Doing the Wild Thing, or, One Need not be Happy to be Gay

By Jeff Smith

01/17/2005

Burton, Peter, ed. Bend Sinister. London: Gay Men's Press, 2002. 390 p.

The editor of Bend Sinister postulates a connection between homosexuality and "disturbing fiction."  That is, he contends that since gay authors know that homosexuality has always been thought of as "sinister" (which somewhat begs the question), then "homosexuality itself was seen as a fitting subject for disturbing fiction."  The hypothesis calls to mind the "chicken and egg" riddle: do gay authors write disturbing fiction because they are gay, or does the fact of their being gay ultimately have little or nothing at all to do with their choice to write fiction that is "sinister" in content? Would these gay authors, because of psychological hardwiring independent of sexuality, have chosen grotesque story lines had they been heterosexual?  Despite all theorizing, the fact remains that gay authors have not cornered the market on macabre fiction, Stephen King being one of the most notable examples of a heterosexual author writing some of the most grim and horrifying tales imaginable. Thus, it is unreasonable to suppose on the one hand that gay authors write disturbing stories because being gay has somehow warped their perceptions or sensibilities. Nor on the other hand does it seem likely that gay authors write unsettling tales because homosexuality is necessarily viewed as "sinister." Writing fiction that is dark and disturbing is a human expression, first and foremost.

But to the tales themselves.

Bend Sinister offers a variety of stories--some more unsettling than others--treating such themes as serial murder, split personalities, lost love, and ghosts, to name but a few. Although subsumed under the heading of "gay fiction," some of the stories nonetheless approach a sort of universality that cuts across lines of gender and sexual preference.

In "Famished," for instance, a gay senior citizen is accosted on the beach by two young, gorgeous hunks who might represent many an aging gay man's most erotically-charged fantasy. These twin brothers, as it turns out, happen to be lovers. They are vampires, too, "famished" and intent on satisfying their hunger. The central character turns down their flirtatious hinting that he should take them home with him, as he wonders (wisely) what two mysterious young studs on the prowl could possibly want with an old man like him (Such, of course, is a dilemma that has rattled the skulls of many a May/December couple, straight or gay). However, despite his initial caution, at the end of the story we are left wondering whether the older gay man will yield to temptation the next summer, should he once again meet the two young men on the beach. If so, such will be his undoing.

"Ten Letters from Toby" provides an epistolary glimpse inside a mind coming unhinged, as Toby writes a series of letters to his lover, who left him some time hitherto. Each letter reveals a progressively degenerating mind, as Toby fears that he is being consumed by his "shadow."  The young man is institutionalized, only to be released and to return to his apartment, starving himself to death as he apparently lapses back into his delusion of being slowly and inexorably consumed by his shadowy self.

"A Perfect Time to be in Paris" traces a man's attempt to exorcise the pain of being abandoned by his lover. Unable to accept the genuine affection offered to him by a trick who wants no more than true warmth and intimacy, however fleeting, the central character instead opts for dangerous, raunchy, anonymous sex with a hustler, atop Proust's grave in Pere Lachaise Cemetery. It is through indulgence of his darkest fantasies that this character attempts to purge himself of the torment of rejection, a theme that would certainly strike a chord with many, regardless of sexuality.

Loss, abandonment, and sexual excess are, however, the most tame of the themes treated in Bend Sinister. Others are far more violent and gruesome.

"Just Curious" takes as its central character a serial killer, a self-styled "scientist." The murderer (reminiscent of John Wayne Gacy or Jeffrey Dahmer) picks up, tortures, kills, and dismembers young men in what the author calls an "innocent spirit of enquiry."  Throughout his homicidal career, this mad scientist keeps a volume, which he calls "The Book," in which he records not only the vital statistics of his victims, but also his reactions to and impressions of the manner of their deaths. As with any serial killer worth his salt, he also keeps "trophies" from his victims. And when apprehended, tried, and asked why he committed such foul deeds, rather than offering elaborate justification for his actions, he replies only that he was "just curious."  Like Norman Bates, the killer scientist gives the appearance of being incapable of harming a fly, yet he is mad as the proverbial hatter, and the author suggests that part of his illness derives from denial of his sexuality.

"T@ngled" might serve as a cautionary tale of cyberdating run amok. In it, an eighteen-year-old hangs out in sex chat rooms, where he encounters an S/M Master. Initially, all is slightly kinky, harmless, titillating fun--until the youth realizes that the game is for real and he cannot "disconnect" the computer date from hell who has enticed him into S/M role playing that becomes progressively more brutal and sexually demanding. In a violent and blood-drenched encounter, the invisible Master reaches out through cyberspace, tortures the lad, and finally rapes him both orally and anally, literally splitting him apart and leaving the rent-asunder, gory corpse for his mother to discover.

Certainly, the stories in Bend Sinister, only a few of which have been detailed here, would not qualify as "great literature" in the usual academic sense of the word. However, the stories, which are sometimes quite sexually explicit, generally entertaining (in a grotesque way), and at times even thought-provoking, certainly do merit inclusion in a collection of fiction with a decidedly foreboding bent. Although the stories involve homosexual men, I believe it bears repeating that such fictional journeys into the dark side of human nature and motivations are not irrevocably bound to a particular sexuality. Sexuality is part of the larger experience of being human, and consequently, it is that larger and sometimes painful human experience, rather than being gay, that is the progenitor of disturbing fiction. The stories address themes and issues that might just as easily be transposed into the key of heterosexuality. That is, some heterosexuals might cope with the loss of a lover, with loneliness, with aging, with the underbelly of their sexual appetites and longings in much the same way as some homosexuals do.