RALPH:In your "Readings" from your last issue, you presented a passage from The Black Book by Lawrence Durrell. It's the story of Tarquin, who is in love with Clare.
They have a fight, and Durrell writes,
Tarquin whizzes down the passage to the box room like a prima donna, his robe purling after him. He bursts open the door and stands still, staring in full on the yellow eyes. His resolution to insult, to injure, to ravage, dissolves inside him. His very guts are liquefied by rage and contrition. He is so humble now, so plaintive, so full of expression, so docile, so in love.
I don't complain about your right to offer your reader trash like this. I'm just wondering why you would put in your magazine a story of gay love that is filled with the tired clichés about homosexual love. "His robe purling after him"..."he is so humble now...so docile, so in love."
Why don't you just go ahead and come right out and use the words, "limp-wristed," "fruit," "queer"?
You remind me of the Dutchess of Windsor. At one of her dinners, someone complimented her on her pansies. "Which ones?" asked the Dutchess. "The ones in the garden or the ones at the table?"--- email@example.com
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