Posts Tagged ‘Homophobia’

In which The Gay Recluse updates his informal but rather telling quantitative analysis of Modern Love, the weekly Style Section (of The Times) column in which openly gay writers almost never appear, and even less frequently describe a romantic relationship. This week’s piece: How We Got from Grief to Pancakes Subject: A woman finds a […]


In which The Gay Recluse makes a clarification. Reader Gary Budlong (apparently new to The Gay Recluse) wrote the following comment in response to our most recent “mash-up” of the Modern Love column in The Times. dear pete, thank you. i’m 61, disabled, retired and gay. my partner has died 5 years ago. knew i […]


In which The Gay Recluse provides a more accurate obituary for Arthur C. Clarke than the one that just appeared in The Times. (For the AP version, click here.) Arthur C. Clarke, Premier Science Fiction Writer, Dies at 90 By GERALD JONAS and THE GAY RECLUSE Published: March 18, 2008 Arthur C. Clarke, a writer […]


In which The Gay Recluse provides a more accurate version of Arthur C. Clarke’s obituary than the one that was just released by AP. (For The Times version, click here.) Arthur C. Clarke, Science Fiction Writer, Dies at 90 By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS and THE GAY RECLUSE Published: March 18, 2008 Filed at 6:41 p.m. […]


In which The Gay Recluse weighs in on a “controversy.” Obviously, when we endorsed Geraldine Ferraro for president, it was with the expectation that she would hover benovolently in the past and not say unthinking things like: “If Obama was a white man, he would not be in this position. And if he was a […]


In which The Gay Recluse updates his informal but rather telling quantitative analysis of Modern Love, the weekly Style Section (of The Times) column in which openly gay writers almost never appear, and even less frequently describe a romantic relationship. This week’s piece: A Signal in the Sky Said: Marry Her Subject: A goofball straight […]


In which The Gay Recluse updates his informal but rather telling quantitative analysis of Modern Love, the weekly Style Section (of The Times) column in which openly gay writers almost never appear, and even less frequently describe a romantic relationship. This week’s piece: Me, My Daughter and Them Subject: A lawyer who sounds seriously bitchy […]


In which The Gay Recluse wonders if Deborah Solomon thinks we’re impressed. (Because we’re not.) Usually we skip Deborah Solomon’s weekly interview in the Sunday Magazine, in which the notoriously harsh and arrogant New York Times critic tersely interrogates a publicity hound hawking a useless book about the latest nonsense du jour. But this week […]


In which The Gay Recluse updates his informal but rather telling quantitative analysis of Modern Love, the weekly Style Section (of The Times) column in which openly gay writers almost never appear, and even less frequently describe a romantic relationship. This week’s piece: An April Fools’ Joke I Played on Myself Subject: A frat boy […]


In which The Gay Recluse reads an acclaimed book of contemporary fiction and is more than disappointed. When we first received our copy of Call Me By Your Name (FSG, 2007) by Andre Aciman, we were a bit startled (but pleased, to be sure) that a book about a love affair between a 17-year-old boy […]


In which The Gay Recluse updates his informal but rather telling quantitative analysis of Modern Love, the weekly Style Section (of The Times) column in which openly gay writers almost never appear, and even less frequently describe a romantic relationship. This week’s piece: I Married a Republican: There, I Said It Subject: A (bland, suburban) […]


In which The Gay Recluse provides a fresh alternative to this week’s particularly bland and tedious Modern Love offering in The Times. “I Married a Lesbian Republican: There, I Said It” by Ann Hood and The Gay Recluse IT was happening again. I was at a cocktail party where the hosts were people I had […]


In which The Gay Recluse celebrates The New Dark Ages. Last night Gawker posted a piece about Chris Crocker, who has released a new video in which he responds to YouTube comments such as the following: –Next time you are walking in the street I hope you get run over by cancer –I WANNA KILL […]


In which The Gay Recluse updates his informal but rather telling quantitative analysis of Modern Love, the weekly Style Section (of The Times) column in which openly gay writers almost never appear, and even less frequently describe a romantic relationship. This week’s piece: A Valley of Misery Between Peaks of Joy Subject: In this column […]


In which The Gay Recluse updates his informal but rather telling quantitative analysis of Modern Love, the weekly Style Section (of The Times) column in which openly gay writers almost never appear, and even less frequently describe a romantic relationship. This week’s piece: An Open and Shut Marriage Subject: Married woman describes doubts about “open” […]


There is something oddly unsatisfying about The Master, Colm Toibin’s 2004 treatment of the life of Henry James. Odd because we almost always love Toibin’s prose, which is elegant but unpretentious, and — unlike so much contemporary fiction — never shifts tenses or otherwise calls attention to itself in a distracting or superfluous manner. Occasionally […]


In which The Gay Recluse updates his informal but rather telling quantitative analysis of Modern Love, the weekly Style Section (of The Times) column in which openly gay writers almost never appear, and even less frequently describe a romantic relationship. This week’s piece: Closing Night for My Bit Part Subject: Woman looks longingly at famous […]


We have long suspected that “Modern Love” — the weekly column in the Sunday Styles of The Times — has been a startlingly barren landscape for gay writers, particularly when you consider its location in what is undoubtedly the “gayest” section of the newspaper (and — oh yeah — the gayest city in the world), […]


We leave work and walk the long blocks from Madison to Sixth Avenue. We hurry down the stairs into the station, where we mindlessly extract our card from our wallet and slide it through the reader. In the distance we can sense the deep, subterranean rumble of what is surely an empty uptown D-train approaching […]