Welcome to the first issue of RSQ in which I review a book by a man!
This 5:1 ratio was unintentional, but feels true to my general preference for women.
Anyway, flipping back through this book got me thinking about what makes me classify something as a “quick” or “easy” read. At under 200 pages, it would be possible to read How We Fight For Our Lives in an evening or two.
But there’s so much here that I can’t imagine wanting to—I needed time to digest. Plus, reading shorter books too quickly always leaves me feeling a little sad when they’re over.
Take your time with this one! It’s worth it.
— Becca
How We Fight For Our Lives by Saeed Jones
Nonfiction, October 2019
This memoir begins with Elegy with Grown Folks’ Music, Jones’ poem about his mother dancing through the kitchen to Prince’s “I Wanna Be Your Lover,” and all of the uncomfortable things the song makes him feel. And though the rest of the book uses more traditional prose, that vivid, poetic, and brutal language carries through every page.
As a young teenager, Jones sees two different hate-fueled killings on the news just months apart from one another. In June 1998, James Byrd, a Black man, was murdered by three white supremacists. In October of the same year, Matthew Shepard, a gay man, was murdered by two complete strangers. When the two events collide in his mind, he thinks:
Being black can get you killed.
Being gay can get you killed.
Being a black gay boy is a death wish.
It’s a realization that continues to unfold through the rest of his adolescence and early adulthood.
We see him struggle to figure out where he belongs as someone at the intersection of two identities that don’t always fit together neatly. We see him face homophobia from family members and racism from sexual partners. We see how much more complicated already-complicated things like sex, religion, and masculinity can become when they’re inextricably tangled up in all of this.
We also see his experiences with violence (and specifically, sexual violence), so keep that in mind if you’re planning to read this.
Finally, we get to see him fiercely love his mother. As a single mom, she’s incredibly protective throughout his childhood and works tirelessly to support him. But she isn’t exactly accepting of Jones’ queerness and doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge that important piece of his identity.
The fourth and final section focuses on their relationship and the aftermath of her death, and the way he writes about grief feels so tender and nuanced and honest that it’s ultimately my favorite part of the book.
Queer points:
+2 for an encounter with early-2000s gay chatrooms
+7 for a sexual awakening involving James Baldwin’s Another Country
Buy it from The Dock Bookshop