From the Publisher
From Elizabeth Taylor, Bette Midler, and Diana Ross to Queen Elizabeth I, Julia Child, and Princess Leia, these divas have been sister, alter ego, fairy godmother, or model for survival to gay men and the closeted boys they once were. And anyone—straight or gay, young or old, male or female—who ever needed a muse, or found one, will see their own longing mirrored here as well.
These witty and poignant short essays explore reasons for diva-worship as diverse as the writers themselves. My Diva offers both depth and glamour as it pays tribute with joy, intelligence, and fierce, fierce love.
Publishers Weekly
In very short, very tender essays, a variety of gay male writers, from poets to playwrights to a standup comic, pay homage to an even wider variety of women who have inspired them. Peter Dubé writes how the photography of Claude Cahun suggested "a delirious world of possibilities"; Jeff Oaks recalls a childhood of wearing wristbands fashioned from paper cups to emulate his "model of power," Wonder Woman; Christopher Lee Nutter looks back on his closeted teenage years and how Sade taught him "that there was a world somewhere that suited them better than the world they'd been born into." While a few essays are disappointingly shallow ("More than smart and fabulous, Parker Posey is fall-on-the-floor ridiculous"), such standout pieces as Mark Doty on Grace Paley are elegant and affectionate tributes to how these muses have been "fairy godmothers" and "older sisters," as Montlack's introduction explains, and illustrate how complex, sustaining and lifelong are the bonds between gay men and their divas. (May)
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Richard J. Violette
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Library Journal
A diva. Every good gay man has one, it seems, and, to paraphrase the editor, it's amazing that no one thought of this before. Montlack (English, Berkeley Coll.) has assembled essays, chiefly by up-and-coming writers, that explore the symbiotic relationship between the gay male and the diva—those beloved, larger-than-life ladies who have served as role models, muses, and even therapists. Sounds like a hoot, but this is more than a camp fest. The essays, mostly three to five pages, are touching and thoughtful as well as funny, as they lovingly detail what each author's personal diva has meant to him. Show business and popular culture icons abound, with most of the usual suspects present (Liza, Marlene, Cher, both Bettes, and Joan), as well as choices from history and politics (Elizabeth I, Eva Perón), the culinary arts (Julia Child, Jennifer Patterson), and even fictitious figures (Auntie Mame, Princess Leia, Endora). VERDICT This is one of those delightful books you can open at random and be amused, enlightened, or moved by. The concept seems too rich to be confined to one volume; don't be surprised if a sequel appears in a year or two. Highly recommended for all LGBT readers.—Richard J. Violette Special Libs. Cataloguing, Inc. & Greater Victoria P.L., Victoria, B.C.
Kirkus Reviews
Gay male writers-including Mark Doty, Wayne Koestenbaum, Cyrus Cassells and others-pay homage to their divas. In the introduction to this revealing study of secular devotion, fanatic fandom, heroine-worship-call it what you will-poet Montlack (English/Berkeley Coll.) says that within two weeks of announcing his idea, more than 40 contributors had signed on. The list is quite a cornucopia of female cultural icons, ranging from Sappho to Princess Leia. "[T]here seems still to be a particular type of fandom, or devotion, that only gay guys can deliver," writes the author. "[W]e show up for the ladies like no one else and usually stick with them for life." Such fervor and steadfast loyalty blaze through these diverse accounts, whether in depicting an icon, admitting what she means to the devotee or exploring the nature of devotion itself. Poignant and colorful description dominates: Queen Elizabeth I, "undeniably a nerd's diva," that "crusty, white-faced Gloriana"; Nina Simone, with her "velvety voice" so "slow, so full, so processional it could pull a ship of lonely sailors to shore"; Elizabeth Taylor in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, whose "disheveled hair falling onto her bloated face and into those famed eyes physically transformed her to a gorgon"; Julia Child, "crowned everlastingly in a brown helmet of bedroom hair." Such splendid portraiture traces the outlines of the writer's immediate, breathless relation to his diva, for whom she may have paved a route out of repression or a confining home life (Joan Sutherland, Auntie Mame), acted as a tangential, sympathetic witness to the author's budding sexuality or take-no-prisoners attitude (Kate Bush, Sade, Bjork) or continues to serve asa catalyst for an evolving sense of self (Lucille Ball, Mahalia Jackson). A delightful essay collection.