Queer Literature

Cherie Dimaline's The Marrow Thieves presents a post-apocalyptic world in which Canada's government hunts the native populations to extract their ability to dream. As outlined in Tuck and Yang's "Decolonization is not a metaphor," settler colonization seeks to obtain land above all else. However, Dimaline reimagines imperialism when the land has corrupted beyond value. This reorganization of Canadian priorities to native genetics facilitates a reconnection with the land.

E. M. Forster’s hotel literature has acquired increasing momentum
within contemporary critical discourses on hotels in modernist mobilities, spatio-temporality, and geographies (Thacker 2003, Short 2019). In Forster’s critically neglected and underrepresented short story “Arthur Snatchfold” (1928; published posthumously in 1972), the hotel and its surroundings come to resemble a space of queer possibility that functions as a homoerotically-charged Foucauldian counter-site. With the story progressively acquiring the semblance of a “hotel case” (1987, 108) through the assumption of an inferred, imagined, but never really lived, queer life within the hotel premises, all normative ways of codifying sexual identity in “Arthur Snatchfold” are challenged. To exist meaningfully and move ahead with the exploration of their sexualities, the story’s sexual offenders have to resort to the green belt surrounding what the conventional morality perceives as “that deplorable hotel” (1987, 106). It is the hotel as a peculiar configuration that opens a range of possibilities for transgressive behaviours. This is also suggested in the failed attempts at policing the hotel premises. The hotel erotica in “Arthur Snatchfold” seems, by the same token, to be born out of the tension arising from the modernist urge to spatialize through the heterotopic transport of the protagonists from monochromatic domesticity towards the multihued hotel. In the immediate vicinity of the hotel and, in an illusory sort of way, within the plasticity of the hotel, the protagonists finally find refuge.
Keywords: literary hotels, Queer Studies, Modernism, heterotopia, short stories

The paper discusses the relationship between homosexuality and Icelandic national identity in Sjón's novel Moonstone (2016, original text 2013), and compares it to At Swim, Two Boys (2002) by the Irishman Jamie O'Neill. Both are historical novels, set during times of struggle and fight for independence in Iceland and Ireland. A focal point in both, moreover, is the fact that the young protagonists' same-sex desires are marginalised by the society and prevailing nationalist ideologies: their sexuality makes them incompatible with the national ideal. Sjón’s and O’Neill’s approach to the topic and their conclusions are somewhat different, however, and the comparison between the two novels serves to underline that fiction can, and does, deal with questions regarding queer sexualities, national identities and their histories in various different ways.

Ovaj diplomski rad bavi se zastupljenosti queer literature u knjižnicama te je cilj rada ispitati u kolikoj je mjeri queer literatura zastupljena u zbirkama Gradske knjižnice u Zadru, Gradske knjižnice Marka Marulića u Splitu te Gradske knjižnice Jurja Šižgorića u Šibeniku.
Rad postavlja teorijsko konceptualni okvir u kojem definira osnovne pojmove te objašnjava teoriju i praksu queera. Nadalje, donosi pregled literature o dosadašnjim istraživanjima iz ovog područja te podastire zakonske i stručne okvire putem kojih se jača tolerancija u društvu kroz
prizmu izgradnje zbirki u narodnim knjižnicama. Korištene metode su metoda usporedbe (checklist method) na osnovi core literature sastavljene od strane eksparata iz ovog područja i intervju s voditeljicama Odjela za nabavu u knjižnici. Rezultati pokazuju da je zastupljenost nedostatna.

This essay examines the uneasy relationship that Arturo Islas’s The Rain God has had with narratives of identity, focusing on how the representation of Felix’s sexuality makes him a problematic figure for certain strains of Chicana/o and queer studies. In other writings, Islas criticizes Quinto Sol, the chief publishing house of Chicano literature in the 1970s, for its emphasis on ethnonationalist novels that featured “positive images” of Chicanos, and he suggests that Quinto Sol rejected The Rain God for failing to conform to this mold. I speculate that the simple fact that the novel includes homosexual characters would have been enough for it to be deemed too negative in that era. I argue that Islas’s representations of homosexuality continue to disrupt notions of identity, but now the disjuncture is not that homosexuals are represented but that they are incoherent with the closet paradigm that is predominant in significant strains of queer studies. Drawing on recent scholarship that warns against a fixation on identity as the grounding principle for sexual experience and politics, I read Felix as a character whose transgressive expressions of homosexuality are shaped by a tangled web of power dynamics that are associated with his feelings of ethnic and masculine insecurity. Ultimately, I show that the very qualities that make Felix discomfiting to readers and resistant to narratives of identity are generative points of analysis for Chicano literary studies.

