The Voyages of Cinrak the Dapper – A.J. Fitzwater (Queen of Swords Press)

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I had some fun playing around with a sharp, concise opening summary for this title. Watership Down meets Sinbad the Sailor? If The Tale of Despereaux was directed by Ilene Chaiken? Neither captures entirely Fitzwater’s unusual undertaking, which features a plucky, skirt-eschewing, female-loving capybara who’s destined to find love and adventure on the high seas.

Fitzwater first introduced her rodent, lesbian pirate hero Cinrak in a pair of previously published short stories. Voyages rounds out Cinrak’s life in a collection of fantastical exploits, which jump ahead in time and location. It really does remind one of the tales of Sinbad from The Arabian Nights both in structure and in tone. The seas are full of wonders, some deadly and some which hold magical rewards for those who are brave enough to seek them out. Sailors—of any gender—are a rowdy and fearless lot who don’t mind when a little humor comes along at their own expense. Fitzwater takes on that zany, swashbuckling brand, and she’s fully and lovingly committed to her delightfully wacky world of anthropomorphic lesbians of all sizes, species and gender-expressions.

In the opening story, we meet young Cinrak, an orphan with fourteen star-years under her junior pirate sash. She doesn’t have a bad life living at an orphanage in the port city of Ratholme, but oh to join a pirate’s crew and see the world on one of the tall masted galleys that come to trade at the wharf. Cinrak always felt different from her land-locked kin, and she realizes it’s because she has pirate salt in her blood. Impressing the famous rat Captain Mereg, she earns a spot as a cabin kit aboard the fearsome Cry Havoc.

Subsequent tales show Cinrak as a captain in her own right, sorting out treachery in the Felidae Isles, winning the hand of the rat queen Orvillia in a competition to lasso the stars, helping a kraken named Agnes reunite with her true love, taking trips to the End of the World and the Heart of the Ocean, and more.

She’s accompanied by a core group of companions that includes a menopausal phoenix, an opera diva marmot, a wee chinchilla who wants to be a boy-sailor, and a jaunty merman. It’s a vivid and memorable supporting cast for sure, and the author has a great talent for inventing character and place names that evoke a whimsical fantasy setting.

Magical adventures are one side of the story, but in equal measure, Voyages is a celebration of the freedom with which lesbian and transmen should and could live their lives. There are plenty of romantic pairings within the all-female rodent crew, and readers will also find portrayals of polyamorous lesbian relationships vis-a-vis Cinrak’s choice to marry both the theatrical marmot Loquolchi and the stately rat queen Orvillia. The aforementioned trans chinchilla Benj gets a heartwarming treatment as a youth fulfilling his gender transformation. Fitzwater stays within the bounds of “family entertainment,” and as such, the stories have potential to reach a wide audience and be enjoyed by juvenile and adult readers alike.

A great book for fans of lesbian-centric worlds and those who never lost their childhood imagination.

Reviewed by Andrew J. Peters

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The Ungodly Hour – Laury A. Egan (Interlude Press)

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Pandemic or no, spring approaches. The days are getting balmier, at least here in Colorado, and the afternoons are getting longer. After the reading rush of judging the Ferro-Grumley awards this year, I was looking forward to a bit of a lazy spring/summer read, and Laury A. Egan’s latest mystery, The Ungodly Hour, did the trick nicely.

Dana Fox is a New Yorker temporarily ensconced in Mykonos, teaching a photography workshop to tourists. She’s been doing it for a number of summers, but this year is different. Mykonos has been invaded by church-going anti-gay protesters, and a serial killer targeting gay men is on the loose. Dana accidentally snaps a photo of the murderer, who ransacks her darkroom. Despite Dana’s new relationship with a hot policewoman named Cybele, both she and her students are in danger. Maybe even from themselves.

Egan evokes Mykonos well, and the setting pervades the story, giving it an airy, sun-kissed aspect you don’t usually find in mystery thrillers. This serves the plot well but also echoes the assignments she gives her photography students about light and dark and finding the subject within the shadows.

The romance with Cybele develops quickly, perhaps too quickly, with the definite promise of a new beginning for both of them at the end of the book, but whether or not their relationship can weather life on another continent remains to be seen. It would be an interesting premise for a sequel. I would also like to have seen more of the cross-carrying Christian militia, maybe even from the first. The killer is appropriately dark and Egan provides a nice red herring or two to muck things up.

