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daumari's review against another edition
4.0
This is an important read, although not without its flaws. I feel some geographic parallels to Samantha Allen, an ex-mormon who did her undergrad at BYU and grad work at Emory in Atlanta (I grew up in eastern Idaho which is heavily LDS and did my undergrad in South Carolina), so I understand a bit where her perspectives growing up may have come from. Part exploration of conservative-state queer communities, part autobiography (she visits places she's lived/places important to friends and allies in the community), Allen spends the summer of 2017 criss-crossing the interior of the country, against a backdrop of presidential tweets banning trans servicepeople and the Charlottesville riots. The postscript is already dated- the judge's block on the military ban has already been reversed by now, in 2019. The opening chapter in Provo, Utah is the strongest, I feel, as it not only goes into the baby!trans feels but also an examination of the crossroads queer LDS members find themselves at at the moment, and how tumultuous a change attitudes have taken in the last ten years. I recall in 2009 attempts to start a GSA at my high school failed, but this year, a decade later, my hometown had the largest pride parade they've had at ~2,000 people participating.
My problem with this book is how often Allen pooh-poohs the "coastal elite" queer strongholds of San Francisco and NYC as expensive, complacent places where there's so much choice segregation shakes out again- that while in the Castro you might have bars for specific, individual subcultures, a mid-size metro in Mississippi just has one place for everyone to converge in one happy community. A theme that goes on is that in oppressive places, you find opportunities for connection, especially resisting together, and that IS true- red state LGBTQ+ communities are resilient in the face of hostile state governments trying to deny their existence- but I don't think it's necessary to punch out at the historic early battlegrounds of LGBTQ+ rights. I get it, I really do (when I mention I'm from Idaho, I've seen the question marks that pop up on faces because I'm not a white Mormon potato farmer), but that did give me pause. To her credit, Allen does note that as much as she feels comfortable in some of these places, she still carries white privilege and that black trans women, the most vulnerable community, might feel less safe. Pure speculation, but I'm guessing some of the hangups about LA/SF/DC/NYC come from growing up in a conservative LDS environment and even though she's shed both those identities, it takes some self-reflection to get rid of everything.
I would recommend to: red state readers (especially those in the LDS or evangelical communities because narratives about people might be more persuasive than stats), coastal people who have never been to the interior of the country
My problem with this book is how often Allen pooh-poohs the "coastal elite" queer strongholds of San Francisco and NYC as expensive, complacent places where there's so much choice segregation shakes out again- that while in the Castro you might have bars for specific, individual subcultures, a mid-size metro in Mississippi just has one place for everyone to converge in one happy community. A theme that goes on is that in oppressive places, you find opportunities for connection, especially resisting together, and that IS true- red state LGBTQ+ communities are resilient in the face of hostile state governments trying to deny their existence- but I don't think it's necessary to punch out at the historic early battlegrounds of LGBTQ+ rights. I get it, I really do (when I mention I'm from Idaho, I've seen the question marks that pop up on faces because I'm not a white Mormon potato farmer), but that did give me pause. To her credit, Allen does note that as much as she feels comfortable in some of these places, she still carries white privilege and that black trans women, the most vulnerable community, might feel less safe. Pure speculation, but I'm guessing some of the hangups about LA/SF/DC/NYC come from growing up in a conservative LDS environment and even though she's shed both those identities, it takes some self-reflection to get rid of everything.
I would recommend to: red state readers (especially those in the LDS or evangelical communities because narratives about people might be more persuasive than stats), coastal people who have never been to the interior of the country
hipearson's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
5.0
futurama1979's review
4.0
I started reading this magnificent book at the perfect time: on my own road trip across the southern U.S. I finished it, obviously, significantly later, due not to the pacing or content of the book but my own work and course load. It was a fantastic read.
As a journalist myself, attaining the perfect balance between research, interview, and supporting human interest in a piece is something that has been drilled into me. No surprise this book hit that balance perfectly. This is my favourite sort of non-fiction: the sort that is packed with relevant information but arranged into a great story.
I know I've said this before about other books but it stands for this one as well: I'm going to be recommending this to every LGBT+ person I know. It's a poignant and cuttingly well-researched piece that dispels a horribly prevalent myth; the myth of the wholly conservative south and the vastly preferable northern big cities for queer life. Absolute joy of a book.
As a journalist myself, attaining the perfect balance between research, interview, and supporting human interest in a piece is something that has been drilled into me. No surprise this book hit that balance perfectly. This is my favourite sort of non-fiction: the sort that is packed with relevant information but arranged into a great story.