“and that’s how you find it . . . you know, it” (268). Romances stories are often about finding happiness and true love, about finding it. In these novels happiness is both privileged and equated with love, and more often than not these love stories are about heterosexual happiness. Sara Ahmed, in The Promise of Happiness, describes the necessity of queer love stories when she explains “there are of course good reasons for telling stories about queer happiness, in response to and as a response to the very presumption that a queer life is necessarily and inevitably and unhappy life" (p.94). My article explores this presumption by examining John Green and David Levithan’s Will Grayson, Will Grayson (2010), specifically the way the novel encourages empathy for the queer characters by playing with the readers’ generic and social expectations of the romance story.

Will Grayson, Will Grayson follows two teenage boys named Will Grayson, whose paths cross serendipitously. The chapters of this novel present simultaneous love stories by alternating between straight Will (who ends up in a stable monogamous heterosexual relationship, and therefore has a normatively happy ending) and gay Will (whose future is not so certain). This paper contrasts the hetero- and homosexual love
stories and analyses how the interplay of these stories engenders empathy in the reader. I argue that in this way, Will Grayson, Will Grayson challenges heteronormative expectations of the romance story.

When considering the relationship of dreams to indigenous cultures, its prominence within metaphysical and cultural histories typically comes to mind. Observably, this association results in a tendency to correlate visions with an archaic past, or near-extinct “old ways” which challenge assimilation narratives common in popular culture. As a genre, indigenous futurism utilizes elements of speculative science fiction, such as post-apocalyptic prospects and inventive technologies, to examine the fortitude of indigeneity in the face of colonization. While Rebecca Roanhorse’s “Welcome to Your Authentic Indian Experience” transforms dream fasting into a commodity for tourist colonizers, the dreams of Cherie Dimaline’s The Marrow Thieves (TMT) catalyze native persecution, yet also an assertion of identity. In effect, by redefining the significance of the dream, both works bridge the gap between legacies of indigeneity and the modern myth of native invisibility found in mainstream conventional fiction.

Serialized from 1953 to its publication in 1958, and adapted into a celebrated film starring Audrey Hepburn in 1961, Truman Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s focuses on the ingénue/Cinderella figure Holly Golightly. A poor white, Southern-farm-girlturned starlet-turned-NewYork-call-girl, Holly Golightly both fascinates and repels the narrator of her story by the very libidinous terms of her mobility. She exists in the novel as the narrator’s construction: an untenable, though tantalizing, figuration of a deviant postwar female sexuality.

The portal fantasy subgenre and its themes of displacement, liminality, and "strange" children coming-of-age in even stranger otherworlds, has been read queerly by many readers across its history. From foundational academics like Alexander Doty to contemporary authors like A.J. Hackworth, many have noted the thematic and allegorical undercurrents in the portal fantasy that resonate with, and provide valuable escapism and catharsis to, young queer readers.

This is a saved version of a web publication. You can view the paper in its home site here: https://writingfrombelow.org/dr-michael-noble/queer-actuality/

