‘Queer Country’
By Shana Goldin-Perschbacher
c.2022, University of Illinois Press
$110 hardcover; $24.95 paperback/288 pages

Two steps.

This way, two more that way, tap your heels together, step-and-bow left, step-and-bow right, turn and again. Eventually, you’ll get the hang of doing this and you won’t bump into everybody on the dance floor. Also eventually, you’ll see that country music has a place for you even when, as in the new book “Queer Country” by Shana Goldin-Perschbacher, you never thought you had a place for it.

Usually, when one thinks about country music, rural living comes to mind: cowboys, pick-ups, Christian values, conservatism, heartbreak and honky tonks. Stereotypically, few of those things have seemed LGBTQ-inclusive and listeners might have felt unwelcome, were it not for today’s boundary-breakers and “queer country,” which, says Goldin-Perschbacher, is becoming more of a music category with fans. 

Goldin-Perschbacher is quick to say that “queer country” is not a genre on its own. Some out musicians might closer identify themselves with Americana or folk music; k.d. lang’s music is more countrypolitan, but with humor; and you can attend queer Bluegrass festivals, if you want. None of this defines the various artists: In many ways, LGBTQ artists have really had no other options than to embrace all labels. 

Then there’s the issue of how to do queer country: Goldin-Perschbacher refers often to Patrick Haggerty, who was the first gay artist to officially record the album “Lavender Country.” He recorded it in Seattle, shortly after Stonewall; at that time, Haggerty was especially determined that his album be honest and sincere in its reflection of gay life – things that continue to concern queer artists who use irony, drag, and camp in their work. 

And there’s that struggle to go mainstream. Goldin-Perschbacher writes about k.d. lang’s career and how it progressed. You’ll read about Chely Wright and Lil Nas X and how they used non-traditional ways to rise to stardom. And you’ll read about many artists who do what seems best for them, and count LGBTQ listeners and cis audience members among their fans.

There really is no way “Queer Country” could ever be considered a “beach read.”

This isn’t the relaxed, rangy kind of book you want to sunbathe with; instead, author Shana Goldin-Perschbacher speaks to the academic, rather than the casual listener, with language that seems to fit better in school, than in sand. The analyses border on the high brow just a bit, with some amount of repetition to underscore various points.

Even so, this is an important work. 

In writing about this almost-hidden branch of country music, Goldin-Perschbacher also tells of the efforts she’s made to help some artists to gain a wider audience. This lends more of an insider feel; the intimately extensive interviews with artists, and excerpts from other works, let readers know that they should keep their eyes (and ears!) open.

 Give yourself some room to absorb, if you tackle this book. It’s not for everyone, but C&W listeners and “queer country” fans may find it necessary. Step one is to find somewhere comfortable to sit. Reading “Queer Country” is step two.

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‘Deaf Utopia: A Memoir–and a Love Letter to a Way of Life’
By Nyle DiMarco
c.2022, William Morrow
$22.99/336 pages

‘True Biz’
By Sara Novic
c.2022, Random House
$27/388 pages

In the 1970s, while riding the T in Boston, a man tried to get my attention. He seemed to be talking animatedly with his hands. Knowing nothing about sign language, I thought he might be drunk. I ignored him, unfolded my white cane and got off at my stop. I’m legally blind, but have some vision. But, I don’t always recognize people whom I’ve met.

Later that day, I learned that the fellow on the T’s name was Fred and that he was Deaf. He’d seen me at a party and was signing hi to me. Fred, I’m so sorry for my rudeness! 

Then, aside from the sad-sack Deaf character in the novel and movie of the same title “The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter,” Deaf people, like queer people, largely, weren’t present in books, movies, TV – anywhere in pop culture. Except as victims, villains or metaphors for loneliness or deviance.

Thankfully, after decades. this is changing. As Troy Kotsur, said of “the Deaf community, the CODA [children of Deaf adults] community and the disabled community,” when he became the first male Deaf actor to win an Oscar, “This is our moment.”

