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4.11 AVERAGE
4.11 AVERAGE
Just couldn’t get into it. I really wanted to love it but I didn’t.
emotional
informative
reflective
medium-paced
challenging
emotional
funny
hopeful
informative
reflective
medium-paced
“by then, we’d been an item for three years, but we didn’t have the receipts. not the right ones, like a utility bill. we’d have fared better with that kind of official proof of living together (even illegally) than a stack of love letters. . .you could draw me a picture. i could write you a sentence. these acts meant the world to us, and nothing to the world.” (151)
i really liked this book ! the queer history woven in w atherton lin’s personal life worked really well for me and it felt like a real tapestry trying to represent the gayest love story ever told. i for the most part loooooved the writing in this book, at times it felt a little self indulgent BUT if i was writing abt something so personal to me and my life like my nearly 30 year long relationship i too would probably be a bit self indulgent. sometimes the way he wrote abt sex took me out of it, not for it being out of place or anything but at one point i read “squishy buns” and i did have to laugh. overall i really enjoyed this book ! it was less memoir ish than i was expecting but i don’t think that’s a bad thing, I really loved how well researched the different historical sections were, and honestly i’m still thinking abt his writing on clive boutilier -> “surely all this would have been impossible to conceive of by four young people on coney island amid a lost weekend that should have never been found” (106).
loved atherton lin’s voice and style of writing, it’s made me want to read so so much more by him. it felt so swooning at times while still being anchored into reality and the stress of their situation/the present political moment, but even w that there was room for humour and tenderness too, even w the underlying cynicism and anxiety. love !!
i really liked this book ! the queer history woven in w atherton lin’s personal life worked really well for me and it felt like a real tapestry trying to represent the gayest love story ever told. i for the most part loooooved the writing in this book, at times it felt a little self indulgent BUT if i was writing abt something so personal to me and my life like my nearly 30 year long relationship i too would probably be a bit self indulgent. sometimes the way he wrote abt sex took me out of it, not for it being out of place or anything but at one point i read “squishy buns” and i did have to laugh. overall i really enjoyed this book ! it was less memoir ish than i was expecting but i don’t think that’s a bad thing, I really loved how well researched the different historical sections were, and honestly i’m still thinking abt his writing on clive boutilier -> “surely all this would have been impossible to conceive of by four young people on coney island amid a lost weekend that should have never been found” (106).
loved atherton lin’s voice and style of writing, it’s made me want to read so so much more by him. it felt so swooning at times while still being anchored into reality and the stress of their situation/the present political moment, but even w that there was room for humour and tenderness too, even w the underlying cynicism and anxiety. love !!
emotional
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
relaxing
medium-paced
emotional
hopeful
reflective
medium-paced
emotional
informative
reflective
medium-paced
I really enjoyed Deep House - an intimate and personal look at Jeremys life and relationship with Famous, woven between the history of gay rights and the fight for marriage equality.
I found it incredibly interesting and shocking in equal measure. I looked forward to picking it up whenever I could.
I liked the writing style and tone, which was succinct and engaging - it was like sitting listening to a friend, and the factual parts were very well researched and punchy. So many couples in love and so many obstacles in their way. I smiled and I felt enraged and I felt deep compassion and empathy.
It couldn't be any more timely considering our current political climate - an essential and important read, with a lot of heart - I learnt a lot. Recommended!
I found it incredibly interesting and shocking in equal measure. I looked forward to picking it up whenever I could.
I liked the writing style and tone, which was succinct and engaging - it was like sitting listening to a friend, and the factual parts were very well researched and punchy. So many couples in love and so many obstacles in their way. I smiled and I felt enraged and I felt deep compassion and empathy.
It couldn't be any more timely considering our current political climate - an essential and important read, with a lot of heart - I learnt a lot. Recommended!
emotional
funny
informative
reflective
sad
medium-paced
“Any time quite so many queers file into the chambers of the Supreme Court, opportunities present themselves for moments of high camp.”
Reading this as someone born in 1992, the story feels both familiar and distant. I was old enough to see some of these things as they happened, but young enough still to be totally ignorant to their gravity. When I was a teenager in Metro Detroit, aware of my own sexual identity but too terrified then to admit it (let alone explore it), I remember thinking same-sex marriage was so inevitable. Every person I knew was in favor of it (every person I knew was a teenage emo, art kid, or my mom), and I could not even fathom why it was such an issue for some other people (the president and my dad). Between 2006 and 2010, my high school had a thriving GSA and an out lesbian prom queen. Hilary Duff was advising the world to cease using homophobic epithets. My ex boyfriend had a crush on my current boyfriend. It felt like queer acceptance was all around me—and therefore inevitable. When same-sex marriage was legalized in the US in 2015, I remember thinking, “FINALLY,” as though the only thing hindering it all those years was the slow wheels of government bureaucracy. Reading this book puts the most interesting juxtaposition into frame for me—what a privilege to have been so ignorant and surrounded by so much acceptance.
Where Lin especially shines in this book is his sense of balance. I laughed, I cried, I grimaced—all at regular intervals. He has a wonderful ability to create these educational vignettes that ultimately leave me weeping every other chapter. His own love story interwoven throughout provides much needed levity and tenderness at times, though many of his personal stories take you on an emotional rollercoaster all their own.
The shortest chapter, and a standout for me, is chapter eleven: Leaves Like Twinks. It draws immediately to mind a Richard Siken poem, and it offers a compelling break in Lin’s otherwise steady structure. Definitely one to go back and re-read.
Having finished Deep House, I feel the same as I did when I finished Gay Bar: I want to read everything Jeremy Atherton Lin has read. I want to have heard all the same music and seen all the same art. I want to be so earnest, so educated, and so funny. So this is my open plea to you, Jeremy Atherton Lin: drop your summer reading list.
