This is just a statement of appreciation for Victor Lodato's really stunning "Personal History" piece in the New Yorker--available right now.
Lodato was fifteen and--it seems--depressed, when his life changed. He had been ashamed of who he was, and his voice was barely audible (because of shyness and self-loathing, among other things). He was wandering around a pool when he made some kind of wordless connection with a lifeguard--a man in his twenties--and then an affair began.
Lodato says he and the man met two dozen times over approximately four years. He isn't extremely explicit, in his writing, but you can infer what happened (at least on a superficial, physical level).
One of many impressive things in this piece is the way that Lodato interprets his own behavior, his own character. He sees his desire as a way of forcing himself "into being." He recalls the sound he made the second time he reached "a climax": It wasn't like any sound he had made before. He and his companion/predator were startled by the loudness.
Lodato recalls how he changed in the course of these four years. He remembers thinking that sex was a buoy: With sex, quite a bit was suddenly, newly, bearable. He recalls his companion informing him of his "perfection"--a word he had never associated with himself. (Formerly-closeted readers can relate.)
Lodato asserts that facets of his personality changed in the course of four years. His posture improved; he began speaking up. He would make note of the people mocking his effeminate voice--and then he would speak anyway.
There isn't much in the way of judg-iness in this piece, and there are really only questions. Was the relationship entirely a bad thing? How could it have been, if Lodato seems to have discovered himself in the process? What consequence should there be for the twentysomething (who clearly ought to have known better)?
Above all, I love this piece because it communicates an important part of experience to gay readers. How many other shy, privately-determined, gay protagonists are there in American literature? You really fall in love with this odd little Lodato kid (and you may also think of "How I Learned to Drive," "Call Me By Your Name," and "Diary of a Teenage Girl").
Even at thirty-six, I find I'm too recessive, too frightened of actually living, of making mistakes. I don't take as many risks as I could, because, when I fail, I have this idea that failure is a shameful, or even an insurmountable, thing.
In that context, then, Adolescent Lovato is a hero to me. He wrote his own story. He did something bold (which likely had a mixed, complicated impact). He took himself by the hand and entered the adult world, and encountered pain because of his choices. He admitted to himself that he had desires.
https://www.google.com/search?ei=b-7ZW-adLIOIggeMhomwCA&q=victor+lodato+new+yorker&oq=victor+lodato+new+yorker&gs_l=psy-ab.3..0i22i30.7188.9089..9224...0.0..0.85.854.11......0....1..gws-wiz.......0j0i131j0i67._h_iqd-eCZc
Lodato was fifteen and--it seems--depressed, when his life changed. He had been ashamed of who he was, and his voice was barely audible (because of shyness and self-loathing, among other things). He was wandering around a pool when he made some kind of wordless connection with a lifeguard--a man in his twenties--and then an affair began.
Lodato says he and the man met two dozen times over approximately four years. He isn't extremely explicit, in his writing, but you can infer what happened (at least on a superficial, physical level).
One of many impressive things in this piece is the way that Lodato interprets his own behavior, his own character. He sees his desire as a way of forcing himself "into being." He recalls the sound he made the second time he reached "a climax": It wasn't like any sound he had made before. He and his companion/predator were startled by the loudness.
Lodato recalls how he changed in the course of these four years. He remembers thinking that sex was a buoy: With sex, quite a bit was suddenly, newly, bearable. He recalls his companion informing him of his "perfection"--a word he had never associated with himself. (Formerly-closeted readers can relate.)
Lodato asserts that facets of his personality changed in the course of four years. His posture improved; he began speaking up. He would make note of the people mocking his effeminate voice--and then he would speak anyway.
There isn't much in the way of judg-iness in this piece, and there are really only questions. Was the relationship entirely a bad thing? How could it have been, if Lodato seems to have discovered himself in the process? What consequence should there be for the twentysomething (who clearly ought to have known better)?
Above all, I love this piece because it communicates an important part of experience to gay readers. How many other shy, privately-determined, gay protagonists are there in American literature? You really fall in love with this odd little Lodato kid (and you may also think of "How I Learned to Drive," "Call Me By Your Name," and "Diary of a Teenage Girl").
Even at thirty-six, I find I'm too recessive, too frightened of actually living, of making mistakes. I don't take as many risks as I could, because, when I fail, I have this idea that failure is a shameful, or even an insurmountable, thing.
In that context, then, Adolescent Lovato is a hero to me. He wrote his own story. He did something bold (which likely had a mixed, complicated impact). He took himself by the hand and entered the adult world, and encountered pain because of his choices. He admitted to himself that he had desires.
https://www.google.com/search?ei=b-7ZW-adLIOIggeMhomwCA&q=victor+lodato+new+yorker&oq=victor+lodato+new+yorker&gs_l=psy-ab.3..0i22i30.7188.9089..9224...0.0..0.85.854.11......0....1..gws-wiz.......0j0i131j0i67._h_iqd-eCZc
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