Alan Chin paints a captivating
story of friendship, love, betrayal, and homophobic
violence as the path of a straight family man converges
with that of a gay sailor. I thought it was extremely
well-written, and as riveting as any of Alan Chin's books
to date. Loved the character mix as well, and the
different variations of "family" relationships. This is
Alan Chin at his best. -- Ed Harris, author of the
screenplay, The English Veil
The level of emotional honesty is
unavoidable, it’s so real. At some point during all of this, I realized I
wouldn’t be able to ever forget these characters.
Beautiful, sweet, carrying their burdens, frightened,
hopeful and working to survive. Again, it’s the writing.
It brings inspiration and darkness to life. -- Prism Book Alliance
Blurb:
Straight, married Petty Officer Second Class
Skyler Thompson battles homophobia from his Navy
buddies, the military, and his wife when he takes
a job creating flower arrangements at a gay-owned
florist. But rather than yield to pressure and
quit, he refuses to give up the joy of creating
beautiful arrangements, battling homophobia for
artistic expression. His dream is to leave the
navy and open his own florist shop.
Ezra Dumphy—his shipmates all call him Dumpy
because of his obesity—is a gay sailor who likes
to dress in drag. He is shunned by his shipmates,
tragically lonely, and uses drugs to cope with his
solitude. What he wants more than anything is
someone to share his life with.
Can these two men, opposites in every way, help
each other achieve their dreams?
Reviews
Reviewer: Lirtle at Prism Book Alliance
Rating:5
of 5 Stars
“Life, friendship, love, was a
crapshoot.”
After just two chapters into this book, I
had bought into this story, to Ezra and Skylar, to their
lives, to this author’s writing.
On the surface of things, it may appear
like these are trope-worn characters with trope-worn
backgrounds, but this is not the case. Chin has given
these people lives through their struggles and the
crutches with which they try to deal with those
struggles. He’s given to them talents and the joy they
feel when they get lost in them. The level of emotional
honesty is unavoidable, it’s so real.
Ezra and Skylar share a connection, though
through different media. The result is a door that opens
practically on its own.
To him, art was somehow sacred, the way
you gaze up at a night sky and wonder if you’re
standing on an electron that revolves around a proton
in a series of infinite universes, and suddenly your
mind expands and you experience your reality in a new
and more significant light.
Anyone who has ever gotten lost while
looking at a photograph or watching a playing musician
or reading a passage in a poem, or anything of the like,
will understand that feeling. There’s no turning back
from it, either.
Desperation.
Fleeting joy.
Deep pain.
Strength.
Loneliness.
Wispy hope.
Sadness.
Unexpected chances.
This writer has a healthy comfort level
with language and knows how to use it. It’s such an
interesting juxtaposition, his use of what I can only
call celebratory prose in writing about difficult things
taking place in complicated, uneasy lives. The styles
aren’t all similar but I got the same feeling from his
writing as I do when reading Harper Fox or Edmond
Manning. The words the words the words.
There are a few cases of what feels like
overindulgence in that language, but when it’s this
enjoyable, I let it go like a two-day old bagel.
At some point during all of this, I
realized I wouldn’t be able to ever forget these
characters. Beautiful, sweet, carrying their burdens,
frightened, hopeful and working to survive. Again, it’s
the writing. It brings inspiration and darkness to life.
“Flowers are more delicate, more ethereal
than the plants they emerge from, and they have scent,
which is amorphous. They are the bridge between the
physical and the formless, body and spirit. Flowers
are a metamorphosis of the plant in the same way
spiritual awakening is to a human.”
Hollister, one of the supporting characters
and co-owner of the flower shop with his partner Miguel,
says this to Skylar as they work on creating some
arrangements for an event. This is one of many, many
turns in this story for multiple characters. I have to
say, as well, that in this kind of story, I almost don’t
like to use the term “supporting”, as if they aren’t
important all on their own. Believe me, every character
in this book is meant to be there.
Unpredictable characters making
unpredictable choices. I like that I didn’t always agree
with those choices or that they didn’t always feel right
for the characters. Whenever that happened, it forced me
to reexamine my understanding of them. How great is
that? Highly involved reading is the name of the game
here. Love it.
There are all types of relationships
explored in this story: friendship, co-workers, married
couples, child/parent, long-time companions, lovers, and
all of them feel very real. Real means emotional,
relatable, they made me think, stayed with me, and I
couldn’t wait to get back to reading about them each
day.
“Honey, did you ever have a kite pull you
right off the ground when you were a kid? If so, then
you know the thrill I get when I work with flowers.”