Romanian literary accounts of queer characters are scarce, and the few critical texts that do address them often dismiss the discourses revolving around the author's or the character’s sexuality. The Romanian academic community still espresses virtually no interest in studying queer aspects of the  humanities, and there is a very limited number of articles written on this theme by Romanian scholars. Even these were mostly published not in Romania, but abroad. 
Therefore, I aim to present and analyze a series of literary works beginning with Panait Istrati's novel, Adolescența lui Adrian Zografi (Adrian Zografi's Adolescence) to contemporary writings by Ioana Baetica Morpurgo, Cristina Boncea, Ana Maria Sandu and Alina Mungiu-Pippidi.
I will discuss the mechanisms through which queer stories are constructed and how the stereotypes concerning non-normative sexualities function inside the texts, as these are mainly authored by heterosexual persons.
The memory-related value of the primary sources is of great importance to this paper.  At the same time, the literary characters which I encountered in my research can be read from a queer perspective (in some cases, their sexuality is only presented in the subtext). Through the interplay of these fragments —of lives and of fictions— I aim to nuance the local expressions of queerness. This analysis is strictly connected to the socio-political and legal contexts of our local history and will be conducted using a feminist approach and perspectives from the field of literary studies.

Uma viagem pela literatura brasileira desde o século XIX até o fim do século XX através de experiências gays e transgêneras.Talvez apenas uma canção pudesse recolocar o êxtase que me tomava na revelação dessa estória que fragilmente acabo de delinear, cenas e figuras à espera de outros olhares. Quanto mais eu mergulhava nos textos, mais emergiam sinais de experiências diversificadas, que não cessam de me constituir. Me sinto revitalizado pelo passado e tomado pela responsabilidade que estas e outras tantas estórias ainda desconhecidas ou esquecidas nos deixam. Por mais que a solidão, a melancolia, a violência e o desamparo persistam, não é tarde demais. Não estamos também no começo. Este nós de que participo mas não represento.

Ali Smith is an anomaly in the contemporary publishing scene: an experimental writer
popular enough to be interviewed by the prime minister of Scotland; a lesbian writer lauded as
a universal genius and “Nobel laureate-in-waiting”; a political writer whose ruminations on art,
aesthetics, belonging, and memory transcend the current political moment while speaking
directly to it. Currently, Ali Smith is enjoying a critical moment with the success of her Brexit tetralogy; Transatlantic Studies in British and North American Culture dedicated a volume to her writing in 2019, and in May 2022, post45 published a cluster of essays on Ali Smith.
Nevertheless, with the attention to Ali Smith, a strange, sometimes explicit, de-queering
of Ali Smith’s life and art occurs. In this special issue we aim to analyze Ali Smith investments in queer genealogies, queer aesthetics, and lesbian and queer lives.

This is an extended version (by approx 3000 words) of an essay which will be published in the forthcoming Cambridge Companion to the English Short Story. I respectfully ask that any references/citations be made to the published version when it appears.

When we speak of Gothic texts, it is tempting to do so with reference to gender, categorising texts as either Male Gothic or Female Gothic. However, the definitions of these categories are somewhat nebulous – classification can depend on the gender of the author, the gender of the protagonist, elements of the narrative, or a combination therein. Moreover, this dichotomy largely ignores the prevalent depiction of queerness, here meaning non-normative experiences of sex, gender and sexuality, within Gothic fiction.
In 1996, Jean Kennard published an article titled ‘Lesbianism and the Censoring of “Wuthering Heights”’. She contemplates Emily Brontë’s own identity, reading her “masculine” habits, “peculiarities”, and nickname, “the Major”, in the context of early Victorian discourse around gender and sexuality. She then reads Wuthering Heights as a subliminally lesbian narrative, in which Brontë’s ambivalence towards her own identity is encoded in the tumultuous relationship between Cathy and Heathcliff. Surprisingly, very little further work on Wuthering Heights as a queer text has been undertaken in the following quarter of a century.
This paper aims to return to this site of critical enquiry, this time examining the text through the lens of the Queer Gothic, an area of study that has gained substantial interest over the past fifteen years. It begins by exploring the ways in which Heathcliff is coded as a sexual Other, drawing on the associations between race and transgression in nineteenth century England, and the ways in which these associations were articulated in Gothic fiction. It then returns to Kennard’s interest in sameness in the novel, exploring the ways in which Cathy and Heathcliff’s identifications with one another transform them into increasingly androgynous and transgressive characters. Finally, it explores Victorian notions of sexual transgression as a sickness, and the way in which the Gothic gave language and form to such notions, tracing instances of illness in the novel in this context.
Ultimately, this paper reads Wuthering Heights as a deeply transgressive text that both influenced and was influenced by contemporary discourse around gender and sexuality, situating it within a history of sexuality that continues to bear heavily upon the present.

