What makes a novel a “gay novel?” I put forth the following criteria:
- The novel features at least one character who identifies as LGBTQ or is involved with the LGBTQ community OR
- At least one character, regardless of their actual sexuality identity, engages in homosexual sex or falls in love with a member of the same sex
Under this broad definition, books as diverse as David Levithan’s utopian YA novel Boy Meets Boy and Chad Harbach’s baseball-themed The Art of Fielding and Phillip Roth’s absurdly homophobic The Humbling and Bret Easton Ellis’ ultraviolent American Psycho can all be safely labelled “gay novels.” My definition does, however, leave out queer classics like Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh (long considered a queer classic because of its subtext) and Dorothy Allison’s Bastard Out of Carolina, neither of which are able to check off points one or two of my guideline. Both books were written by gay authors, so in order to include them as “gay novels,” I could add
3. The author is a member of the LGBTQ community
to my list, but then everything kind of goes to shit because then pretty much every book ever* is then a “gay novel” and the phrase becomes meaningless.
“So Cass,” you might ask, “why are you trying to define something that is making your brain hurt when you could just say ‘I know it when I see it?’”
A short time ago, the twitter account for Huffington Post Books tweeted a link to an article by Ryan Quinn entitled Is My Novel Gay? My initial reaction –”I don’t know, have you asked it?”–seemed obvious enough to me that I clicked through to read what Quinn had to say.
You see, Quinn’s new novel reached the #1 spot on Amazon’s Best-Selling Gay & Lesbian fiction list. After an initial period of happiness at being number one on a best-seller list, Quinn began to have some doubts:
Here’s the thing: my book’s not gay.
Well, maybe it is. Or part of it is, but not all of it. Look, fine, there’s a main character who comes out of the closet. And there’s that one scene (OK, three scenes) that leads to masturbation. But the other main characters–a girl and a football player (who masturbates just as often as his gay counterpart)–are straight. See, it’s not just a gay book.
(Emphasis mine.) Consider my hackles official raised. If featuring a character coming out of the closet does not make a book a “gay novel,” what does? I would also like to point out that being considered a “gay novel” does not make the novel suddenly unsuitable to be identified under other labels such as science fiction or literary fiction or mystery or what have you.
So what kind of book does Quinn believe is suitable for a Gay and Lesbian Bestseller list?
[...] I don’t want readers to come to The Fall looking for erotic tripe and leaving disappointed for lack of throbbing and thrusting. I want readers to come intrigued, and then leave entertained and a little more conscious of this world we live in.
By his definition, a “gay novel”
- Only contains depictions of gay sex (otherwise known as “throbbing and thrusting”)
which leaves only erotica as suitable to be considered gay fiction.
Categorizing fiction is tricky business. All sorts of disputes about what label to place on any novel that can, in some way or another, be considered “genre fiction.” The easy answer to this seems to be to reject labels all together, place all novels in the fiction section at the bookstore, and continue on our merry way.
I agree that it’s tough to use labels, especially since so many works are not cut-and-dry, gay-or-not-gay. But as someone who wants to read books featuring LGBTQ characters, being able to use a Gay & Lesbian Bestseller list or tags on Goodreads or whatever else is extremely helpful to FINDING books that I may otherwise have over looked.
It is not an insult to a book to call it a “gay novel.” And now that my open definition of “gay novel” has made every book ever** gay, it should be easier to accept that.
*Slight exaggeration
**Major exaggeration
Say what? Harriet the Spy has gay subtext? And my 8-y-o self never noticed…
I think if one of your main characters is gay, you can’t really be surprised your book is classified as a “gay novel.” But no matter what characters’ sexual preferences are, readers look for good writing. Period.
Not like “Harriet has the hots for Ole Golly” or anything. It’s more about Harriet’s personality, outsider status, gender expression, etc.
Believe me, this is a question I have struggled with. I tend to try to keep it as open as possible, but there are some grey areas. For example, I consider Virginia Woolf’s books queer, but if the author wasn’t, I definitely wouldn’t include them. I tend to allow more leeway for subtext (or only minor mentions of queer) if the author is queer.
Mostly, though, I think the argument of “Oh, my novel isn’t gay!” is so silly now that we’re operating mostly on an online categorization of books. I mean, yes, when you were ONLY placed in general fiction OR queer books (or mystery or sci fi or whatever), then it was very important what you were categorized as. But now, being a gay bestseller doesn’t mean your book also doesn’t show up under general fiction or mystery or whatever. You can say that your book is sixteen different genres, and they’ll be categorized and easily located under any of them. I know that an author that says “My novel isn’t gay! It’s so ABOVE that” is definitely not one I want to read, though.
