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This chapter focuses on a key text by the French pioneer of queer studies, Marie-Hélène Bourcier: Sexpolitiques: Queer Zones 2 (2005). Bourcier analyses the role of one central European institution, the French Republican state, in relation to nation-state rights of sexual and other marginalized groups. She arraigns the resistance of L’Université française to “imported” intellectual paradigms such as cultural studies and queer. She interrogates the role of the openly gay politician Delanoë (dubbed the ‘homo republicanus’). Further, she links contemporary French xenophobia and Republican sexual democracy, and exposes the clash between French feminist politics and queer. Bourcier excoriates Republican universalism, but my own critique of her multiple critiques will explore the dangers of another form of universalism, viz. a conceptual universalism that posits “Queer” as the correct theory of politics.

This chapter pierces the existing scholarly silence around Hoyt Fuller’s sexuality by exploring how sexual politics shaped both the life and afterlife of the editor. It maps the ways that silences around Fuller’s sexuality have been (de)constructed across time and space. It identifies exactly who helped manufacture these silences, speculates about factors that led to their production, gestures to the contexts out of which they emerged, and illuminates rare moments when some of these silences were punctured. By mapping the production (and shattering) of silences, the chapter offers insight into the ways movement activists responded to Fuller’s sexuality. His intimate life--as a man who had sex with other men (and women)--troubles conventional wisdom about the movement and Black nationalism, more broadly. The chapter argues that instead of being simplistic, dogmatic, or uniform in their thinking, movement participants thought about sexuality in complex, varied, and inconstant ways.

The introduction establishes the historical, cultural and theoretical contexts and frameworks that guide the monograph. While the aim of this study is to engage with and entertain the illuminating possibilities of Casement’s notoriously amorphous legacy, rather than attempt to assert any definitive biographical narrative, tracing the contours of Casement’s extraordinary life is necessary if we are to fully appreciate the complex contradictions that shaped Casement’s existence. To this end, a concise but thorough overview of Casement’s life is offered in the first part of the introduction in order to lay important foundations for the project’s literary discussion and analysis.

This is an maginative and riveting account of Burroughs’s formative experiences in Mexico, his fascination with Mexico City’s demimonde, his acquaintances and friendships there, and his contradictory attitudes toward the country and its culture. Burroughs explores the culture of Mexico and studies Aztec and Maya history half-heartedly, living contentedly with Joan and the children. The couple lives a self-destructive lifestyle, and tragedy strikes when Joan is shot by Burroughs accidentally. The section includes a piece by Burroughs himself, “My Most Unforgettable Character.”

This chapter describes the formative importance of the Uncle Go columns in Plaek for the origins of gay and lesbian community publishing in Thailand. The decline and end of the Uncle Go columns is also noted. The importance of commercial print media in the development of Thailand’s gay, lesbian and transgender (kathoey) cultures and communities is detailed.

This chapter focuses on Ratatouille (2007), the story of Remy, a rat who becomes a chef. This spectacular animated movie could be read as a coming-out story, where the rat embodies the symbolic lonely gay, refined as an object of disgust, excluded and successful. Ratatouille is also a story about race, species and nationality in contemporary France. In this context, Queer studies is an appropriate tool to address a series of questions to this American reading of “old France” and its stereotypical symbols: is the French kitchen a metaphor of the “melting pot” where immigrants elaborate recipes whose basic principle is precisely to “mix” ingredients? Is the motto “anyone can cook” the culinary equivalent of French universalism, assuming that anyone can become French if they simply adopt French culture as their own?

The Introduction provides the biographical, literary and critical contexts for the book. It explores how previous criticism’s concentration on the novel’s portrayal of homosexuality has not only influenced the direction of Forster studies but also exemplified wider disciplinary trends. It illustrates how, by addressing previously overlooked themes and contexts such as feminism, Aestheticism, allegory and body-soul relations, the present volume offers a ground-breaking examination of Maurice and its legacies, sharpening critical appreciation of this under-discussed work and expanding recent revisionist attention to the novel in new modernist scholarship. The fact that the novel can be read divergently, from various approaches including but not limited to those informed by the author’s own sexuality and the representation of same-sex desires in the text, and in different contexts and afterlives, not only signals its protean texture but also prompts us to reconsider our assessments of Forster the writer. What emerges from the volume, the Introduction suggests, is the complexity of the novel, as a text and as a cultural phenomenon. Providing an overview of the volume’s three sections – interpersonal relationships, contemporary contexts and afterlives – the Introduction summarizes the contours of a new multifaceted understanding of Maurice set out in the volume.

This chapter juxtaposes the Spanish ‘comedia de mariquitas’ [‘poofter comedy’] No desearás al vecino de quinto (Ramón Fernández, 1970) with Lucrecia Martel’s La niña santa (2004). By dissecting Alfredo Landa’s performance in No desearás al vecino de quinto, the chapter studies how the actor’s on-and off-screen persona as modern-day everyman and his flamboyant character highlight the split between actor and his craft. It also shows how this performance brings to fore a queer performance of identity that dovetails with the ‘queer sensibility’ of Martel’s directorial hand. While insisting on the multiple positions available to queerness, particularly in two films that seem to teeter on its edge, this chapter questions what it can mean to perform humanity through utterances, gestures and glances, through objects, positions, and gestures.