There’s a nostalgic feel to this book. I’m
not even sure how I can “prove” that, except that it
does. Maybe it’s the overall style of the storytelling
Chin has. I think that’s what it is. I want more.
This is not an easy read given the wide
array of tangled, difficult subjects examined and
experiences revealed. Despite all of that, I felt
peaceful when I was finished. Looking back at everything
that happened, everything these characters put
themselves through, I never would have predicted peace
being my final reaction. Just like the story itself, it
was unpredictable.
This is a novel that, frankly, defies
categorization. It left me utterly satisfied. It’s very
personal. And that last scene? I still can’t find the
words to adequately describe how it made me feel, all of
these days later. I do know that I want more of
Ezra’s story.
I could not recommend this book more even
if ‘more’ meant… more. Read it.
Amos Lassen had this to say:
Rating:5
of 5 Stars
Alan Chin is a
writer who never disappoints. His plots are always
carefully thought out, his characters smartly and
creatively drawn and his prose is always beautiful. In
his book he takes on several important issues including
homophobia.
Skyler
Thompson is a married Petty Officer Second Class who
takes a job creating flower arrangements at a florist
shop owned by a gay man. His wife and his Navy buddies
find this strange and taunt him but Skyler does not give
in to pressure and refuses to listen to them. He dreams
of opening a florist shop once he leaves the Navy.
We also meet
Ezra Dumphy who is very heavy and is a gay sailor who
enjoys dressing in drag. His shipmates both abhor and
shun him and he leads a lonely life that forces him into
drug usage in order to deal with being alone. More than
anything else he wants to find someone to share his life
and love.
Granted this
theme is not new and in fact many would say it is
“tired”. However, let a good author take hold of an old
theme and breathe life into it and we get a wonderful,
sensitive novel. Alan Chin writes about emotion so well
that we actually feel what his characters feel. There is
a distant connection between Skyler and Ezra and Chin
uses the way they each deal with their situations and
suddenly their feelings of loneliness become unimportant
as they find the way to deal with them.
All of us have
dealt with this issue in some way and once we overcame
it, we shoved it to the back of minds. This book will
bring it forward and remind us that not everyone is
fortunate in knowing how to deal with life. Loneliness
is terrible on its own but it also leads to other
emotions that are difficult to deal with.
Obviously this
is a topic that is not easy to write about and it takes
a very special vocabulary to be able to express the
feelings that these characters have to deal with. Chin
has that vocabulary and knows how to use it. This could
have very easily been a very depressing story but it
isn’t at all. His characters also are responsible for
getting that vocabulary into the story since they are
the ones who use it. Chin chooses to celebrate his
characters’ feelings of loneliness and in doing so shows
us something about the art of juxtaposition and that it
can be used to work in situations like this. I had a
feeling upon first meeting Ezra that I was not going to
like him very much and that if he really wanted to find
what he felt he needed, he would have to be willing to
change himself. Instead, I grew to love him and I rooted
for him all the way through.
Skyler became
heroic and in him, Chin has really created a character
that we so badly need in gay literature. He is a patron
of beauty and this adds beauty to his personality. Too
often we succumb to peer pressure instead of standing up
for what we believe in. Skyler is a man who is
determined to be himself regardless of cost.
Chin also
takes a serious look at the nature of relationships. He
looks at all types of relationships and I was reminded
of a poem written by Zelda, a Hebrew poet who wrote that
everyone has a name that is given to him by God, that is
given to him by his parents, by his friends, by his
coworkers, by his landlord and so on. Each of us has
many different names depending on differing situations.
I look at this and compare it to the coming-out process.
We come out everyday and every time someone new enters
our lives we weigh the decision as to whether to come
out or stay hidden.
There is a lot
to read here and I have only skimmed the surface. I have
barely said much about the plot. Let it be enough that I
say that is a book that cries out to be read and reading
it is an experience that you do not want to miss. It is
an “upclose and personal” look at how we live as gay men
and how we relate to those around us.
Excerpt
The majority of the ship’s
three-thousand-man crew and twenty-five-hundred-man air wing
made their way to the flight deck to hear the president’s
speech. Skylar, however, hustled to the squadron’s enlisted
lounge where he found a dozen of his shipmates sipping beers
and watching Bush’s speech on the television attached to the
bulkhead. The screen showed Bush on a podium below the
“Mission Accomplished” banner. “In the Battle of Iraq,” the
president said, “the United States and our allies have
prevailed.”
The crew on deck cheered; so did the men in the lounge,
raising their beers in a salute. A bottle of whiskey passed
from man to man, and from the little fluid left in the
bottle, Skylar realized his shipmates were already halfway
to shitfaced.
As Skylar sauntered across the compartment, he nearly choked
on the aroma of warm beer, cigarette smoke, and human sweat.
