100 Books Like Genet

I was very interested to read Sylvia Gorelick's translation of Mallarmé's The Book. Since I've spent years studying unfinished works and dream projects, this translation of Mallarmé's mysterious masterwork really spoke to me. Gorelick manages to capture not just Mallarmé's words but the haunting sense of an artist struggling with an impossible project—one that consumed him for decades.

What I particularly appreciate is how she makes Mallarmé's complex ideas about poetry and the sacred accessible without simplifying them. Reading her translation helped me better understand why this unfinished work became such a significant influence on modern literature. For anyone interested in how artists grapple with their most ambitious visions, this book is essential reading.

I found Hollis Alpert's book refreshing because it cuts through all the myths about Fellini and shows us the real person. After watching Fellini's films for years, I was glad to finally read a biography that explains how he developed his unique style.

The book helped me understand his evolution from cartoonist to filmmaker and showed me how his early experiences influenced his later work. While other biographers sometimes get caught up in Fellini's larger-than-life personality, Alpert stays focused on helping us understand the director's creative process. This is a straightforward, honest look at one of cinema's most interesting figures.

I was interested by Stanley Kubrick's book because it shows just how deeply Kubrick researched and planned his films. As someone who studies unfinished film projects, I was fascinated to see all the detailed work that went into this movie that was never made—from the costume designs to the battle plans to Kubrick's handwritten notes.

The book lets us peek into Kubrick's creative process through the thousands of photos, documents and research materials he gathered. What makes this book special is that it doesn't just tell us about the film that could have been—it helps us understand how Kubrick's mind worked when developing his projects. This is a rare look at the early stages of what might have been his greatest film.

I liked this book because it masterfully illuminates the intersection of faith and artistic expression in Claudel's work. The book's exploration of how his Catholic beliefs shaped his poetic vision resonates deeply with my own interest in spiritual literature.

What particularly moved me was the analysis of how Claudel transformed theological concepts into vivid, tangible poetry without diminishing either their sacred nature or their artistic power. The author's careful examination of Claudel's ability to weave Catholic doctrine into his verses while maintaining their literary brilliance opened my eyes to new ways of understanding religious poetry. For anyone fascinated by the relationship between faith and art, this book is an absolute treasure.

Here again I mean not only the sexuality of deviance or the deviance of sexuality such as crossdressers, transvestites, homosexuals, and lesbians but also historical phenomena such as the gay rights movement or the suppression of gays in Nazi Germany.

The book that most influenced me in the 1970s was Laud Humphrey’s “Tea-Room Trade”. His book was so radical, so astounding in its utter chutzpah that it could never be replicated today at research universities. It was a time when gay consciousness was erupting. The problem was that those gay activists were out in the open, but what about the closeted man? (His study dealt only with men.)

These men may not even label themselves as homosexual or bisexual or Trans. I am speaking of men who go to “hidden” bathrooms in parks or buildings and wait for anonymous sex; then go home to their wives and children and live… show more.

Gay American History was an epiphany for me and thousands of other gay men and women who were eager to learn about our history because books about it were few. I can’t describe the wonder I felt as I opened the book to thousands of rare documents (letters, diary entries, newspaper articles, book excerpts, medical and legal reports, etc.) that connected me to LGBT individuals who lived centuries earlier. Puritans, indigenous people, cross-dressing (“passing”) women, military personnel, artists of every ilk, government officials—their struggles, their defeats, and their victories, I learned, were no different in essence from those of the LGBT individual of the 21st Century. Gay American History is, in short, a treasure trove of information.

I love bugs, and there just aren’t enough books out there about them. Harry the Poisonous Centipede is one my kids asked for over and over when they were little, and that I happily read them again and again. 

When Harry and his best friend George go up the Up Pipe, they find themselves in the dangerous world of the hoo-mans. My kids loved seeing the world through a centipede’s eyes, not to mention their unique centipedish way of speaking, and the scrapes Harry and George get themselves into (and out of) are incredibly entertaining. 

As befitting the cheeky title, this book – about what it means to be, and to become, a gay man – is incisive, erudite, and a lot of fun to read. A pioneer of queer theory (and with this intervention, I suspect, a renegade from it), David Halperin is an unapologetic camp. He challenges received wisdom about how gay sensibility supposedly is misogynist, passé, irrelevant or dead, and his reflections on everything from Joan Crawford’s pizazz, to the current state of gay marriage, vacillate between being capacious and withering. “Sometimes I think homosexuality is wasted on gay people” he sniffs at one point, dispensing a delightful, and typically barbed, aperçu.

Tony Parker was a British writer dedicated to telling the stories of marginalized members of society. Many of his books took the form of transcripts of interviews with murders, career criminals, lighthouse keepers, and occupants of social housing. This book was his most controversial: interviews with institutionalized sex offenders, who tell their stories in their own words. Parker was skilled at getting people to broach shameful topics and talk candidly about their lives, and this book is no exception. His transcripts capture each speaker’s unique parlance, as well as the offenders’ varying levels of self-reflection. Published in 1969, there is even the sad story of a man who was imprisoned for homosexuality.

Sexual desire, acted on or repressed, is either the text or subtext of every gay man's life.

Edmund White treats sex explicitly and with bracing honesty. His frankness—for example, in describing his fumbling, agonized, danger-courting attempts as a kid to find love—recalled my own youthful risks and failures, but freed those memories of shame.

I've read few of White's many books. (Guess I was jealous of his output and acclaim; better I should have emulated his driving curiosity and intelligence.) His recent death, at 85, prompted me to read this narrative of his long, unruly, ceaselessly questing life.

A sharp observer of trends and sub-cultures, White moved among the famous—writers, artists, intellectuals—and descriptions of and dish about them are an extra, but only slightly guilty, pleasure.