Today, Deaf and disabled people, queer and non-queer, from models to artists to filmmakers to authors are pop culture creators and icons. Two of the most lively, entertaining, moving books out now are by Deaf creators.

“Deaf Utopia” is a fascinating memoir by Nyle DiMarco with Robert Siebert. DiMarco, 32, is proudly Deaf and queer. His parents and grandparents are Deaf. He knows how to keep your attention. His stories range from his first kiss with a man to auditions with reality show execs (who want him, a Deaf guy whose native language is American Sign Language to “use his voice”) to harrowing accounts of being abused by his father.DiMarco is an activist, producer, actor, and model. In 2014, he became the second male winner and first Deaf contestant on cycle 22 of “America’s Next Top Model.”

In 2015, DiMarco, with his professional dance partner Peta Murgatroyd won the Mirrorball Trophy on season 22 of ABC’s “Dancing with the Stars.” His acting credits include roles on “Difficult People,” and “Switched at Birth.” DiMarco, a Gallaudet University graduate and Washington, D.C. resident, was executive producer of the Netflix docuseries “Deaf U.”

Growing up, he and his twin brother Nico had “gotten a taste of the cruelty of hearing people toward the Deaf when childhood bullies mocked our signing,” DiMarco writes.

As with queer people who are mocked as children, DiMarco as he got older came to see that bullying could “take more harmful and sinister forms: blatant oppression and discrimination.”

He learned from his mother that in 1995, five years after the Americans with Disabilities Act was passed, his grandfather was denied an interpreter when he was in the hospital. When he went into surgery, his family didn’t know if his “life was in danger,” DiMarco writes.

The Deaf community isn’t immune to homophobia. As a youth, DiMarco was told the story of an acclaimed, handsome Deaf track sprinter. After marrying a woman, having two children and living the life of the “picture-perfect” family man, he killed himself.

Years later, DiMarco discovered that the legendary athlete was gay, when he met the sprinter’s Deaf European out male lover. The athlete told his lover that he couldn’t come out.

“I wondered how long it would be before I saw him again,” the athlete’s lover told DiMarco, “I never did. Soon after that, he took his own life.”

Despite these sad stories, “Deaf Utopia” is far from a downer. It is filled with moments of pride and exuberance from DiMarco’s mom being there when he and Murgatroyd were awarded the Mirrorball Trophy to when he was asked to be an executive producer of “Deaf U.” 

Coming out, DiMarco had to deal with homophobia and being excluded from the queer community because he’s Deaf. He met a lot of “cool” gay people at LGBTQ events and he spoke in American Sign Language at the 2016 Human Rights Campaign annual dinner. 

Yet, “my new gay acquaintances were hearing and didn’t know ASL,” DiMarco writes.

But he didn’t give up. With time and patience, DiMarco taught hearing queer people ASL, and hearing LGBTQ people began to include him in their conversations.

“Deaf Utopia” has entertaining dish about what it’s like behind the scenes of reality shows. But it’s not a celeb tell-all.

The memoir is an exhilarating mix of stories of DiMarco’s life and intriguing narratives of Deaf culture. Take just one thing “Deaf Utopia” made me get for the first time: silent movies, with no spoken dialogue, were accessible to Deaf people.

If you’re hearing, you’ll likely be surprised by one sobering story of Deaf history: Alexander Graham Bell was instrumental in having sign language, the native language of Deaf people, banned from schools for the Deaf.  

If you like reality shows, dancing and parties laced with queerness and Deaf culture, “Deaf Utopia” is the book for you.

“True Biz” is the dazzling new novel by Sara Novic, a brilliant Deaf writer. Like DiMarco, Novic, author of “Girl at War” and “America Is Immigrants,” is proud of being Deaf.

“To be a member of the Deaf community has been a great source of joy in my life,” she writes in an “author’s note,” “it has made me a better writer, thinker, parent, and friend.”