George Haggerty's Queer Gothic belongs to the long tradition of treating gothic novels as repositories of case histories for psychoanalysis. In this instance, the Freud of pop psychology has become the Freud of queer theory: Freud filtered through Judith Butler, Jacques Lacan, Slavoj Žižek, and Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick.  More specifically, homoerotic desire is seen to be the essence of what is repressed for the sake of establishing bourgeois culture, which is "always already" heteronormative.

This was a paper presented in "The Other Detective II Panel" at PAMLA, November 1, 2013.

ABSTRACT: In the 1980’s Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas became the titular characters of a short-lived mystery series penned by their longtime friend Samuel M. Steward.  In both "Murder is Murder is Murder" (1985) and "The Caravaggio Shawl" (1989), Stein and Toklas find themselves implicated in a series of baffling situations and circumstances which they decide to try and solve themselves, particularly after watching the cases be mishandled by the police.  It is a role both women initially relish, with Stein announcing with characteristic linguistic bravado in "The Caravaggio Shawl" that “together we two that is Alice and I will find the murderer” because “I have read hundreds of mystères and I know how a criminal’s mind works as well as a detective’s, and I like detectiving almost as much as writing, and have had some success at both.”  But as non-professionals, as middle-aged Jewish women, as artists, as Americans citizens in France, and as a lesbian couple they encounter a seemingly endless series of obstacles that seem to systematically prevent them from solving their cases.  Detectives have always served as marginalized individuals operating in liminal social and moral spaces, of course, but in Stein and Toklas’s particular circumstances the position of “otherness” traditionally associated with the detective figure becomes particularly pronounced.

Queer Jewish American texts study and express perspectives related to alternative experiences of sex, gender, and sexuality among Jews in the Americas. By the late 1960s to the 1980s, a body of creative writing, exegesis, and criticism from gay, lesbian, and bisexual Jewish viewpoints began to appear more broadly and explicitly, gaining new cultural power in the wake of social liberation movements and the emergence of gay and lesbian Jewish congregations. By the 1990s, these voices more consistently featured in edited collections on gender and sexuality across religious denominations, cultural contexts, and scholarly disciplines; such volumes include Miriam Peskowitz’s and Laura Levitt’s Judaism Since Gender, Danya Ruttenberg’s Yentl’s Revenge and The Passionate Torah, Nathan Abrams’s Jews and Sex, and (more recently) Rivka Cohen’s Monologues from the Makom. The last decades of the 20th century saw entire anthologies devoted to queer Jewish concerns, including more transgender voices, as well. Transgender Jewish writers like Leslie Feinberg also pioneered empathetic portrayals of trans Jewish characters by the 1990s. A tension runs throughout the history of LGBTQI+ literature between assimilationism and the cultivation of pride in social difference, in some ways paralleling Jewish American literature more broadly. The term “queer” is an evolving placeholder that applies unevenly across historical and social contexts. For example, while for most of the 20th century gay and lesbian white people were considered queer (i.e. stigmatized on the basis of sexuality and denied legal protections), recent social progress has changed this reality in a number of contexts—with federal protections of same-sex marriage and positive mainstream media representations of cisgender same-sex marriages and parenting, a new “homonormativity” exists in which some sexual minority identities are assimilated into social norms at the expense of others who remain disenfranchised. “Queer,” by this logic, is now more the domain of trans, nonbinary, non-monogamous, disabled, neurodiverse, and other currently stigmatized iterations of gender and sexuality, including those experienced by many LGBTQI+ people of color. Accordingly, a significant amount of recent queer Jewish texts in the Americas avoid “homonormative” depictions and prioritize a focus on those LGBTQI+ Jews who continue to lack social safety or cultural legibility. Approaches and subject matter vary widely across this body of texts. While some authors reinterpret Jewish theology or scripture through queer lenses, others posit the queerness of Jewish experiences in diaspora, or the queerness of being a non-normative Jewish subject in normative Jewish contexts. Some texts focus on a singular queer Jewish American perspective, while others chart collective histories or advocate for new ways of thinking about queerness and Jewishness as they inform each other in creative, scholarly, or political realms. Generally speaking, this article charts a shift among creatives and intellectuals from envisioning American Jewishness and queerness as conflictual elements to appreciating their various points of overlap and synergy. As a final note, the author thanks Ori Tsameret for assistance with gathering and organizing sources in preparation for this article.