Reading this as someone born in 1992, the story feels both familiar and distant. I was old enough to see some of these things as they happened, but young enough still to be totally ignorant to their gravity. When I was a teenager in Metro Detroit, aware of my own sexual identity but too terrified then to admit it (let alone explore it), I remember thinking same-sex marriage was so inevitable. Every person I knew was in favor of it (every person I knew was a teenage emo, art kid, or my mom), and I could not even fathom why it was such an issue for some other people (the president and my dad). Between 2006 and 2010, my high school had a thriving GSA and an out lesbian prom queen. Hilary Duff was advising the world to cease using homophobic epithets. My ex boyfriend had a crush on my current boyfriend. It felt like queer acceptance was all around me—and therefore inevitable. When same-sex marriage was legalized in the US in 2015, I remember thinking, “FINALLY,” as though the only thing hindering it all those years was the slow wheels of government bureaucracy. Reading this book puts the most interesting juxtaposition into frame for me—what a privilege to have been so ignorant and surrounded by so much acceptance.
Where Lin especially shines in this book is his sense of balance. I laughed, I cried, I grimaced—all at regular intervals. He has a wonderful ability to create these educational vignettes that ultimately leave me weeping every other chapter. His own love story interwoven throughout provides much needed levity and tenderness at times, though many of his personal stories take you on an emotional rollercoaster all their own.
The shortest chapter, and a standout for me, is chapter eleven: Leaves Like Twinks. It draws immediately to mind a Richard Siken poem, and it offers a compelling break in Lin’s otherwise steady structure. Definitely one to go back and re-read.
Having finished Deep House, I feel the same as I did when I finished Gay Bar: I want to read everything Jeremy Atherton Lin has read. I want to have heard all the same music and seen all the same art. I want to be so earnest, so educated, and so funny. So this is my open plea to you, Jeremy Atherton Lin: drop your summer reading list.
adventurous
hopeful
informative
inspiring
medium-paced
Very well researched and well written book, quite a remarkable work. The gay bible, really this is full of queer history & lives
emotional
informative
reflective
medium-paced
Thank you to NetGalley, the publisher, and author for an early opportunity to read this book. I thought I was the target audience, as I love a good love story, and this one promised the author’s own personal love story, and of his struggles for a legal, gay marriage that would allow for immigration into the United States. Along the way, the author recounts with minute detail the historical struggle of the modern movement to legalize same sex marriage, both in the US and the UK. I love these aspects of the book, as I am very much into modern social and cultural history/movements, particularly those that impact historically marginalized communities. However, I was not a fan of the very descriptive and graphic sexual escapades, which seemed to occur frequently and often and in great detail. So, as the legendary Meat Loaf sang, “two out of three ain’t bad!”
#netgalley
I went into this expecting a heartfelt LGBTQ+ romance (yes, I am that eejit who didn’t clock the nonfiction tag), but what I got was something far more layered—less love story, more socio-political excavation, with Lin pulling double duty as both cultural historian and memoirist.
Set against the backdrop of the 1990s and the fight for same-sex marriage rights, Lin charts his relationship with a British partner while weaving in centuries of LGBTQ+ lives, loves and legal battles. It’s a sprawling love letter that reflects on personal intimacy against the bigger picture of the long, painful and often infuriating struggle for gay rights and marriage equality. A harrowing chronicle of the many injustices inflicted on people seeking only to live and love as they were born to do, with the same dignity and rights as anyone else. It’s ambitious, wide-ranging, and unlike anything I’ve read before.
His writing is sharp and essayistic—punchy little vignettes followed by dense stretches of cultural and legal history. At times, it’s genuinely brilliant; at others, a bit emotionally distant. There’s beauty here, but not tender or sentimental; it’s unapologetic, defiant, and frequently in-your-face. Lin doesn’t so much tell a story as build a rich collage of what it means to exist, love and endure when the system insists you shouldn’t.
While I admired the form and the cleverness of it all, I didn’t fully connect with it on an emotional level—a fascinating, challenging read, but not one that entirely gripped me.
Many thanks to the publisher for the opportunity to read an advance copy via NetGalley. As always, all opinions are my own.
I went into this expecting a heartfelt LGBTQ+ romance (yes, I am that eejit who didn’t clock the nonfiction tag), but what I got was something far more layered—less love story, more socio-political excavation, with Lin pulling double duty as both cultural historian and memoirist.
Set against the backdrop of the 1990s and the fight for same-sex marriage rights, Lin charts his relationship with a British partner while weaving in centuries of LGBTQ+ lives, loves and legal battles. It’s a sprawling love letter that reflects on personal intimacy against the bigger picture of the long, painful and often infuriating struggle for gay rights and marriage equality. A harrowing chronicle of the many injustices inflicted on people seeking only to live and love as they were born to do, with the same dignity and rights as anyone else. It’s ambitious, wide-ranging, and unlike anything I’ve read before.
His writing is sharp and essayistic—punchy little vignettes followed by dense stretches of cultural and legal history. At times, it’s genuinely brilliant; at others, a bit emotionally distant. There’s beauty here, but not tender or sentimental; it’s unapologetic, defiant, and frequently in-your-face. Lin doesn’t so much tell a story as build a rich collage of what it means to exist, love and endure when the system insists you shouldn’t.
While I admired the form and the cleverness of it all, I didn’t fully connect with it on an emotional level—a fascinating, challenging read, but not one that entirely gripped me.
Many thanks to the publisher for the opportunity to read an advance copy via NetGalley. As always, all opinions are my own.