Schools for Deaf people have been vitally important for Deaf culture, language and community.

“True Biz” is set at the fictional River Valley School for the Deaf. Riverdale is facing closure. The novel’s main characters are February Waters, the headmistress, and two teenage students Austin and Charlie.

February is a CODA (child of Deaf adults). She and her hearing wife Melanie love each other. But like many marriages, their marriage has its strains. February must deal with everything from teen sex to Riverdale’s impending closure. 

Austin is a proud Deaf teen. His family has been Deaf for generations. Nothing shakes up his life until he meets up with Charlie, a new student.

Novic is a master of creating characters that burn themselves into your heart. Charlie, who is Deaf, will tug at your heart the most. Her divorced parents are hearing. Her folks won’t let Charlie communicate in American Sign Language. Charlie attends mainstream schools where she meets no Deaf people. Her mom insists that she have a cochlear implant.

When she fails academically, Charlie is sent to Riverdale. Adjusting is hard for her  because the Riverdale students communicate with ASL. She has to quickly learn to sign. February asks Austin to help her fit in.

You’ll miss and root for these characters after reading this page-turning novel. You’ll want February and her wife to stay together and good things to happen to Austin and Charlie.

“True Biz” is an American Sign Language idiom. In English, it means “seriously” or “for sure.”

Seriously, read “True Biz.”

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‘Hello, Molly! A Memoir’
By Molly Shannon
c.2022, Ecco
$27.99 304 pages

The audience roars.

That’s music to a performer: The best you can ask from a group of people expecting to be entertained is approval for your efforts. Laughter, for a comedy. Gasps for a drama. Tears for a tragedy and tapping toes for a musical, that’s what you want. But remember: as in “Hello, Molly,” the new memoir by Molly Shannon, not all of life’s a stage.

For most of her life, Molly Shannon’s mother stood off to one side, a main character with a big role but few lines. She was killed in a car accident when Shannon was just four, as if she made a cameo appearance and then was off the script.

But not entirely. With the help of family and friends, Shannon’s father, Jim, raised Shannon and her sister, Mary, to remember their mother and to seize life in every way possible, encouraging his girls to be bold and “wild.” Once, when Shannon was 13 and her best friend was 11 years old, Shannon’s father planted the idea in her head to hop a plane. The girls ended up stowing away in plain sight on a flight from Cleveland (near their home town) to New York City. He paid for their trip back home.

And yet, being Jim Shannon’s daughter wasn’t all fun and games. He was an alcoholic, as was his father and his father-in-law; when he was sober, Shannon recalls parties, spontaneous trips, loving encouragement, and permission to skip school. When he was drunk, she says that she and her sister were always watchful for his mercurial moods and his propensity for a different kind of “wild” behavior.

She couldn’t wait to leave home.

And yet, through college, a fledgling career, and a popular spot on “Saturday Night Live,” her father was always there, always a touchpoint for her past but also an irritation; enormously proud of her, but with a short wall between them.

It wasn’t until she was well into her adulthood that Shannon realized he harbored a secret, and then everything made sense.

You don’t expect a terrible, gasp-worthy accident to be the foundation for a funny story, but there it is, the opening number in “Hello, Molly.”

Quickly, though, author Molly Shannon pulls readers in – somewhat awkwardly, at first, but in the same excited way that your fourth-grade BFF did when there was something important or interesting that you simply had to see. That, in fact, is the feel you’ll get in the first part of this book: like you’ve been taken by the hand and pulled toward something that was going to make this the best day ever.

As you read on, that’s not much hyperbole. If you like Shannon’s work, you’re going to adore this memoir, which appears a lot like her skits: hectic, heartfelt, hold-your-sides hilarious, honest, and always, always arms-wide charming. Bring your sense of humor here – but bring tissues, too.

So, take a look, fellas. Here’s what you want in a book, fellas. “Hello, Molly!” is gonna make you roar.

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