What is so bad about the “reductive”? In queer and other scholarship, reductionism signals simplistic homogeneity, fixity, and limitation, which are ideas often taken to be self-evidently problematic. Addressing a range of theoretical material, especially the work of Leo Bersani, this essay attributes the taken-for-granted status of reductionism to queer theory's structuring opposition to ideas associated with sameness—among them normativity, reproduction, and the status quo. However, the essay suggests that the writing of John Rechy can help us reflect on why queer scholarship should be organized in this way. Rechy frequently presents a close relation between forms of reduction and the gay lives and worlds that are a significant focus of his work. Moreover, critics have imagined this gay-oriented work itself to be “reductive.” Rechy is therefore the occasion to ask, counterintuitively, if queer scholarship's aversion to reductionism as mistakenly limiting and homogenizing recapitulates the devaluing of homosexuality in the modern West as a misguided attachment to sameness.

Partiendo de un análisis literario del libro de cuentos "Transmutadxs" de Yolanda Arroyo Pizarro, el presente ensayo plantea una reflexión situada acerca de las potencialidades subversivas de la literatura cuir. Tanto por sus temas predilectos como por la poética que elabora, el libro de Arroyo Pizarro cuestiona en efecto las categorías canónicas, no solo identitarias, sino también y, sobre todo, literarias y críticas, haciendo uso de estrategias intertextuales, simbólicas o sicoanalíticas que contribuyen a desplazar significados aparentemente estables. Dichas estrategias adquieren, por otra parte, una significación diferente cuando se leen desde un contexto distinto al puertorriqueño. Por eso mismo, los cuestionamientos que realiza "Transmutadxs" también conllevan una serie de riesgos epistémicos, por lo que resulta necesario desarrollar una crítica literaria dinámica, informada por el contexto en que se lleva a cabo y alejada de los patrones rígidos del pensamiento eurocéntrico a partir del que se ha originado tradicionalmente.

"Xenia the Servant of God, or Andrey Fyodorovich the Holy Fool" is a hagiography written by Russian Orthodox priest and publicist Dmitry Bulgakovsy (1843-ca. 1918). Published in Russia in 1890, it is one of the first full accounts of the life of a saint variably referred to by two names: one feminine, Xenia, and the other masculine, Andrey. The saint ostensibly lived in St. Petersburg in the eighteenth century. Identified female at birth and named Xenia, after the death of their husband Andrey, at the age of twenty-six the saint took on the identity of their deceased husband. The saint is popular in Russia today, and stories about their life are disseminated widely. Although they were canonized in 1988 as St. Xenia and are now venerated as a holy woman, accounts of their life always include the story of their gender transformation. In twenty-first-century narratives, this episode tends to be glossed over briefly as proof of the saint's extraordinary love for their husband, embellishing their role as a devoted wife. However, in the original nineteenth-century stories of the saint's life, such as the one translated below, there is greater ambiguity in the depiction of their gender.

George Haggerty's Queer Gothic belongs to the long tradition of treating gothic novels as repositories of case histories for psychoanalysis. In this instance, the Freud of pop psychology has become the Freud of queer theory: Freud filtered through Judith Butler, Jacques Lacan, Slavoj Žižek, and Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. More specifically, homoerotic desire is seen to be the essence of what is repressed for the sake of establishing bourgeois culture, which is "always already" heteronormative.

A subjective overview of U.S. lesbian and gay literature written "toward Stonewall" -- anticipating the revolution in queer cultural visibility ushered in by the Stonewall Rebellion of 1969. But also "looking (and feeling) backward" to "pre-Stonewall" structures of feeling, defined by their stigmatization of homosexuality as criminal, pathological, and sinful.

