‘When the Band Played On’
By Michael G. Lee
c.2025, Chicago Review Press
$30/282 pages

You spent most of your early career playing second fiddle.

But now you’ve got the baton, and a story to tell that people aren’t going to want to hear, though it’s essential that they face the music. They must know what’s happening. As in the new book “When the Band Played On” by Michael G. Lee, this time, it’s personal.

Born in 1951 in small-town Iowa, Randy Shilts was his alcoholic, abusive mother’s third of six sons. Frustrated, drunk, she reportedly beat Shilts almost daily when he was young; she also called him a “sissy,” which “seemed to follow Randy everywhere.”

Perhaps because of the abuse, Shilts had to “teach himself social graces,” developing “adultlike impassiveness” and “biting sarcasm,” traits that featured strongly as he matured and became a writer. He was exploring his sexuality then, learning “the subtleties of sexual communication,” while sleeping with women before fully coming out as gay to friends.

Nearing his 21st birthday, Shilts moved to Oregon to attend college and to “allow myself love.” There, he became somewhat of an activist before leaving San Francisco to fully pursue journalism, focusing on stories of gay life that were “mostly unknown to anyone outside of gay culture.”

He would bounce between Oregon and California several times, though he never lost sight of his writing career and, through it, his activism. In both states, Shilts reported on gay life, until he was well known to national readers and gay influencers. After San Francisco supervisor Harvey Milk was assassinated, he was tapped to write Milk’s biography.

By 1982, Shilts was in love, had a book under his belt, a radio gig, and a regular byline in a national publication reporting “on the GRID beat,” an acronym later changed to AIDS. He was even under contract to write a second book.

But Shilts was careless. Just once, careless.

“In hindsight,” says Lee, “… it was likely the night when Randy crossed the line, becoming more a part of the pandemic than just another worried bystander.”

Perhaps not surprisingly, there are two distinct audiences for “When the Band Played On.” One type of reader will remember the AIDS crisis and the seminal book about it. The other is too young to remember it, but needs to know Randy Shilts’s place in its history.

The journey may be different, but the result is the same: author Michael G. Lee tells a complicated, still-controversial story of Shilts and the book that made America pay attention, and it’s edgy for modern eyes. Lee clearly shows why Shilts had fans and haters, why Shilts was who he was, and Lee keeps some mystery in the tale. Shilts had the knowledge to keep himself safe but he apparently didn’t, and readers are left to wonder why. There’s uncomfortable tension in that, and a lot of hypothetical thinking to be had.

For scholars of gay history, this is an essential book to read. Also, for anyone too young to remember AIDS as it was, “When the Band Played On” hits the right note.

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‘Hello Stranger: Musings on Modern Intimacies’
Published by Catapult
Available Jan. 14; hardcover $27

Two strangers lock eyes across a bar. Or maybe they reach for the same book on a shelf in a bookstore. Or maybe they’re a model and artist, exchanging nervous smiles as the artist tries to capture a piece of the model’s soul on canvas or film. 

In a Hollywood film, we’d be led to believe that these moments are laden with momentous importance – a flicker of sexual charge and desire, a chemical reaction that leads inexorably to life-altering romance and happily ever after.

But in his new book of essays “Hello Stranger: Musings on Modern Intimacies,” queer Colombian film and culture critic Manuel Betancourt unpacks the notion that flirting needs to be anything more, suggesting that flirtation can be a worthwhile endeavor in itself.

“One of the things that if you read any kind of love story or watch any kind of rom-com, you’re constantly encouraged to think that flirtation is sort of like preamble to something else,” Betancourt tells me over cookies outside of Levain bakery in Larchmont.

“Actually, flirtation doesn’t need to do that. You can flirt just for the act of flirting, and that can be fun, and that can be great. What is it that you find instead in that moment of possibility, at that moment when anything can happen? Just what happens when you’re trying to be the best person you could be? It’s almost more exciting when you know, there’s nothing else on the horizon.”

But “Hello Stranger”isn’t a how-to guide to flirting. It’s more like a cross between cultural criticism and memoir. 

Over a series of essays that alternate between examinations of flirting scenes in movies, books, and art, and anecdotes from his own personal life, Betancourt traces the ways that we use flirting to create different kinds of intimacies. 

“This is not a how-to, because I don’t think gay men need help with that,” Betancourt says. “But I also know that I’m a gay man in Los Angeles whereas I know there are young folks in Ohio that may not think of it this way because they’ve been conditioned, and actually we now have such a breadth of gay literature and a culture that’s continually teaching us we need to find the one.”

The book is a deeply personal one for Betancourt, who recently got divorced from his husband and joined a polyamorous relationship as he began writing it.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about different intimacies with strangers, with friends, with lovers, things that fell outside of what we understand as traditional. And so it felt like an easy way to turn all of these things that I was dealing with on a personal level into a more cohesive and coherent project,” he says. 

