A vibrant and wistful report on a bygone era in gay culture. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.