![]() We gathered with 20 other patients to hear a poetry reading. ![]() (A few years later, and just before the arrival of new life-saving medication, I spent several weeks there myself.) Tim was very weak, leaning on a stick, his face concealed beneath purple lesions, his eyesight dimmed. ![]() In 1993, my partner spent the last few months of his life in an Aids hospice, the Lighthouse in Ladbroke Grove. ![]() Cooper’s world of teenage erotic brutality, summoned by a spare, blank prose, was not something to be seen reading on a tube train or in the work canteen. Shared among gay friends, we could celebrate our growing confidence and visibility with new work from Alan Hollinghurst and Jeanette Winterson, develop a camp sensibility by quoting to each other lines from EF Benson and Ronald Firbank, imagine that London could become the queer Arcadia depicted in Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City.Īs we moved towards assimilation in the 1990s, Dennis Cooper’s George Miles novel cycle was a reminder that sexuality was still transgressive, that desire remained a dark and disruptive force. Photograph: Paul Natkin/WireImageĪrriving in London in the last few months of the 1980s, I discovered that there were more than a few hundred of us and that books still had a potent force. ![]()
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