Cathy Camper

In the past, LGBTQ+ kids were forced to discover heroes where ever they could find them. A friend of mine shared that he’d had a crush on Astro Boy, and it’s easy to see why other fictional characters like Peppermint Patty and Harriet the Spy became role models, when most real celebrities were closeted, or presented to kids, as straight. For decades, biographies written for young people tiptoed around issues of gender and sexual preference, lauding folks like Walt Whitman, Tchaikovsky, Michelangelo and Virginia Woolf, but sharing their accomplishments as if they were just part of one straight, cultural legacy. Queer people of color were mostly ignored in this mostly white legacy too. In their introduction to Queer Heroes, author Arabelle Sicardi explains:

As a child I would get lost in the pages of fantasy books, searching for people who looked and felt like me. But they were always few and far between. The ones I did find, I held on to and used them as an anchor to keep me into place–to find my spot in the world. Reading about the lives of people who were as confused, scared and curious about the world as me made me feel less like I was failing at being a person. They were the family I needed to get me through hard days. But most of them were fictional.

Queer Heroes offers kids an exciting alternative, biographies that honor people’s queerness as integral to their accomplishments. Young readers will recognize celebrities here of their own generation, like transgender activist Jazz Jennings, singer Sia, and anti-gun activist Emma González, as well as queer mega-stars from the recent past, such as David Bowie and Harvey Milk. Inclusion of heroes like lesbian poet and activist Audre Lorde, Paralympic athlete Claire Harvey, and Jordanian publisher Khalid Abdel-Hadi expand models for kids of queer heroism outside of, and in reaction to, the white, abled, western mainstream vision.

Another triumph–these biographies includes occasional mentions of successful partnerships of these heroes. For example, Japanese writer Nobuko Yoshiya’s biography shares that her relationship with her partner Monma Chiyo lasted 50 years. Though same sex marriage was illegal, “The couple did not try to hide their living arrangement, and lived openly as lesbians.” That a statement like this seems bold and new only emphasizes how thoroughly queer success stories have been erased from kids’ views.

These one-page biographies include enough information that students could use this book as a reference for school reports. So while this book most importantly models for queer kids, it also expands straight kids view of who their heroes can and might be.

Sarah Tanat-Jones’s illustrious portraits glow with lavender and gold, deep blues, peaches, and magenta. Informative symbols frame these memorable icons: Josephine Baker is fringed with bananas, borders of Act Up pink triangles outline Larry Kramer, and scientist Dr. Nergis Mavalvala is ringed in planets. Backmatter includes an index and a list of useful sources (books and websites). And an eclectic and equitable glossary defines words like “drag queen” and “unisex,” but also “radical,” “bachelor” and “CEO.” I checked for “enfant terrible,”  but that will have to wait for (hopefully) a subsequent volume. This exciting, essential breakthrough book needs to be in every library and bookstore, where kids and their supportive adults can find it.

By Arabelle Sicardi/Illustrated by Sarah Tanat-Jones
Wide Eyed Editions
Hardcover, 9781786034762, 64 pp.
September 2019

If Act Up politics of the 1980s were somehow jettisoned into the present, blended with psychedelic pastel salt water taffy, and scored with a soundtrack of Incense and Peppermints, you might end up with something close to Eric Kostiuk Williams’ new book, Our Wretched Town Hall (a finalist  for a 2019 Lambda Literary Award). Don’t underestimate this slim compilation of comics, posters, and commentary: it’s easily one of the best comic books of the year.

The flow of these short tales, both true and imaginary, all merge to become Williams’ commentary on the state of the world around him. That includes the title, which Williams explains, “is me thinking of the stories’ themes as being part of a figurative ‘townhall’/state of the union type assessment of things.” An opening story, “No. 1 Song in Heaven,” praises the importance of an ultimate club and dance party (“we’ve been aching for a spot like this to open up”), then bumps into a story about a woman who swipes a stone from a Yoko Ono art piece. Inscribed Love Yourself, “…the stolen rock is valued at $17,500 USD,” the price standing in stark contrast to the original artistic sentiment. That tale drifts into “Videofags Here for a Real Good Time,” about a real Toronto art/performance space whose founder Keith Cole warns, “one day it will all be gone. Use it now and use it often.” Right away readers will sense common themes of the importance of shared space and collaboration, and of the intrusion of money and gentrification into these treasured human assets.

“Twanking” addresses aging and the commodification of youth, specifically among gay men. “What if nobody wants me?” a skull-faced Williams asks, terrified of twanking out of twinkhood. “Be the truest you possible. Be visible. Be someone that younger-you might have found some comfort in seeing around,” his guardian angel, the Willendorf Braid (also featured in his book Condo Heartbreak Disco) wisely advises.

A centerpiece of the book is the story “Grand Opening,” which confronts the gentrification and commodification of gay culture head-on. Queer restaurant workers thwart a conservative who ridicules an increase in minimum wage, while he hypocritically has sex with underpaid restaurant staff. The workers turn him into the restaurant, stripping his flesh for steaks, milking his nipples for juice. The restaurant’s a huge hit. When a customer asks a waiter, “I know everything is local here, but is the farming ethical?” the waiter can only reply, “There are no ethics in the restaurant business.”

Williams’ art is what makes an over-the-top story like this flourish, twisting and manipulating the conservative’s body from a person into what looks like a flesh-colored bouncy-castle. His art easily combines street art with cosmic plasma, political activism with grand ideas like love, self-identity, and even what happens to us when we die.

One of the comic’s most memorable scenes is a psychedelically illustrated death-bed conversation between two characters:

“Considering how dreams can alter our sense of time, it’s entirely possible that an all-at-once dose of the dreaming chemical could induce…eternity.”

“Am I still me?”

“Yes. But your memories are becoming intertwined with the universal consciousness.”

Williams’ skillful, mind-expanding art is the perfect medium to let us gaze at our own demise, with wisdom and empathy. But in a refreshing right face from self-help platitudes, this comic of queer-loving and support resurrects the bite of David Wojnarowicz, inspiring readers with a fierce sense of humor and an activist rallying call.

Our Wretched Town Hall
By Eric Kostiuk Williams
Retrofit Comics