M. E. Kerr (1927–2022)

The entire time I was reading this I was appalled, oddly fascinated and deeply sad. The only reason I can see the value of this still being available (at least as it is in ebook format) is that it serves as an unwelcome, but very necessary, reminder of just how bad attitudes toward gays and lesbians were in the not so far away past. It is not that they cannot still be bad (they can, of course!) What makes it so different than today, though, is that these attitudes were just so incredibly show more warped in their badness and so alarmingly misguided and ignorant reading about them can absolutely chill your blood.

I have often found myself (because I have been there, having been old enough to still live in a time when being gay was considered a 'sickness') on the self-hating end of the spectrum of being gay, but thankfully those days are mostly over. I recommend this book not because I like it, but because it is a relic that needs to be read if only to remind ourselves of how far we have come and that while things still need to improve even more, we are much better off than we were. show less

At first I enjoyed the ridiculousness of the prose ( little Leda grew fast and fully and richly. She had long black hair that shone like new coal, round green eyes, a stubborn tilt to her chin, proud pear-shaped breasts that pointed through her size 36 sweater, and long graceful legs.) but soon I just felt abused by the many scenes of women getting date raped with the approval of their sorority sisters. Nothing happens to the rapists, but a woman who confesses to the crime of lesbian show more feelings gets institutionalized.

Ok. I was looking for campy fun, along with a sociologically interesting study of early lesbian fiction, but I discovered that I wasn't up for the grotesque misogyny I found here along with the campy fun and sociologically interesting bits. It's a good measure of the progress our culture has made, though, since the novel was written. show less

Oh, boy. The thing I find truly useful about this book is its exploration of the heavy themes of the Holocaust without being a "Holocaust book." Written at a time (1978) when one's grandfather could have been a Nazi strongman in a concentration camp, the story doesn't center on the terrible things Buddy's grandfather might have done -- instead, the focus is on Buddy, trying to find his way as a blue-collared "townie" in love with a super-rich girl outside of Montauk, New York.

Without show more spoiling, I'll ask -- Can humans change? Is redemption possible? Are there crimes so godawfully heinous that they cannot be forgiven?

This book shows its age only because tape decks, polyester, and Barbra Streisand are no longer de rigeur -- otherwise, the eternal themes of love, loss, and betrayal are poignantly rendered in this early offering from a master of teen literature. show less

Spring Fire is one of those lesbian pulp reads that reminds you that the pulp genre's shortcomings can also be what makes it noteworthy. Like Ann Bannon's Odd Girl Out, Spring Fire involves sorority oriented lesbian loving. The times in which these novels were written may have dictated that the passions between the female leads burn both quickly and unhappily, but unhappily ever after comes in different varieties. Spring Fire distinguishes itself as a story that is able to swing from show more melodrama throughout most of its body (like you would expect) and ends on a downright sinister note (which you might not have expected). Sure, it might be nice if the girl got the girl in the end, but if she can't then you may find a good dose of creepiness to be just as entertaining. show less