“I wanted to think through where the joy in flirtation lies. Like, why are we so drawn to it? Why was I so drawn to it? Why do I enjoy it so much? And of course, being the kind of literary academic that I was, I was willing to find other people must have thought about this, other people must have depicted it on screen and books,” he says. “Other people can teach me about this.”

The book starts with examinations of the fleeting, flirtatious intimacies seen in films like “Closer” and “Before Sunrise,” before diving into more complicated (and queer) relationships in the books “The Sexual Outlaw” and “A Little Life” and the portraiture of photographer Peter Hujar, using them as springboards to examine Betancourt’s own relationships to cruising, dating, nudity, and relationships both monogamous and otherwise. 

“I wanted to begin with those straight, very common, understandable ways of thinking about these things, and then the book slowly gets clearer and we end in polyamory and conceptual monogamy, and these very different ways of thinking. 

“What else I wanted to do for those gay readers that are maybe looking to find something here, is show that none of this is new. I think a lot of us try to think, like, ‘This is modern and polyamory is so 2024,’ but what I wanted to do is give a cultural history of that.” 

Though it’s not an instruction manual, Betancourt says he did improve his own flirtation skills while researching the book, as evidenced in a spicy anecdote he recounts in the book about cruising a man in a hotel bar, where he was actually working on writing “Hello Stranger.”

“You just have to pay attention, open yourself up, which is also what Hollinghurst, writes in ‘The Swimming-Pool Library.’ His protagonist is able to like cruise and hook up anywhere he wants to in London, because he’s always looking, like literally looking. He’s constantly out seeing the world as if it’s a cruising playground and that is all apparently you need to do.

“If you’re crossing paths and you see someone who you’re attracted to and you lock eyes, that is the moment to make something happen and it’s about being open to the possibility and then also letting the other person know that you are.”

Nurturing that openness was difficult at first for Betancourt, due to his upbringing in Bogota, Colombia.

“For me it was a very different cultural thing because of the kind of culture of violence, the culture of unsafety in Colombia. You’re sort of encouraged to not really trust anyone,” he says. “It takes almost locking that away because you can’t approach any of those situations with fear.” 

“This is about, like, teaching myself because I’m not great at it either. So, it’s about reminding myself, oh yeah, be open and more attentive.”

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‘I’ll Get Back to You’
By Becca Grischow
c.2024, Penguin Books
$19/320 pages

Christmas tree lots, ugh. Santa, New England, snowflakes, mistletoe, blah blah blah.

The cable TV lineup is full of that stuff this time of year but it’s nowhere near as magical as Hollywood wants you to believe. Honestly, thinking of romance (or the lack thereof) right now is almost enough to bring out your humbug. Get this, though: There’s plenty of romance to go around this Yuletide, but in “I’ll Get Back to You” by Becca Grischow, it might take some planning to find it.

It was supposed to be a great dual-birthday celebration.

Murphy and her BFF, Kat, were planning a “Blackout Wednesday” of drinking and debauchery, followed by a sleepover and snacks at Murphy’s house before they went to Kat’s parents’ place for Thanksgiving. That was the plan, until Kat ruined it by bringing her new boyfriend, Daniel, along and assuming that Murphy wouldn’t mind.

Murphy minded very much. She hated being the gay third wheel, and it was doubly annoying when they all ran into Ellie, who’d graduated a few years before Kat and Murphy.

Wait, Ellie was straight in high school, wasn’t she? Well, she wasn’t now and when Ellie, Kat, and Daniel started comparing notes about attending the University of Illinois, it was all Murphy could do not to roll her eyes.

She wasn’t feeling this holiday thing. She was feeling kind of loser-ish, in fact: still living in her childhood bedroom in her parents’ house, working a job she’d had since she was 16, still at community college and failing accounting.

And, apparently, failing at love, too, because Ellie told Murphy that they could be friends, and that was all. But when Murphy realized that Ellie’s mother was the professor who was about to fail her in accounting class, Ellie came up with a plan.

If they could pretend to have a relationship, then maybe Ellie’s mother would grant Ellie her dream of attending college in New York City. And maybe she’d “play favorites” and give Murphy a passing grade.

It was a weird plan. Super weird. 

Alright, let’s just admit this: A book like “I’ll Get Back to You” isn’t going to change the world or influence people in high places. It’s probably not going to land on the bestseller list. It’s just a light, fun little story – and isn’t that what you need during the holiday season?

With your typical girl-meets-girl, struggle-and-argument, wacky-plan-happy-ending format, author Becca Grischow tells a tale of friendship and romance and growing into the place in life that’s meant to be, which is a good but subtle reminder for some readers who need it. Grischow gives readers a cast of characters who are kind but authentic, fallible but trustworthy, and mostly pretty likable, too, which makes this an easy book to enjoy at just the right time.

If you haven’t found your holiday romance for the season yet, here’s one to look for beneath the mistletoe. Find “I’ll Get Back to You” and you’ll like it a lot.