He snatched a beer and cranked off the cap, then perched
himself on a chair in a corner where he couldn’t see the
damned monitor. He removed a sketchpad and charcoal pencil
he always kept beneath his shirt, and began sketching the
image of the Viking jet. He softened the lines with his
fingers, shading where needed. Skylar had a feel for
drawing. He considered himself an artist, albeit an
untrained one. While aboard, it was the only thing that gave
him true pleasure.
“Why fly him here anyway?” Skylar asked no one in
particular. “We’re thirty miles from San Diego, for
christsakes.”
Shushes echoed from the men.
Dunphy wandered into the room holding a yellow writing
tablet and ballpoint pen. He studied the remaining empty
seats with a troubled scowl, as if trying to find the safest
spot available. Skylar’s and Dunphy’s eyes met from across
the room, and Dunphy rambled toward him and squeezed his
bulk into the next seat over. Without a word, he bent his
head over his tablet and began writing a letter. A minute
later, he glanced up at Skylar, as if noticing him for the
first time, and offered him a relieved grin.
Skylar returned the gesture. He scanned the room again.
Smitty played bridge at the next table with Stokes, Kelso,
and Nash. Hudson perched himself on a table in the center of
the group of spellbound crewmen, chewing on a half-burned
cigar and his eyes glued to the tube.
Skylar and Dunphy worked side by side, Skylar sketching and
Dunphy writing. The first time Dunphy’s arm brushed
Skylar’s, he hardly noticed. The second nudge was longer,
almost sensual. It caught Skylar’s attention. He glanced
down, noticing Dunphy’s hands for the first time, shapely
and hairless, showing a particular beauty. Skylar moved his
arm, giving Dunphy an inch more room, and began to draw
those fingers wrapped around the pen.
The third brush convinced him it was deliberate. He pulled
his arm well away and turned to stare into those liquid,
unreadable eyes.
Before Skylar could begin to fathom Dunphy’s intentions, the
hatch slammed open and Petty Officer Third Class Travis
Bolton, the Brutus of the navy, charged into the room. His
crew cut was the color of scorched grain; skin shaded a
creamed coffee hue. Bruises adorned his face, and one of his
muscular arms was bandaged and supported by a sling. Travis
was two years older than Skylar, but when they hung
together, Skylar felt like Travis was his little
brother—someone who needed looking after.
Their shipmates had nicknamed them, the Evil Twins. They
didn’t look alike, but Travis loved practical jokes,
regardless of who they offended, and Skylar always backed
him up when things went wrong, which was often. This bad boy
role gave them both a certain amount of capital in this
tough, unforgiving environment. It also awarded them a lot
of solitude.
“It’s a fuckin’ zoo on deck,” Travis drawled in his
baritone, Baton Rouge accent. He shook his head like a wet
schnauzer. His black eyes blazed with restless energy.
“Look who they let out of the brig,” Smitty bellowed. “The
mouth from the South walks among us once again. They even
let him keep a stripe.”
“Christ, have you seen what’s going on up there?” Travis
said, turning his back on Smitty. “There’s more press on
deck than fags at a West Hollywood Gucci sale.”
“You’d be the one to know,” Hudson said. He let out a bark
of laughter as he and Smitty did a high five.
Travis snatched a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the crate and
shoved his way toward Skylar. He cracked open the bottle,
took a hot swallow, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
Skylar sipped his beer while he watched Travis stampede
through the room with the lithe delicacy of a heavyweight
prizefighter. Travis wore one of his hand-tailored uniforms
that he had bought in Honolulu and upon which the three
stripes of a petty officer first class had been
hand-embroidered. Skylar inspected the fresh pale lines on
his friend’s sleeves where two other stripes had accompanied
the one there now. His eyes shifted to Travis’s damaged
face. “Owww, Trav. Fightin’ with your cellmate to see who
bends over?” he said, and chuckled. “Hope you boys used
protection.”
“Don’t be jealous, Skye; he doesn’t have your boyfriend’s
puppy dog eyes and big, cushy ass.” He nodded his head at
Dunphy.
They smiled, clinked their bottles, and both took another
swallow. This competitive banter became a delicate situation
for Skylar, and he felt he had to restrain himself. Even
though Travis was his buddy, it seemed their conversations
always became delicate situations, both of them flirting
with that invisible no man’s land between amusing and
affronting. Delicate situations irritated Skylar. Who was it
that said that Hell is being locked in a room with your best
friend, forever? He thought of that moment of freedom he had
experienced on deck, his arms spread and his face into the
wind, just him and the horizon, and he wanted desperately to
recapture that feeling.