I know I've said this before about other books but it stands for this one as well: I'm going to be recommending this to every LGBT+ person I know. It's a poignant and cuttingly well-researched piece that dispels a horribly prevalent myth; the myth of the wholly conservative south and the vastly preferable northern big cities for queer life. Absolute joy of a book.
bookph1le's review
4.0
I found this both interesting and moving. As a straight, cis person who wants to be a good ally, this book provided me a lot of insight. RTC
Full review:
As a straight, cis person who wants to be a good ally, I picked this book up to give me a broader perspective of the lives of LGBTQ people, especially since most of the media focus seems to be on those living in the more liberal coastal enclaves. The premise of the book intrigued me, because as the author points out throughout the course of the book, LGBTQ have created homes for themselves everywhere, even in seemingly hostile places. To prove this, she sets out on a road trip with a friend, winding a path across red states to meet up with and learn about the various communities LGBTQ people have carved out for themselves. I myself don't live in a red state, nor do I live in a liberal coastal enclave, but my own home state has lots of work to do when it comes to advancing the civil rights of LGBTQ people, and I've often wondered why anyone who is LGBTQ would want to live in a place that refuses to recognize their basic humanity.
I have to say, this book surprised me. I admire the tenacity and determination of those living in states with laws that blatantly discriminate against them. So many of the people Allen profiles in this book express frustration with the draconian laws where they live, yet they don't want to move because they're determined to effect change. It's not hyperbole to say that they may be putting their lives at risk in the interest of helping forward progress.
However, it's also clear that while the areas where they live may not be entirely safe for them--many of them speak about being afraid to walk down the street holding hands with their same-sex spouse--they have also managed to create safe spaces. I was particularly touched by the story of Encircle, an LGBTQ center in Utah. As Allen notes, the leading cause of death for young people in Utah is suicide, and a big factor in the alarming rate of suicide among Utah youth is the vehemently anti-LGBTQ position the state has taken. The Mormon church plays a big role in this, since the vast majority of state legislators are of Mormon faith, and the faith itself not only refuses to accept LGBTQ people, it actively excommunicates them. Encircle provides a much-needed place for LGBTQ youth to go where they can truly be themselves and be accepted. It is literally life-saving.
Yet while it is wonderful to know that such a place exists, it's a cure for the symptoms, not the disease, as Allen illustrates. While she clearly dislikes what she terms as the cliquishness of the liberal coastal enclaves, she also vividly illustrates how those progressive enclaves aren't enough, and how problematic anti-LGBTQ laws and attitudes are. Teenagers and young adults are literally dying because they live in areas that refuse to acknowledge their humanity. As Allen shows, LGBTQ people need to create these communities for themselves as a matter of life and death. But the only real way to save LGBTQ people and put an end to generations of pain and suffering is by reversing discriminatory laws and changing prejudiced attitudes.
By creating communities in areas hostile to their rights, the LGBTQ communities in red states are providing much-needed visibility to the LGBTQ community as a whole. As with any -ism or prejudice (racism, sexism, Islamophobia, etc), the cure is exposure to people who are part of these marginalized groups, so that those with privilege and power learn that the people they fear are really just like them. There's no real way of sitting in comfort with this knowledge, though, since it's very troubling to know that some human beings have to put their lives at risk to convince other human beings that they deserve to be treated like human beings.
I think what impressed me most about this book, though, was how strong and committed these LGBTQ communities are. Yes, necessity plays a role in their commitment, but what stands out is the fierceness of their love for the places they live in. They want to make the places they live better for everyone, so however little some of those places might want to acknowledge it, they are the richer for the presence of their LGBTQ communities.
I'm old enough that I've lived to see progress happen in what seems to be leaps and bounds. I remember the days of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, when states were passing laws prohibiting people from marrying the person they loved, and when the majority opinion was against LGBTQ people and their rights. I was shocked and delighted when the Supreme Court made marriage equality the law of the land. (Frankly, I didn't think it would happen for some time to come. Boy, am I glad I was wrong about that!) I'm also uplifted by American youth, whose views on sexuality and gender identity are so vastly different from those of my generation and the generations before us.
But for as much progress as has been made, there's still a lot more to be done, and while I'm grateful for and respect the LGBTQ people who have taken it upon themselves to make America pay attention, I'm also increasingly aware of the part straight allies have to play. We can't just sit back and let our LGBTQ brothers and sisters take the responsibility on themselves, we need to acknowledge the systemic forces contributing to their oppression and do our part to dismantle those systems.
Full review:
As a straight, cis person who wants to be a good ally, I picked this book up to give me a broader perspective of the lives of LGBTQ people, especially since most of the media focus seems to be on those living in the more liberal coastal enclaves. The premise of the book intrigued me, because as the author points out throughout the course of the book, LGBTQ have created homes for themselves everywhere, even in seemingly hostile places. To prove this, she sets out on a road trip with a friend, winding a path across red states to meet up with and learn about the various communities LGBTQ people have carved out for themselves. I myself don't live in a red state, nor do I live in a liberal coastal enclave, but my own home state has lots of work to do when it comes to advancing the civil rights of LGBTQ people, and I've often wondered why anyone who is LGBTQ would want to live in a place that refuses to recognize their basic humanity.
I have to say, this book surprised me. I admire the tenacity and determination of those living in states with laws that blatantly discriminate against them. So many of the people Allen profiles in this book express frustration with the draconian laws where they live, yet they don't want to move because they're determined to effect change. It's not hyperbole to say that they may be putting their lives at risk in the interest of helping forward progress.
