100 Books Like The Deviant's War

One of the darkest events in gay history has been brought to light in Johnson’s book. During the late 1940s and ’50s, the Federal Government engaged in a purge of gay men (and women) who worked in its offices by linking them to communism, an association politicians strengthened as the Cold War progressed. Fueled by their lies and guided by FBI Director (and closeted gay) J. Edgar Hoover, the persecution, called the “Lavender Scare,” spread from Washington, D.C. across the U.S. The government-sanctioned homophobia cost thousands their jobs, families, and friends when their sexuality was made public. Some committed suicide. Having this book at hand helped me understand the complexities of gay men’s lives during this horrific period.

Katz has done yeoman’s work in reconstructing the little-known story of Chawa Zloczewer, an immigrant who came to America in 1912, reinvented herself as Eve Adams, and lived the bohemian life of an anarchist and a lesbian. In the years after World War I, Adams was the proprietor of lesbian tearooms and literary salons in Chicago and Greenwich Village. Her radical politics, lesbian life, and publication in 1925 of a book she titled Lesbian Love led to her unrelenting persecution by the young J. Edgar Hoover (then head of the forerunner to the FBI). She was deported in 1927 and died in Auschwitz in 1943. A fascinating piece of lesbian history.   

I’m always drawn to books and stories that help me understand communities on their own terms, from the inside out, and this book delivers on that.

Even though this is a book written by scholars, the voices of Buffalo’s mid-twentieth-century lesbian community really guide the book since Kennedy and Davis did hundreds of interviews as a part of their research. I loved hearing from the women themselves, reflecting back on this moment in their lives in this one city, about how they found friends and lovers, negotiated work and family, and navigated the city.  

If you’re wondering in practical ways how to do trans history, Manion’s book is a great place to start. It takes one of the categories that preceded a transgender identity (the name typically given to people affirmed female at birth who identified as men and married women) and reimagines how eighteenth- and nineteenth-century lives might look with the benefit of the tools of our modern politics. The book is boldly inclusive, resisting deciding ahead of time how the category should be defined and who should be ruled in or out. Manion is also a role model in respecting the ambiguities of the past, mostly using neutral pronouns and offering non-judgmental speculations about what these subjects and their partners might have thought at key moments in their courageous and inspiring lives. 

I don’t know about you, but I didn’t grow up learning LGBTQ+ history. Everything I’ve discovered, I’ve learned on my own as an adult. It’s time for that to change. This book can help kid readers (and adults) learn that LGBTQ+ history is part of American and world history. Our stories aren’t controversial, but not teaching history sure is. This book will give you an introduction to the LGBTQ community’s heart—our history.

Are any of the books I’ve selected International Studies texts? Let’s debate that later! This one was published in a Feminist Media Studies list. 

This book illuminates and humanizes the connections between activists working for LGBTQ rights and activists working for immigrant rights. Chávez foregrounds insights from women of color. It was one of the first academic books I read during my doctoral work that helped me understand how to bridge movement insights with political theory while staying committed to the activists I write about.

Chávez takes care in her work, always taking the continuing urgency of the coalitional queer and migrant politics seriously.

While I was getting my PhD at the University of Massachusetts – Boston, Chávez came to our campus and gave a talk. I was inspired by how connected her work is to the movements she writes about, and I aim to do the same.

This book taught me about the necessity of doing queer research that not only challenges cisheteronormativity, but also colonialism and coloniality as well.

Rao’s book is a masterclass in transnational and transtemporal storytelling, narrating plural stories of the (post)colonial politics of queerness, gender, and sexuality. I was especially gripped by his chapter tracing the colonial spectres of atonement that underpin the British government’s apologies for anti-sodomy laws, which resonates with a broader homocolonial discourse Western countries have used to denounce former colonised countries as backward and queerphobic. 

Queer IR can and should attend to these imperial histories and afterlives, and how they are underpinned by and uphold particular gendered and sexual norms. This book shows how global politics is a story about (post)coloniality and queerness.

You get exactly what’s on the tin with this one, and from an insider’s vantage point.

Thoreson uses an ethnographic approach to look at how Outright (formerly the International Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission) works in both the United States, where the group is headquartered, and through regional offices.

Thoreson shows us how movements behave, and with a critical eye to the role of Global North actors in these relationships. I was especially interested to hear about this idea that certain actors can behave as "brokers" to promote and translate certain human rights ideas. I see this practice among those who queer peace and security by building coalitions across gender justice movements.

Working for human rights of any kind is messy work. Long-term activism depends on very specific people and personalities to make meaningful change. This book's ethnographic research illuminates these transnational relationships.

This picture book shares the heartwarming yet tragic story of Harvey Milk in an accessible and playful way, bright colourful illustrations reveal the story of an activist and their mission for equality and his search for a symbol of the LGBTQ+ family. The story of the Rainbow Flag is an essential element of LGBTQ+ history and this is told in a way that doesn’t alienate the reader. The simple quest for equality is at the heart of our quest for acceptance and I believe early exposure to this story – to all – helps plant a seed of understanding in every reader. 

So, I know I promised you a list of books that offer tips for allies, and this one isn’t that. But before you get annoyed with me, let me explain. I’ve worked in the field of LGBTQ+ inclusion and allyship for over 20 years, and I rarely read books on the topic that wow me anymore. This one did.

Kenji Yoshino is brilliant. He brings an entirely new perspective to civil rights and what being your true self at work actually means, whether you’re part of the LGBTQ+ community, someone with a disability, a person living with chronic pain, or a straight, white, cisgender dude. Yoshino helped me understand that covering some part of ourselves that is different or considered less desirable by our society is a universal experience.