Hugh Ryan

I often find myself drawn to the shadowy undercurrents of queer history—the forbidden desires, the struggles veiled in secrecy, the bonds forged in defiance of a world eager to deny our existence. The clandestine whispers exchanged in the dim corners of speakeasies, the coded glances in parks at twilight, the foggy haze of bathhouses—a world both hidden and intimate. Yet so often, these histories confine themselves to the male gaze, overlapping and blending into one another, leaving much show more of our story untold.

But Hugh Ryan’s When Brooklyn Was Queer is different. It carves out a space in time, drawing us into Brooklyn—one of the first queer enclaves before the concept of a “gayborhood” even existed. Ryan pulls us through time’s worn cobblestones, revealing a world that thrived in the alleys and waterfronts of a place that seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the revolution to come. Unlike other tomes that narrow themselves to a singular experience, this work spans across identities, illuminating the lives of women and men, the rich and the poor, immigrants and natives, all walking the same streets and hiding the same truths.

Brooklyn, in this telling, becomes a character of its own. It cradles stories that have long since faded into obscurity—stories of forgotten figures, vibrant lives erased from history, and the fierce spirit of a community that dared to live, even in the face of shadows that sought to consume them. In its pages, Ryan breathes life into those who’ve slipped from memory, offering a richly textured view of the LGBTQIA+ community as it existed before the movements we know today.

This book offers more than just another retelling of queer history; it’s a spectral journey through the past, one that lingers with you like the scent of candle smoke in a dim room. It doesn’t try to cover it all—thank the stars for that—but what it does cover, it does with a reverence that feels both intimate and grand, revealing pieces of our past that are often left forgotten. A haunting, vital read for those who seek to know the forgotten streets we’ve walked. show less

An excellent recapturing of a section of NY queer history that is largely forgotten or glossed over. While some stories, particularly those of white men who were artists or authors, are more known, Ryan does a good job capturing some stories of lesser known figures. I really appreciated learning about the changes in culture as well as perceptions of sexuality/gender throughout the years. Also, the information about the upsetting decline of vibrant Brooklyn queer life after WWII was show more brilliantly explained and made me so angry. Nonetheless, I’m grateful to leave the book having a long list of people who I want to read more about. I feel like that in itself is a gift. show less

I enjoyed this book a lot. I read this book primarily because I was interested in queer life in the 1920s and 1930s, and on that front it certainly did not disappoint. I was entranced by the descriptions of the way queer people built a community for themselves. I also loved that the book served as who's who of the artists and writers who made Brooklyn home, many of whom were queer themselves or had close queer influences. However, the part of the book that stuck with me the most was the show more chapter on the erasure of Brooklyn's queer community following WWII. It was like watching a vibrant community crumble before my eyes and hurt profoundly. However, I could not help but also be inspired-- they did ALL of that to get rid of us and damn it, we're still here.

From a historical writing perspective, I especially appreciated two things. First, Ryan careful to identify people as broadly queer (thus demonstrating the depth of queer history) without projecting current identities onto historical figures who never would have identified that way. This is a fine line and I think Ryan walked it well. Second, Ryan was very conscious of the biases in the historical evidence he used, namely the relative exclusion of perspectives from lower class voices and people of color. He also did his best to discuss queer Brooklynites as they saw themselves, despite the fact that a significant portion of the evidence comes from decidedly homophobic sources. show less

I RECEIVED AN ARC OF THIS BOOK FROM ST. MARTIN'S PRESS. THANK YOU.

One of my very favorite possessions is this hardcover copy I received after the Déluge of 2019 ruined my ARC. The author tells us from the start that I use the catchall queer...to refer to people whose sexuality or gender identity isn’t conventional for their time, which helps me avoid projecting specific modern identities (such as gay or transgender) on folks for whom those ideas wouldn’t necessarily have made a lot of show more sense.

That is all the explanation you need for how, and why, he wrote this history of being "other" in the US's biggest city. It's deeply researched, very well-written, and fascinating to read. Who knew Gypsy Rose Lee and Carson McCullers were close? Who had any idea that Coney Island was known as a queer neighborhood before it was known as a boardwalk and sideshow mecca?

It's enjoyable to learn about New York's most-populous borough with author Hugh Ryan. show less