Gay Bar: Why We Went Out

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He values the bars as arenas of egalitarianism, even if the would-be skinheads he encounters in East End hangouts are often guilty of “homosexual chicanery”, passing for hooligans because they like the wardrobe; in a critique of the post-industrial economy, he blames consumer culture for redefining identity as a commodity and co-opting gay men as “experts in leisure and aesthetics”, prized because they have cash to spend on frippery. With wit and erudition, Lin interweaves stories from his personal forays into gay nightlife with the social history of various bars and clubs. Anyone spurred on to read this by the subtitle “Why We Went Out” may find themselves feeling slightly mislead (as I was) that this book doesn’t contain some kind of overarching social history or examination of the reasons why bars have and continue to mean so much to our group.

This means that not only do they feel equally at home in a ‘straight’ venue, but have no compunction to engage in gratuitous PDAs outside the (mythical) protection of a bona fide gay space.Gay Bar: Why We Went Out is sold in the synopsis as a look at the gay bar phenomenon both throughout history and its place in modern queer culture, alongside the author's own personal experiences therein, however, several times while reading I found myself questioning whether I'd actually read the synopsis properly and that I wasn't thinking of a completely different book! The journey that emerges is a stylish and nuanced inquiry into the connection between place and identity—a tale of liberation, but one that invites us to go beyond the simplified Stonewall mythology and enter lesser-known battlefields in the struggle to carve out a territory. There is a sense of indifference that jars with my experience of ordinary, workaday gay London, where people dress casually and are fallible.

Of course, any reader in enforced pandemic lockdown is likely to be both highly envious, not to mention rather appalled, at the goings-on here. The dust is mostly shed skin, and Lin broods about a scene that is “mortal yet transcendent – not so much in a spiritual way, just that we are constantly escaping ourselves”. the United States of America by Eric Cervini and others that manage to convey important and underattended histories in engaging ways. Lin’s initiation occurs in the snooty bars of West Hollywood, where everyone but him seems to be “auditioning for a toothpaste commercial”.Sometimes the novels chosen are new, often they are from the backlist and occasionally re-issued from way back.

Overall, I just couldn't continue on with this one as it made me seriously uncomfortable, and I don't recommend it in lieu of other fantastic books on the subject.

As long as humans survive, there will be social spaces, and they will contain hierarchies negotiated in terms of power and exclusion. Notice to Internet Explorer users Server security: Please note Internet Explorer users with versions 9 and 10 now need to enable TLS 1. That said, there being so little cultural criticism of the gay community from the point of view of a gay Asian male, (Lin is the product of a biracial marriage) I was incredibly excited to dive into this debut work of non-fiction, believing, albeit selfishly, that it would speak to my experience. An expansive and vivacious celebration of an institution, Gay Bar is also a stylish, intimate exploration of what these spaces mean, how they are changing and what we stand to lose when they close their doors.