'Same Old' offers a rethinking of positions that have defined queer theory since its inception in the early 1990s. Steeped in philosophical and political commitments to 'difference', queer theoretical frameworks have tended to assume that ideas related to 'sameness' only thwart and stymie queer forms of life. But this book takes a number of these ideas as its focus - uselessness, reproduction, normativity and reductionism - and reveals their unexpected formal and thematic importance to a range of queer literary genres from across the long twentieth century: fin-de-siècle aestheticism, feminist speculative fiction, lesbian middlebrow writing, and the 'stud file' or record of serial sex. Demonstrating how queer cultural objects often stand at odds with the frameworks that have been meant to help interpret and comprehend them, Same old interrogates the genealogy of the aversion to sameness that has kept those frameworks in place.

Lambda Literary established a new award in Transgender Poetry for the first time one year ago. On the eve of a new Lammy Awards this year, we sat down to have a conversation with U of A Poetry MFA alumna Trace Peterson, publisher of the first trans poetry book to win the award: succubus in my pocket by kari edwards.

De sombras y de muerte [de Max Chárriez] DANIEL TORRES / 13 FEBRERO 2021 / VISTO: 182 CRÍTICA LITERARIA PREVIOUS ARTICLE Yasmín Díaz: jazmín dentro del jardín de la poesía ! NEXT ARTICLE El Topo: poeta fundamental y juglar de la patria " Este libro es la tercera entrega de la trilogía Profecías junto a Ojos como de hombre (2011) y Huesos secos (2013), novelas basadas en hechos reales con cambios de lugares, nombres y otros detalles. Sin embargo, no es necesario haber leído las primeras dos partes de estas tres historias para seguir de cerca la trama que protagoniza el inspector Sánchez, versión gay boricua del detective cubano Mario Conde, personaje de las famosas novelas policiales del escritor cubano Leonardo Padura (Fuentes). Max Chárriez, por su parte, continúa esta tradición de suspenso en la narrativa caribeña contemporánea desde la Isla del (Des)encanto denunciando los niveles de corrupción en la Policía de Puerto Rico ante varios casos congelados o "cold cases" de feminicidios irresueltos. En realidad, sí existió un asesino en serie de sexoservidoras que las torturaba y dejaba los cuerpos tirados debajo de los puentes en Santurce. Esto se une a otros casos de muertes de mujeres trans en la isla y hasta se rumoró que los culpables habían sido policías. En este sentido, De sombras y muerte sigue un principio esencial de la teoría postcolonial, darle voz al subalterno, nombrar a quien ha sido invisibilizado por el sistema abogando por un sentido de justicia y de paz social. Tanto la mujer y el hombre heterosexuales, la mujer trans, los hombres gays y las mujeres lesbianas aparecen representados aquí como parte integral del tejido social que busca elevar el discurso más allá de los prejuicios intrínsecos de la sociedad puertorriqueña a toda diferencia sexual en este final de la segunda década del siglo XXI. El narrador en De sombras y de muerte nos atrapa desde las primeras líneas del relato y nos mantiene en vilo hasta la página final, donde se resuelve el entuerto y se sigue de cerca una incipiente relación amorosa entre el inspector Sánchez y Llanos, agente del FBI. Esta combinación de estar al límite entre amor y muerte, Eros y Tánatos, permea todo el discurso narrativo y explora la condición de dos hombres cansados de los juegos eróticos de la comunidad LGBTQ+ para encarar de frente la idea del Amor sin más al darse otra oportunidad. Los prejuicios de Sánchez hacia Llanos se van derrumbando como los muros que también van cayendo a medida que se resuelve el intríngulis de los casos en cuestión. La prosa de Chárriez avanza con la agilidad de un demiurgo y maneja todo un entramado de epígrafes, citas bíblicas que desenmascaran los fundamentalismos religiosos como una lacra social (Salmo 88, Libro del profeta Daniel 5:27, Salmo 23, Éxodo 22:16). Se hacen descripciones del paisaje