The birth of queer studies as an academic discipline is defined by its break from LGBT politics, with the goals of marriage and military service pitted against radical queer liberation. In broad strokes, LGBT studies produces sexual orientation as a category, while queer studies seeks to upend categorical thought. Alison Bechdel’s unique insight into that tension arises from her complex and nuanced attempts to represent marginalized identities in a form that has been itself marginalized. Her politics of the outsider cannot be cast off in a dismissive reading of her popularity in the cultural imagination, nor hewn from the longer history of her formal innovation. Taken as a whole, the paradoxical and yet co-constitutive relationship between the queerness of her forms and the mainstream popularity of her texts performs a sort of queer world-building. To the extent that her work cultivates empathy or community, it does so not only, perhaps, in the service of identity-based movements or bald market capitalism, but also by modeling a more radical, relational aesthetic that illuminates the ongoing power of queer critique.

Conversant with the previous chapter’s emphasis on the corporate, neoliberal university, Chapter 5 meditates on the ways in which Asian American studies is often diluted at the curricular and programmatic levels. This chapter also considers how other interdisciplines—namely Women’s, Gender, and Sexualities Studies—face similar crises with regard to funding, appointments, and co-optations.

This chapter analyzes Dionne Brand’s poetry collection, Chronicles of the Hostile Sun (1984), and her novel In Another Place, Not Here (1996). While Chronicles pinpoints the misrepresentation of the Grenada Revolution in anti-revolutionary narratives emanating from American imperialism, In Another Place highlights how structures of healing and alternative epistemologies of black radicalism are developed between queer women who are on the margins of both the postcolonial Caribbean nation and the revolution intended to subvert American imperialist forces. Brand’s writing interrogates the black radical tradition in search of a radical feminist politics that can account for gender and sexuality alongside race and class.

This chapter turns to James Joyce’s Ulysses (1922) and Jamie O’Neill’s At Swim, Two Boys (2001) to examine their (meta)modernist engagements with Casement and Ireland’s queer (post)colonial politics. Casement is mentioned by name in both texts and is a figure that can be read, in many ways, as embodying Ireland’s own peculiar relationship to empire and anti-colonial nationalism. Both novels depict Irish nationalism as a curiously queer phenomenon and rereading Ulysses through Jamie O’Neill’s novel reveals a latent homoerotic energy in the Irish revolutionary generation and Irish nationalism more broadly.

Before publishing The Swimming-Pool Library in 1988, the most substantial piece of writing that Alan Hollinghurst had completed was his 1977 Oxford M.Litt thesis. This early academic work is marked throughout by careful reading and a preoccupation with bibliography. This preoccupation grew into an obsession that characterizes the rather readerly eroticism of Hollinghurst’s first novel. Hollinghurst’s formative attention to the book as a student and a novelist offers a rare invitation to revisit both the hermeneutics and materiality of reading through the possibility of touch. Building on recent work in queer studies concerning touch and reading, this chapter presents a speculative blueprint for the queer mechanisms that underpin the structure of The Swimming-Pool Library and the intimacy of reading in Hollinghurst’s early work.

From the perspective of large parts of Kyrgyz society, 'non-traditional' relations do not only pertain to ethnically mixed couples but equally to same-sex partnerships. This chapter takes a look at the securityscapes of individuals from the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) community in Bishkek, who face similarly dire consequences if their sexual orientation or gender preference is found out. Their everyday life in public thus often resembles a continual masquerade. The chapter focusses, in particular, on an LGBT nightclub in the capital city. It argues that the stress of having to keep disguising oneself may occasionally excite moments of excess and frenzy, of experiencing one's 'true' self only in a temporary act of transgressing the norms of profane life.

The chapter explores Casement’s Black Diaries, and their reception, through a discussion of three novels: Conan Doyle’s The Lost World (1912), Alan Hollinghurst’s The Swimming-Pool Library (1988) and Mario Vargas Llosa’s The Dream of the Celt (2010). In a move that embodies the homophobia that has so often plagued Casement’s posthumous life, Vargas Llosa depicts Casement’s Diaries as little more than the fantasies of someone deeply ashamed of their sexual taste. In The Swimming-Pool Library, Hollinghurst is able to stage the uneven power dynamics that defined Casement’s sexual encounters while also illustrating the erotic thrill offered by racial difference, contextualised through a genealogy of queer desire. Finally, the chapter concludes by engaging the Black Diaries alongside Conan Doyle’s The Lost World, which features settings and a character inspired by Casement, and explicating the novella’s insistence on the erotic quality of racial difference while also highlighting the underlying queer energy inherent to the imperial romance of the Boy’s Book.

The first part of this biography describes Burroughs’s identity as a self-destructive young man, still uncertain about being a writer, and having just graduated from Harvard and keeping literary and intellectual company. After some trouble with illegal substances, he and Joan Vollmer flee to Mexico.