By Edmund White
Initially released in 1982 because the first of Edmund White's trilogy of autobiographical novels, A Boy's personal Story turned an speedy vintage for its pioneering portrayal of homosexuality. The book's unnamed narrator, becoming up in the course of the Nineteen Fifties, is beset through aloof mom and dad, a merciless sister, and constant mocking from his friends, compelling him to search out artworks and literature as solace-and to discover new relationships within the fight to include his personal sexuality. Lyrical and poignant, with robust evocations of disgrace and craving, this is often an American literary treasure.
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Extra resources for A Boy's Own Story: A Novel
Whirlaway, 1942. Armed vs. Assault, 1947. Swaps vs. Nashua, 1955. Convenience vs. Typecast, 1972. I arrived in time for the fourth race. The crowd was large, hot, and by that time—surly and depressed, walking into each other blindly, pushing dazed and dulled. When you see humanity like that, you know there’s not much chance. If you want to find what a person is like inside, take them to a racetrack and watch how they react to defeat. I walked over to the bench where she always sat, my lady with the long glorious legs.
He worked her panties off and got it in, taking both hands and spreading the cheeks of her ass wide, extremely wide. He saw her ass in the mirror and himself bent over her like leprosy. They worked across the room knocking over the coffee table, banging into a wall. Her cunt was too large for him. Too many babies. He had to get her in front of the mirror and watch. He finally came. He threw her on the bed. She seemed to be convulsing. He saw a high-heeled shoe on her rug. He dressed, watching her.
I got on the phone. I tried to get Hymie Stringer out of Philly but his manager told me Hymie broke his leg when he fell out of a tree trying to untangle a kite for some neighborhood kid. I tried Mexicali. I tried Canada. Nothing. The phone rang. “Listen, Shithead, I want to tell you about my goldfish. I got up early this morning and went out to the garden. It was about 6:30 and there was this light fog. And there they were floating near the top, mystified by this shroud of leaves that had fallen over them.