“If bullshit were money,” Skylar said, “we could buy our way
out of this suck-ass job and do something worthwhile.”
“Give up slavin’ for minimum wage, bein’ away from home for
months at a time, brown-nosing the brass, and riskin’ our
lives for God and country? Are you nuts? What’s better than
this?”
“Right, what was I thinking?”
“So, Skye, what’s it like to flag the president’s bird? Bet
you peed your tighty whities.”
Skylar glanced at his sketch of the Viking. “Same as any
other. He’s just cargo, only dumber than most.”
“Yeah, but I’ll bet you put some extra Tinker Bell flair
into it for the cameras.”
Smitty huffed at Travis, “Which makes you Captain Hook?”
“Naw,” Hudson said, “with that big mouth, he’s got to be the
crocodile. What’s his name?”
“Shut your piehole, fruitcake,” Travis said. “Nobody asked
you shit.”
Skylar thought about all the enlisted men who, almost to a
man, were thin-skinned, loudmouthed, and shallow. More and
more, he felt out of place in their company. He wondered if
the navy deliberately allured individuals who were, well…
crude, or if they became that way after they joined as a
defense mechanism to this testosterone enriched atmosphere.
The question was moot. There was no way to change them or
the environment. Whenever he thought about it, however, he
felt an inkling of concern that their loutish ways were
rubbing off on him.
Dunphy leaned closer, uncomfortably close, to peek at the
sketchpad. “Hey, that’s amazing. You went to art school?”
“Naw. Got sidetracked.”
“Yeah, didn’t we all. But, man, if I had your talent I
wouldn’t be here shucking orders and eatin’ runny eggs and
burnt Spam.”
“Takes more than talent.” Skylar knew how arduous the
hardscrabble art world could be for an unknown artist. He
had friends that ate or starved on the whim of reviews, art
fairs, and group shows, and who only dreamed of sales to
collectors. Some had MFAs and adjunct teaching posts, but
most produced sketches for third-rate advertising firms. Not
one of them made the kind of money from painting that could
support a family.
Skylar lifted his beer toward Travis. “You organize this?
Pretty risky considering who’s aboard. You must really love
brig time.”
“Aw, shit, Skye, the brass’ll be on deck all day, listenin’
to that lying sack of turds. By the time they finish lickin’
each other’s buttholes, there’ll be nothing left but empty
bottles in the trash chute.” He took another swallow and
nodded at Dunphy. “But wouldn’t you have wet your panties if
the brass saw you unloading this?”
Dunphy’s face blushed the color of a ripe peach. He dropped
his head, intent on his letter once again.
“Hell,” Travis continued, “Eighteen months at sea, we
deserve some party time.” Travis became more animated with
each mouthful of Jack. He snatched the pad from Dunphy’s
hand.
“Hey, give that back, you Neanderthal.”
“Lookie here, boys,” Travis said, raising his voice,
“Dumpy’s writing a love letter to his sweetheart.”
Dunphy stabbed for his pad. The wattle of fat under his chin
shook.
Skylar shot Travis a look. “Give it up, Trav.”
“Tommy,” Travis read in a loud voice, “I got your letter,
and I’m thrilled you’ll be in Washington when we dock—”
Skylar swiped the pad from his hand. “You’re such a dick,”
he said, and handed the pad back to Dunphy.
Travis displayed a full set of dingy teeth. “Sounds like
Dumpy has two BFs.” His voice held no trace of humor this
time.
Skylar’s stomach spun a slow somersault. He laid his
sketchpad aside and stood eye-to-eye with Travis. “Say that
again, asshole. I dare ya.” He used the vehement tone that
he always found startling, like thunder on a cloudless day,
and that he had intentionally developed for situations like
this.
The room fell silent.
Skylar made his eyes go hard, enhancing the challenge.
Travis bunched up a fist and pulled his arm from the sling.
Skylar bent his knees to lower his center of gravity.
Before Travis could make his move, Captain Jake Blake
rambled through the hatchway, looking stern, unflappable,
and fit for his fifty-two years. Beneath his salt-and-pepper
crew cut and hiding behind his tortoiseshell glasses were
his piercing hazel eyes, which revealed his self-assured
temperament. His dress white uniform was crisply pressed and
his shoes buffed, communicating respect for his position and
underlining his attention to detail. He smiled, but it
seemed more the result of a paralyzed face than a cheerful
disposition.
Hudson yelled, “Attention on deck!”
The men snapped to attention. A bottle tipped over and
rolled to Jake’s feet, leaving a trail of beer in its wake.
Jake stepped over it as if it were a landmine.
Travis glanced at Skylar and mouthed a silent, “Fuck!”