However, it's also clear that while the areas where they live may not be entirely safe for them--many of them speak about being afraid to walk down the street holding hands with their same-sex spouse--they have also managed to create safe spaces. I was particularly touched by the story of Encircle, an LGBTQ center in Utah. As Allen notes, the leading cause of death for young people in Utah is suicide, and a big factor in the alarming rate of suicide among Utah youth is the vehemently anti-LGBTQ position the state has taken. The Mormon church plays a big role in this, since the vast majority of state legislators are of Mormon faith, and the faith itself not only refuses to accept LGBTQ people, it actively excommunicates them. Encircle provides a much-needed place for LGBTQ youth to go where they can truly be themselves and be accepted. It is literally life-saving.
Yet while it is wonderful to know that such a place exists, it's a cure for the symptoms, not the disease, as Allen illustrates. While she clearly dislikes what she terms as the cliquishness of the liberal coastal enclaves, she also vividly illustrates how those progressive enclaves aren't enough, and how problematic anti-LGBTQ laws and attitudes are. Teenagers and young adults are literally dying because they live in areas that refuse to acknowledge their humanity. As Allen shows, LGBTQ people need to create these communities for themselves as a matter of life and death. But the only real way to save LGBTQ people and put an end to generations of pain and suffering is by reversing discriminatory laws and changing prejudiced attitudes.
By creating communities in areas hostile to their rights, the LGBTQ communities in red states are providing much-needed visibility to the LGBTQ community as a whole. As with any -ism or prejudice (racism, sexism, Islamophobia, etc), the cure is exposure to people who are part of these marginalized groups, so that those with privilege and power learn that the people they fear are really just like them. There's no real way of sitting in comfort with this knowledge, though, since it's very troubling to know that some human beings have to put their lives at risk to convince other human beings that they deserve to be treated like human beings.
I think what impressed me most about this book, though, was how strong and committed these LGBTQ communities are. Yes, necessity plays a role in their commitment, but what stands out is the fierceness of their love for the places they live in. They want to make the places they live better for everyone, so however little some of those places might want to acknowledge it, they are the richer for the presence of their LGBTQ communities.
I'm old enough that I've lived to see progress happen in what seems to be leaps and bounds. I remember the days of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, when states were passing laws prohibiting people from marrying the person they loved, and when the majority opinion was against LGBTQ people and their rights. I was shocked and delighted when the Supreme Court made marriage equality the law of the land. (Frankly, I didn't think it would happen for some time to come. Boy, am I glad I was wrong about that!) I'm also uplifted by American youth, whose views on sexuality and gender identity are so vastly different from those of my generation and the generations before us.
But for as much progress as has been made, there's still a lot more to be done, and while I'm grateful for and respect the LGBTQ people who have taken it upon themselves to make America pay attention, I'm also increasingly aware of the part straight allies have to play. We can't just sit back and let our LGBTQ brothers and sisters take the responsibility on themselves, we need to acknowledge the systemic forces contributing to their oppression and do our part to dismantle those systems.
vyhurz's review against another edition
4.0
I’ve wanted to read more queer stories for a long while, so picking up this travel memoir was very refreshing. It’s about queer people in “red states,” where many people probably don’t think queer people are. Or if they do, they think they’re miserable and oppressed. That’s not an invalid idea, but Real Queer America shows that there are queer communities thriving in red states. Utah, Texas, Georgia. I’ll be honest: I don’t want to visit these places. But there are people there working hard for inclusion, community, and the right to just live. This book made me teary in many places, and I enjoyed reading it. It was an easy read, and though the writing felt disjointed in some places, I liked how Allen connected the lives she was learning about and the places she was exploring to her own life. That made it feel connected to me, that somehow I am also connected to these red state queer communities. I’m nonbinary, I’m queer, and I’ve been looking for community. It’s hard to find for lots of reasons, but this book helped me see that it’s out there. People are working for it. In the end, this book changed my perspective on queer people in red states. I don’t want to just give up on red states altogether. I want to help them change and be more accepting. I want to help the people there who are already doing the work.
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princessraya's review against another edition
Liked the premise more than the actual book. Didn’t love how it felt like she was constantly and aggressively looking down on queers who did decide to leave small towns/red states for bigger coastal cities, or queers who had the audacity to already live in those cities. All queer America is “real” queer America. Maybe I will eventually finish but I just lost interest.
ayylexa's review
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
3.5
It took me until the penultimate chapter to see this book for what it really is, which is a spotlight on the lived experiences of specific individuals and pillars of local queer communities in red states. I know the subtitle is literally "LGBT Stories from Red States," so I can only really fault myself for not taking that at face value. I expected way more commentary about intersectionalism, racism, classism, and the erasure of activism in the US South, but this book chooses to go a simpler route by giving a platform for these stories. It's a good jumping off point for further discussion and reading, albeit lacking in BIPOC perspectives, in my opinion.