The First Time I Met Frank O'Hara: Reading Gay American Writers

In 1990 some friends and I formed a book group to read books by and or about gay people. The guys often kid me about being the facilitator, steering committee and publicity chairman (I piece together a monthly newsletter). Our goal has been to discover our gay roots - our hidden history. Throughout the past four years primarily (though obviously I've been reading all along), I have read a great deal of fiction, poetry, biography and history written by and/or about gay people. Perhaps because of my own trek through gay literature, I found Rick Whitaker's book enthralling. His observations are keen. His choice of writers and individual works are fresh and his writing is accessible. You don't have to be familiar with each of the writers discussed to appreciate Whitaker's take on their work. The fact that I have read, or at least heard of most of, the material discussed here only increased my appreciation for this truly remarkable little book. God bless you Rick for drawing our attention to James Purdy and Jane Bowles and Frank O'Hara and Glenway Wescott. Perhaps your book will inspire your readers to seek out books by these authors. Well done.

Early on in this collection of enjoyable and highly engaging essays, Whitaker admits that he is laying before us the gay and lesbian authors he has been drawn to. This is a personal essay, not a Gay Lit 101 textbook. Consequently, some major gay American writers are not included: David Leavitt, Christopher Bram, Edmund White, Christopher Isherwood, Tennessee Williams, Carson McCullers, Truman Capote. Lesbian representation is slight--just Emily Dickinson (near queer, at that), Jane Bowles, and Gertrude Stein. And one slot was taken up by a writer who isn't even American (Oscar Wilde).What's nice about Whitaker's writing, though, is that it is disciplined and thoughtful. He allows us glimpses of himself (it is safe to assume that part of his disdain for Gore Vidal, the man, derives from Whitaker's own experiences as a prostitute serving aloof, self-important clients as described in his memoir ASSUMING THE POSITION). But this authorial intrusiveness is occassional, is refreshingly honest and forthright, and never veers into self-indulgence.While I might quibble with some of his assessments (Is Andrew Holleran's DANCER FROM THE DANCE really the generational equivalent of Fitzgerald's THE GREAT GATSBY?), quibbling is half the fun of reading literary criticism. I share his high regard for O'Hara, was glad to learn a little about Gertrude Stein as a writer (most critics usually write about her as a mentor to other writers), and am intrigued enough by his discussions of Glenway Wescott, Bowles, David Wojnarowicz, and Henri Cole to seek out copies of their works.No explanation is given of the captionless photographs by Iannis Delatolas that illustrate this volume. In some cases their subject is obvious (one is of Frank O'Hara's grave, others are of living writers, such as John Ashberry), in other cases their subjects evoke the characters and settings these gay authors wrote about. Whatever their purpose, they're a nice addition.Whitaker has produced another interesting book on gay culture and lifestlye. I look forward to seeing what he'll do next.

I started this book with increasing reservations, wondering what this neophyte writer could say about the canon standards like Whitman and Thoreau and eventually decided: not much. But as the book progressed and Whitaker was on more contemporary turf, his comments became more insightful, more personal and more discerning. His thoughts on Jane Bowles, Glenway Wescott, Gore Vidal are very smart and reveals ideas buried within their work in a very convincing way. The writing is always lucid and even when not particularly brilliant, entertaining. Ultimately a very good place to start when approaching gay writing (or even, for that matter, a good place to end up).

Rick Whitaker's delightful new book is a criticism, a literary history, and a memoir, that takes readers on a leisurely journey along the highways and - mostly - byways of gay American writing, from the 19th Century to the present. Whitaker's great charm is evident throughout: the book is a perambulation, a genuine 'smelling of the flowers', that forsakes grand critical pronouncements, preferring instead a highly engaging, personal response to the work of his chosen subjects. The effect is at times exquisite; miniature portraits of Thoreau, Whitman, Tobias Schneebaum, Emily Dickinson, to name a few, achieve a clarity, a precision, and even a sweetness, quite without fanfare, that is all too rare in the recent fad for the literary travelogue. The book opens up new avenues of exploration for the discerning reader, pinpointing carefully the slow assimilation of gay themes into the mainstream, without ever being exclusive. Photographs by Iannis Delatolas, discretely placed throughout the text, add beautifully to Whitaker's credo: he seems to suggest that anybody's response to literature, when carefully considered, is at heart a personal search for truth and reconciliation.

I could not have been more impressed by Mr. Whitaker's first publication, Assuming the Position, a truly philosophical memoir of hustling. His current publication, The First Time I Met Frank O'Hara, is extraordinary! I found myself thinking, "yes, yes," reading the observations of his subjects, several of whom I will now read for the first time. He has managed to elucidate many principles common to our culture brilliantly! Mr. Whitaker, what's next?