isleño en contraste con la sordidez de un asesino en serie dañado psicológicamente por un pasado familiar incierto. El tiempo aparece marcado con precisión por fechas y horarios que informan al lector de lo que está pasando como en reportaje de New Jornalism, o de la escuela del llamado Nuevo Periodismo, con historias de interés humano que informan minuto a minuto, día a día, y hora a hora lo que sucede simultáneamente en distintos puntos de la isla mientras avanza la investigación policial que se resuelve al Xnal de la narración. En este sentido, el libro se lee también como un informe policial. Leer aquí es resolver los casos junto al inspector Sánchez y al equipo de policías, incluido el agente Llanos, que en un momento deben operar a contracorriente de la oXcialidad policíaca para evadir las consecuencias de un grupo de funcionarios corruptos que no quieren que los casos de feminicidios se esclarezcan. La Xcción supera muchas veces a la realidad en De sombra y de muerte, cuyo enigmático título dialoga intertextualmente con otro, De amor y de sombra (1984), la segunda novela publicada por la exitosa escritora chilena Isabel Allende, historia en la cual se denuncia la dictadura de Augusto Pinochet en medio del gran amor de la reportera Irene Beltrán y el fotógrafo clandestino Francisco Leal. En la obra de Chárriez, sin embargo, son dos hombres gay, que van enamorándose mientras avanza la acción, los que denuncian también otra posible "dictadura policial", en el Puerto Rico contemporáneo que se ha "olvidado" deliberadamente de un asesino en serie que lleva operando décadas, hasta que un equipo de investigadores resuelve el caso. Hacia el Xnal de la novela el narrador en primera persona describe lo que ve Sánchez en Llanos: "y lo veo sonreír, dientes blancos en contraste con la piel tan morena, sedosa y esa barba tan nítida y ese cuerpo tan sólido" (242). Comentario aparte merece la relación Xlial del inspector Sánchez con su hijo adoptivo David Caleb. Cualquier parecido con el escritor David Caleb Acevedo que ahora se llama oXcialmente Eirïc Rïcter Durändal StormCrow, autor de Diario de una puta humilde (2012), es pura coincidencia, y un abierto homenaje a su compañero de letras en el ya desaparecido grupo Homoerótica. La manera como el joven David Caleb, personaje, sirve a manera de entrenador para que el detective baje sus defensas ante la posibilidad de rendirse al amor es un comentario sobre los límites de deXniciones de género en la gran familia puertorriqueña, y cómo también la familia gay no hace otra cosa que fortalecer esos lazos familiares al buscar otras deXniciones de ese núcleo humano. El nombre del agente Llanos también implica otro guiño al lector porque se reXere al conocido fotógrafo de los escritores puertorriqueños contemporáneos y destacado cuentista, H. Roberto Llanos, quien fuera parte del ya mencionado grupo Homoerótica, colaborador de la Editorial La Tuerca, y modelo de este personaje. Quien no conozca estos datos leerá la novela sin percatarse de ellos, pero para quien está al tanto del catálogo de obras publicadas por la Editorial La Tuerca, proyecto de Max Chárriez y su pareja Arnaldo Alicea, junto al artista gráXco y escritor Julio A. García Rosado, disfrutará de estos detalles donde la realidad se acerca a la Xcción hasta transformarla deliciosamente. Es parte de esa dimensión lúdica de la nueva literatura puertorriqueña. En estos largos meses de la pandemia del coronavirus, la publicación de una novela policial criolla como De sombras y de muerte es momento para detenernos a rejexionar sobre el mensaje crucial que esta historia nos comunica y denuncia, porque no podemos olvidar los horrores más sórdidos de la criminalidad que padece Puerto Rico por la corrupción de las agencias de gobierno como el cuerpo policial, coludido muchas veces con el narcotráXco, las redes de prostitución y la trata de personas en los pueblos de la isla como Vega Baja. Esta decidida llamada de atención es uno de los elementos medulares en De sombras y de muerte del escritor Max Chárriez, una novela que hay que leer.

