One of the biggest amusements I get in life is from looking back at my past and marveling at my incredible, almost child-like naïveté. Sometimes I shake my head in embarrassment, wondering, how could I have been so naïve? From the perspective of an over twenty-year career in publishing (technically we could say twenty-seven years, because I was first paid to write in Minneapolis in 1996), and being an openly out queer man now for thirty-three years or so, how did I ever expect to be treated as an equal member of the mainstream mystery community in 2002? I suppose there’s something to be said for my innocent, almost child-like belief that being gay wouldn’t impact my writing career–beyond not making as much money as my straight colleagues–in any meaningful way. Constant Reader, I was very wrong. In the months before my first book came out, my publisher’s publicist tried to set up signings for me in mystery bookstores (bless his heart, he didn’t think it would be an issue, either).
I don’t carry those kinds of books in my store.
That was what one mystery bookstore owner told the publicist my publisher assigned to me when my first book came out, when he was trying to arrange appearances for me to promote the book. Those might not have been the exact words, but the gist was the same.
I don’t carry those kinds of books in my store.
I think I may have actually reeled back from my computer in shock when I read those words, forwarded to me by said publicist, who had no reason to lie to me about why this particular store didn’t want me to come sign my debut crime novel, Murder in the Rue Dauphine, in the sacrosanct, apparently holy sanctum of her precious mystery bookstore.
I don’t carry those kinds of books in my store.
Perhaps, to paraphrase Poppy Z. Brite, she was afraid “the other books in the store would catch the gay” from mine.
I don’t carry those kinds of books in my store.
After the shock and hurt and offense wore away, I got angry. And I got angrier as every single mystery bookseller in the continental United States recommended to me by other mystery writers for potential events refused to allow me to sign in their store—the sole exception being Murder by the Book, in Houston. Some had the decency to say things like well, debut authors generally don’t draw well, and I’d hate for you to waste your budget coming here rather than the blatant homophobic responses others had no problem sharing. I mean, as a gay man, how did I even dare to think I would be welcome in independent mystery bookstores?
I don’t carry those kinds of books in my store.
Ultimately, no matter what the reason, a bunch of heterosexual white bookstore owners and managers were letting me know, in no uncertain terms, that I wasn’t worthy of being in their store; that they would never carry anything I wrote, and that no matter the quality of my work and how hard my publisher and I worked on my books, I needed to know my place, and the mainstream mystery world wasn’t it.
I don’t carry those kinds of books in my store.
And like a good boy, I took the hint and stayed away from their stores, other than Murder by the Book in Houston. I didn’t bother going to mystery conventions or conferences; there was no need for me to join writers’ organizations, either—a friend had bought me a membership in one as a gift, which was incredibly exciting…until I started seeing things in their newsletter and on their list-serves (dating myself; remember list-serves back before social media?) that were not just horribly homophobic but misogynistic and racist as well. I quit the list-serves, threw the newsletter in the trash the day it arrived in the mail unopened, and didn’t renew my membership when it came due. I only did mainstream conferences and events and conventions if they were held in New Orleans. When my books came out, I did signings at queer bookstores, Murder by the Book, and Garden District Books here in New Orleans (I also signed a few times at the late lamented Maple Street Books as well). I never bothered contacting, or having the publicist contact, mainstream mystery bookstores again…
I don’t carry those kinds of books in my store.
Let me state here for the record, before someone comes at me, that I do love independent bookstores, and try to support them whenever I can. (Whenever I do a signing in a store, I inevitably lose money because I buy more books than I made from whatever was sold.) But–and this is a very important but–most independent bookstores that aren’t specialty stores (i.e. mystery bookstore, queer bookstore, SFF bookstore, etc.) generally have a rather jaundiced and condescending attitude towards genre fiction, and carry very little of it outside of bestsellers. Add queer to crime as adjectives before my books and that is two very big strikes for most independent bookstores.
I don’t carry those kinds of books in my store.
And that’s fine; I get it. I am a niche writer, and niche writers aren’t going to sell enough books in your store to make it worth your while to stock them. That’s a business decision, and businesses have to do what they have to do to keep their doors open. That isn’t personal. But…if you never have events for queer authors or mystery writers in your store, that’s sending a very loud and clear message to those of us who fit those descriptions.
I don’t carry those kinds of books in my store.
I guess in retrospect it’s funny that I didn’t expect to deal with homophobia in the publishing world. I knew I wouldn’t make as much money writing about gay men as I would if I wrote about straight ones, but I was fine with that: I knew that going in. People only have so much time to read and most readers do it strictly for the pleasure of reading, for the escape; I certainly have any number of times in my life. So, if someone is straight or has no interest whatsoever in gay men, why would they pick my book off the shelf rather than something that won’t challenge their life paradigms? But I didn’t expect the nastiness from mystery booksellers (lesson learned; again, Murder by the Book is the exception) and outright homophobia. Sorry not sorry, when one of those stores go out of business I do feel bad for their customers, who liked to browse their aisles, but I don’t feel sorry for the store owners and/or managers; as far as I’m concerned, if you’re homophobic, enjoy your well-deserved bankruptcy.
You didn’t have to be homophobic when saying no to an event. Period.
And what I’d been expecting really was nothing more than simple professionalism. One store manager did tell me that she’d love to, but she was having trouble drawing audiences for events and she was going to be closing the store gradually. I appreciated the honesty and I sent her a card when her store closed for good. It’s really interesting to me, who’s been to so many classes and trainings and seminars on professionalism in the workplace or in dealing with the public, that people allow things like racism, misogyny and homophobia to take precedence over being professional? Why would you ever make potential customers–people willing to give you money and patronize your business–feel unwelcome or unwanted?
I’ve no doubt that the world has changed in that regard, too–I see queer writers doing bookstore events all the time, and being invited to speak at literary festivals and conference, which is amazing progress from twenty years ago. We’re getting nominated for mainstream awards now, too, which is also cool (and incredibly good for my ego–seven Anthony noms to date; along with a Lefty, an Agatha, a Macavity, and a Shirley Jackson)–and even winning here and there (John Copenhaver deservedly won a Macavity a few years back, and Mia Manansala won several awards for her debut novel, also deservedly so). This is enormous progress, and change for the better within the community. It’s been lovely to see the mystery and crime fiction community working so hard to be more inclusive and welcoming to non-white, non-straight, non-cisgender writers.
But I do think it’s important to remember the not-so-distant past–so we can always say, with assurance, when someone says they want to go back to the good old days…they weren’t that good for all of us, no thank you. I also know I was luckier than a lot of other queer writers at the time I started; I had the support of my local newspaper, which always reviewed my books and I also had the support of the local literary community, which was crucial. I was also lucky in that there were still queer bookstores I could do events at; queer publications that would review my work and interview me; and even more crucially, Insightoutbooks existed–a queer Book of the Month Club, pretty much–which was always hugely supportive of me and my career. Had it not been for those things, I may not be here today writing this entry; or I would have had to rebrand myself and written mainstream years ago.
We’re not all the way there yet…but we’re much closer than we were in 2002.
Queer and Loathing in America 