“I know that an author that says “My novel isn’t gay! It’s so ABOVE that” is definitely not one I want to read, though.”
This. This always.
Interesting post. I’m not sure I ever really thought about a novel being “gay” or not. To me, it’s just another novel. I do think about audience sometimes and who the author was writing for but I don’t think about sexual preference too much while reading.
I can totally see the validity of the question say… if you were judging books in the LGBTQ category for say… the Indie Lit Awards LOL.
I’m always looking for queer books, and I like when books that feature LGBTQ characters are tagged in the LGBTQ section of sites like Amazon so I can easily find them, especially since the marketing for more “literary” novels tend to only suggest LGBTQ content instead of stating it outright.
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Great, thought-provoking article! I tend to lean towards Danika’s categorization, i.e., if the author self-identifies as queer I’m more likely to read content/subtext in the book and call it queer. It does get tricky a lot of the time… I also have some of these qualms about classifying certain books as Canadian for my blog.
Those author’s comments lamenting that his book has been deemed ‘gay’ are actually pretty homophobic; labelling the book ‘gay’ sounds like it’s insulting to him, which is similar to the homophobic reaction some straight people have when someone doesn’t assume they’re straight (‘I don’t have a problem with gay people but I don’t want to be one!’). It’s the same kind of thing when Margaret Atwood insists some of her obviously science fiction novels aren’t science fiction; instead of challenging or discussing the stigma attached to the label, these authors are unquestionably accepting it and trying to reject the label. Some queer novels are well-written, some aren’t; the queerness has nothing to do with it.
Reblogged this on caseythecanadianlesbrarian and commented:
A great article on trying to pinpoint how exactly we can qualify certain books as ‘queer.’ This gets especially tricky with older titles where many of our contemporary markers of queerness are not there or with books about younger people (such as tomboys) who may not identify as LGBTQ yet, or have even had queer experiences (i.e., Harriet the Spy!).
I have many of these same qualms about considering certain authors ‘Canadian’; if they’re residents of Canada but citizens of other countries can I count them as Canadian? Am I discounting writers’ backgrounds/homes in other parts of the world by calling them Canadian? What if they live in other parts of the world but write about Canada? What if they live in Canada but don’t write about the place or people from it? And how exactly do Indigenous authors fit into this equation, since it seems that the category ‘Canadian’ is at best irrelevant and at worst insulting and colonialist?
Ok, you dropped a major bomb there – Harriet the Spy is queer? Somehow I must’ve always known that, given my childhood obsession….
I am torn here with Cass – “I know it when I say it” approach would work for me. On one hand, being a “gay novel” shouldn’t make it the only remarkable thing, since there are “gay” novels that are science fiction, or contemporary, or YA dystopian, erotica, or just plain boring. On the other hand, why is it that I purposefully seek out (and pretty much exclusively read) “gay” novels, that is, those that promise to have LGBTQ characters? In an age where LGBTQ people are still overtly discriminated, and moreover erased in most media/books/tv/literature, perhaps labeling it as a “gay” novel is still a necessity (one that should be celebrated), but much like queer people, probably not the only thing important about them.
It’s definitely not the most important thing about the books, and I would certainly hope they would be listed under other categories, but I really, really like being able to look at an LGBTQ book section and see more than just erotic romances.
I think there is some value to knowing whether or not a book has queer content—wee Clare had a ravenous appetite for anything with representations of queer men, and ended up reading The Great Gatsby because of it. However, Quinn’s approach, which seems to be whining about how gay novels are all about the erotica and he doesn’t want people seeking erotica coming to his book (because, as we all know, people who read erotica are incapable of being intrigued and conscious of the world around them), is totally wrong.
I would also mention that perhaps the third qualifier could simply be a queer sensibility, regardless of having characters who identify as queer or not, although that’s very much “I know it when I see it” and poor for actual organization.
I agree that being identified as a “gay novel” isn’t a bad thing nor does it disqualify a book from being a viable part of any genre. However, I can see why some writers might be concerned about the classification — afraid readers will “label” the book, focus solely on its LGBTQ aspects, and not appreciate the full breadth and richness of the novel. As a reader, I wouldn’t approach a “gay novel” that way, but I can understand why it might be a concern.
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