Goldfish Attention Span

I’ve been trying to get through this *points accusingly at dust-laden hardback of Queer London by Matt Houlbrook lying lonely and forlorn on the floor.* After about my fifth aborted attempt yesterday evening, I have had to face the fact that it’s not going to happen.

It’s not that there’s a problem with the subject matter, there’s little that fascinates me more than queer history, it’s just the tone of the writing is so dull and boring. It’s obviously somebody’s college thesis that they got top marks for so they’ve decided to publish it in book form. There are lots of references to “citings” and annoying numbers during the text so that you can go to the appendix and see what other clever books they’ve been reading. I really don’t want all that nonsense, and I don’t want to have to pay extra for NINETY PAGES filled with notes and a bibliography either.

As creative gay people, why has no one been able to write a readable, compelling book on queer issues? The exception is Kate Bornstein and her excellent book Gender Outlaw, that’s because she’s a journalist first and an academic second – or at least that’s my interpretation of the situation.

So if you’ve produced a nice essay for one of your courses then fine, congratulations. But please get somebody else to re-write it and add some personality before you try and foist it onto the masses. Like a child that will only eat its food if mummy pretends it’s a train and makes choo-choo noises, come of us can only swallow our education if it’s packaged up pretty and looks shiny. We can’t help it, we’re just a bit shallow and challenged.

Recently, with two of my friends about to embark on PhDs, my inner parent has been sniffing at me with an air of disapproval, wondering why I don’t do something more with my life instead of moaning about the day job and getting drunk. But I know this inability to absorb heavy tomes will be my downfall, and I would find having to write within an academic structure too stifling.

I couldn’t bear to start a piece of work with a mission statement, but I can’t see examiners reacting too kindly to an opening line screaming, "Well, you wouldn’t BELIEVE what happened in 1927... " Though I’m sure this would encourage people to learn more. I’d have been far better at history in school if the Battle of Hastings had been “a right old to-do”, or the Second World War had been Hitler “getting a cob on”. Why must it all be so stuffy and lifeless?

So I’ve dismissed with Queer London and instead I went out and bought a novel, it’s called Whatever Makes You Happy by William Sutcliffe. In keeping with the parent motif, it’s about three mothers nagging their 30-something sons who they don’t consider are living their lives properly. It’s beautifully written and has many delicious, laugh-out-loud moments.

I’m only sixteen pages in and I’ve already learned a new word – unguents (n): a soft greasy or thick substance used as ointment or lubrication – so you can’t say it’s not been educational.

Like one of the characters in the book, I am asking my inner parent to leave. He’s happy with his PlayStation and I’m happy with my cheap novels and DVD box sets. We will not be made to feel guilty!