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gerhard's review
2.0
This book has a great premise. Calvin, an ageing and single gay man (which as David Pratt would tell you is a double whammy if you want to be part of the ‘gayristocracy’), inexplicably finds himself inside the world of the porn video he is watching one evening.
One man’s heaven is another’s hell; Calvin quickly finds that perfection is rather dull and rote. He manages to return to his circumscribed existence in his rent-controlled apartment in New York City, but with Joey in toe, the man of his dreams.
Calvin’s best friend Peachy decides that Joey is their Golden Ticket to crack an invite to the social event of the season, a lavish party thrown by the reigning king of the ‘gayristocracy’ (a dildo-and-lube millionaire; and yes, there are lots of appalling jokes about this).
Joey is such a morsel of perfection that Peachy thinks their invites are a slam dunk; at the same time, they can give Joey a crash course in what it means to be gay in the modern world. As I said, a great premise. Unfortunately, the execution is rather uneven, wobbling between gross-out gay humour, maudlin pathos and relentless cynicism – often on the same page.
I am thinking of one scene in particular where Calvin does his time slip trick again and ends up in a drinking hole filled with Roman legionnaires talking Latin. He lets himself be picked up by one and goes to his apartment. With Liza Minnelli crooning on the sound system, the Roman looks beseechingly at Calvin before pulling out a hammer and nails.
Yes, there is a certain subtext about Calvin feeling an innate need to be ‘punished’ due to his perceived failure as a gay man. However, this scene in particular steps over the boundaries of good taste.
And there are various other instances where Pratt does not seem to know where to draw the line: Calvin’s relationship with Joey becomes a complex father-and-son interaction, but when Calvin gives Joey a hug, it gives him a hard-on. Or the ‘disabled sex anthology’ entitled Spasms: Sex for the Differently Abled, which crudely subverts a rather important part of the story.
Pratt clearly wants us to take Calvin seriously as he follows a (meandering) path towards redemption and grace. But along the way the author gets sidetracked by his own cleverness and need to wring humour out of every situation, whether bathos or slapstick. This quickly becomes tiresome and irritating.
I think that comedy is one of the most difficult things to write. Pratt tries to pull off quite a balancing act here between a genuinely screwball premise and some serious, heartfelt ruminations on life, death and the universe. He only succeeds partially because he is like the clown at an office party who thinks that placing a farting cushion on an unsuspecting person’s chair is the height of hilarity.
Still, it is refreshing to read a gay-themed novel that is funny and uplifting at the same time. It might be a half-baked soufflé, with too much sugar in some places, but Pratt has us rooting for the unlikely trio of Peach, Calvin and Joey from the get-go. And that, after all, is what the ‘gayristocracy’ is all about: rendering the unconventional both palatable and beautiful.
One man’s heaven is another’s hell; Calvin quickly finds that perfection is rather dull and rote. He manages to return to his circumscribed existence in his rent-controlled apartment in New York City, but with Joey in toe, the man of his dreams.
Calvin’s best friend Peachy decides that Joey is their Golden Ticket to crack an invite to the social event of the season, a lavish party thrown by the reigning king of the ‘gayristocracy’ (a dildo-and-lube millionaire; and yes, there are lots of appalling jokes about this).
Joey is such a morsel of perfection that Peachy thinks their invites are a slam dunk; at the same time, they can give Joey a crash course in what it means to be gay in the modern world. As I said, a great premise. Unfortunately, the execution is rather uneven, wobbling between gross-out gay humour, maudlin pathos and relentless cynicism – often on the same page.
I am thinking of one scene in particular where Calvin does his time slip trick again and ends up in a drinking hole filled with Roman legionnaires talking Latin. He lets himself be picked up by one and goes to his apartment. With Liza Minnelli crooning on the sound system, the Roman looks beseechingly at Calvin before pulling out a hammer and nails.
Yes, there is a certain subtext about Calvin feeling an innate need to be ‘punished’ due to his perceived failure as a gay man. However, this scene in particular steps over the boundaries of good taste.
And there are various other instances where Pratt does not seem to know where to draw the line: Calvin’s relationship with Joey becomes a complex father-and-son interaction, but when Calvin gives Joey a hug, it gives him a hard-on. Or the ‘disabled sex anthology’ entitled Spasms: Sex for the Differently Abled, which crudely subverts a rather important part of the story.
Pratt clearly wants us to take Calvin seriously as he follows a (meandering) path towards redemption and grace. But along the way the author gets sidetracked by his own cleverness and need to wring humour out of every situation, whether bathos or slapstick. This quickly becomes tiresome and irritating.
I think that comedy is one of the most difficult things to write. Pratt tries to pull off quite a balancing act here between a genuinely screwball premise and some serious, heartfelt ruminations on life, death and the universe. He only succeeds partially because he is like the clown at an office party who thinks that placing a farting cushion on an unsuspecting person’s chair is the height of hilarity.
Still, it is refreshing to read a gay-themed novel that is funny and uplifting at the same time. It might be a half-baked soufflé, with too much sugar in some places, but Pratt has us rooting for the unlikely trio of Peach, Calvin and Joey from the get-go. And that, after all, is what the ‘gayristocracy’ is all about: rendering the unconventional both palatable and beautiful.
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