This is an intensive distance-learning class. You are expected to have access to high-speed internet during the entire period of this class. You are expected to check Blackboard on a daily basis. Course Description : From rugby to football, from cricket to baseball, from field to ice hockey: sports both impact and reflect differences within and between societies. This course takes a humanities approach to sports in fiction and film, examining their involvement in the worlds of politics and money, commerce and entertainment. Comparing an array of sports as portrayed in films and literature, we will further discuss their implications on issues of class, gender, race, and sexuality. I hope that we can enjoy lively discussions during this semester. The texts I am requiring are designed to provide a historical and generic range, but your experiences and reading will also be important.

This chapter considers the writing of Claude Cahun, and in particular Disavowals (1930), as a philosophical testing of the boundaries both of the written word and of the self. Adopting Pierre Mac Orlan's designation of the textual fragments in Disavowals as 'poem-essays and essay-poems', the chapter demonstrates how Cahun's work dialectically engages the realms of the poetic and the philosophical in order to provide a radical commentary on the intimately personal as well as on aspects of society, politics, culture, and gender in the early twentieth century-a commentary that still holds relevance for the twenty-first-century reader.

This is a collection of poems whose focus is on activities of wizardry as practiced in different parts of the world, despite the thematic title  that captures the Nile, for specific reasons to be explained later. It is about the horrendous situation and horrific nightmares undergone and experienced by the victims of sorcery as well as how unpropitious magical powers can manipulate  people as 'properties' mentally possessed.

Ivan Kozlenko's novel Tanzher (Tangier) became one of Ukraine's biggest cultural events of 2017, vigorously debated in the country's media and shortlisted for multiple prizes. This was unprecedented for Ukrainian literature: a queer-themed novel whose plot centers on two pansexual love triangles, one taking place in the 1920s, the other in the early 2000s, did not provoke a torrent of homophobic abuse. Its presentations were not picketed by right-wing extremists, the way this happened on multiple occasions to other recent gay-themed publications, most notably the 2009 anthology 120 storinok So-domu (120 Pages of Sodom). Set in the city of Odessa, the novel constructs an alternative affirming myth, reinterpreting the episode in the city's history when it served as Ukraine's capital of filmmaking in the 1920s and seeking to reinsert this queer-positive narrative into the national literary canon. This article analyzes the project of utopian transgression the novel seeks to enact and situates it both in the domestic sociocultural field and in the broader contexts of global LGBTQ writing, countercultural practices, and the challenges faced by postcommunist societies struggling with the new conservative turn in national cultural politics.

Essay 1: Discuss the concept of queer reading in the context of reception and reader response theories of your choice.

Essay 2: Outline and discuss José Esteban Munoz' reading of LeRoi Jones's play The Toilet with respect to the notion of queer race.

corpus: texto ou conjunto de textos escritos (ou orais) que servem como base de uma análise. pl: corpora.

A categoria analítica conceitual queer, com suas aporias e deslizamentos, oferece uma abertura singular para se pensar diversas questões relativas à produção de sujeitos, ao desafiar essencialismos e autoritarismos que buscam determinar identidades discretas dentro de uma oposição homossexual/heterossexual (SEDGWICK, 2008), podendo funcionar como uma aliança, ao invés de uma categoria identitária fixa (BUTLER, 2018). A presente reflexão tem como ponto de partida questões que emergem no ensaio de justificação e delimitação de um corpus queer. Afinal de contas, o que significa pensar um corpus queer no âmbito da teoria e da crítica literária? O que há de queer em um corpus queer? O que essa categoria abrange, traz à luz e também oculta? O que ela expande e o que ela circunscreve? Estamos falando de um autor queer? De uma narrativa ou personagem queer? De uma temática e/ou de um modo de escrita? O locus do queer está na estética, na hermenêutica, em ambos ou em nenhum? Apontar possíveis soluções ou uma síntese para tais conflitos não é de modo algum meu objetivo, mas sim explorar as contribuições de algumas das autorias dentro do campo teórico, apontando como cada uma delas pode apresentar um insight importante e produtivo para pensar esses questionamentos, assim como contribuir na formação de uma hermenêutica queer.