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A review by reedingthroughtheyear
Moby Dyke: An Obsessive Quest To Hunt Down The Last Remaining Lesbian Bars In America by Krista Burton
5.0
I am writing this review through honest-to-God-tears, after having stared blankly at the last line of this book and my kindle screen for five minutes.
This book was enthralling. I came to this book — as a lesbian, as someone who lives in Chicago, and is friends with two of the lesbian bar owners here — with my own pre-conceived notions about lesbian spaces. Krista Burton’s Moby Dyke affirmed some notions, dispelled and challenged others.
Moby Dyke invited and welcomed me into all of these diverse yet universal queer spaces around the country in such a way that I became addicted. I devoured this book in two days. I laughed along with her witty repertoire of insights throughout, yet also found myself crying at some of the more tender parts of this work.
As a woman who left Christian extremism (and a religion, who as Krista so eloquently stated, was more cult-like than not), leaving behind a family system that often feels like a gaping wound, those moments of personal disclosure around the writer’s own family dynamic felt particularly poignant.
Who gets to access spaces meant for lesbians and queer individuals? What does “all are welcome” truly mean and how do we keep these spaces safe for those that have so few spaces left? I am not sure this book answers this as I’m not sure there is a byline there to give. The closest it comes is this passage that was particularly affirming for me:
“It is a lesbian bar. To not call this a lesbian bar does a disservice to the reason the bar was created. This bar was built decades ago to be a safe space for lesbians. This is not a gay bar. This is a lesbian bar, and to ignore that is erasure.”
I felt it encapsulated what I want the answer to be — that being inclusive and welcoming to other identities does not mean we forget the need for lesbian community. It’s history, the fight for visibility, and belonging. Or, the ways in which lesbian women, both white and in particular lesbians of color, are treated currently, even by our sibling identities within the LGBTQIA community.
Let’s just say I have a few lesbian bars added to my travel wish list. I was additionally delighted to read of all the lesbian bar openings that were announced in the epilogue. How hopeful — and important. Which, is how I feel about this book. It is ultimately, so hopeful and important.
Thank you to NetGalley and to Simon & Schuster for an ARC of this title.
This book was enthralling. I came to this book — as a lesbian, as someone who lives in Chicago, and is friends with two of the lesbian bar owners here — with my own pre-conceived notions about lesbian spaces. Krista Burton’s Moby Dyke affirmed some notions, dispelled and challenged others.
Moby Dyke invited and welcomed me into all of these diverse yet universal queer spaces around the country in such a way that I became addicted. I devoured this book in two days. I laughed along with her witty repertoire of insights throughout, yet also found myself crying at some of the more tender parts of this work.
As a woman who left Christian extremism (and a religion, who as Krista so eloquently stated, was more cult-like than not), leaving behind a family system that often feels like a gaping wound, those moments of personal disclosure around the writer’s own family dynamic felt particularly poignant.
Who gets to access spaces meant for lesbians and queer individuals? What does “all are welcome” truly mean and how do we keep these spaces safe for those that have so few spaces left? I am not sure this book answers this as I’m not sure there is a byline there to give. The closest it comes is this passage that was particularly affirming for me:
“It is a lesbian bar. To not call this a lesbian bar does a disservice to the reason the bar was created. This bar was built decades ago to be a safe space for lesbians. This is not a gay bar. This is a lesbian bar, and to ignore that is erasure.”
I felt it encapsulated what I want the answer to be — that being inclusive and welcoming to other identities does not mean we forget the need for lesbian community. It’s history, the fight for visibility, and belonging. Or, the ways in which lesbian women, both white and in particular lesbians of color, are treated currently, even by our sibling identities within the LGBTQIA community.
Let’s just say I have a few lesbian bars added to my travel wish list. I was additionally delighted to read of all the lesbian bar openings that were announced in the epilogue. How hopeful — and important. Which, is how I feel about this book. It is ultimately, so hopeful and important.
Thank you to NetGalley and to Simon & Schuster for an ARC of this title.