So, this breezy little thriller requires a longish afternoon, some cheese and olives with a bit of ouzo (or grappa, if you prefer), and a light breeze blowing through your backyard. Reads like this are what summer’s all about.


© 2020 Jerry L. Wheeler

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Satellite Street – Eleanor Lerman (The Permanent Press)

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Sometimes, the mail brings me grief. Sometimes, the mail brings me joy. And every so often, it brings me something that piques my curiosity–which is better than either of those. The elements in Satellite Street are pretty disparate–a son whose father is in the beginning stages of dementia, a trans girl who can speak to the dead, a deceased disc jockey, and the “professional skeptic” who outed the DJ long ago and ultimately caused his demise. Eleanor Lerman, however, has wound them into a wonderful, heartfelt narrative I kept thinking about long after I’d finished.

Paul Marden, a sixty something year old New Yorker, is slowly recovering from a sudden illness and is hiding out where he grew up, in a coastal town previously ravaged by Hurricane Sandy. The house he rents is in a space-themed subdivision on Satellite Street close to the nursing home his father is in. Lelee, a transgender girl who says she can communicate with the dead, also lives in the same project. An accident with Paul’s dad in the nursing home involves Paul in a beyond-the-grave feud between The Great Oswaldo, the skeptic, and Happy Howie, the dead gay DJ, facilitated by Lelee. Paul isn’t sure he’s up to dealing with his father, let alone solve the supernatural problem, but he and Lelee have no choice.

Lerman does a terrific job setting her scene. The atmosphere of the hurricane ravaged coastal New York town to which Paul retreats suffuses the book, and perhaps that aura of ruination is what attracts Paul. He’s finally found somewhere as broken down as he is. But you can’t rebuild without demolishing, and it’s that air of possibility that allows Lerman to bring all those jigsaw pieces together to form the bigger picture.

I know I’m supposed to be paying more attention to the relationship Paul has with Lelee, and it’s certainly worth its weight to the plot, but I connected emotionally with Paul and his ailing father, Louis. The love they have for each other is as evident as their frustration with each other. Their exchanges are honest and real, containing some of the best writing in the book.

My only problem–and it’s a minor one–is that the mechanics of the climax, the supernatural confrontation between Oswaldo and Happy Howie, seem forced. I’m not talking about the confrontation itself, but the manner in which it happens. To say more would be spoiling it, but I can almost guarantee you’ll understand what I mean when you get there. I can also guarantee that by the time you finish the book, you will have forgotten all about that gaffe.

Lerman has written a fascinating book, full of beautiful moments and unexpected turns that will have you recommending this to your friends.


© 2020 Jerry L. Wheeler

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Not Dead Enough – J.M. Redmann (Bold Strokes Books)

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Although this came out last year, I didn’t get a chance to read it before now. And I had to read it. Along with Cari Hunter and Cheryl Head, Redmann is one of my favorite authors. I’ve been hooked on the Micky Knight series since I read the first one years ago, and Redmann keeps coming up with wonderful plots and delicious complications. Not Dead Enough is cut from this same cloth.

A new client of Micky’s is out to find her missing sister, but she winds up in the morgue before the check has cleared. Or is it the sister she was looking for? Cordelia’s realtor cousin, Karen Holloway, might know as she did some paperwork on a house for the same woman. Or was it? This may be Micky’s thorniest case yet, involving multiple identities, a crime family with strict control of its women, top-drawer scotch, and–since this takes place in New Orleans–vivid descriptions of po’ boys and mugginess.

Although the mystery itself is complex and has a big cast, Redmann juggles the elements with a sure hand, lingering long enough to either establish or embroider the characters while making sure we understand how they fit into the larger picture. The complexity builds without you realizing it until you’re as deeply involved as Micky, no matter how much she doesn’t want to be.

But one name in the cast looms larger than any other, and that’s Cordelia, Micky’s ex. Yes, she’s back in New Orleans. No, they haven’t seen each other. Yet. Since NOLA is the biggest little town in the USA,  we know they have to eventually meet. And I don’t think it’s too much of a spoiler to say they do in Not Dead Enough. The unsatisfactory circumstances under which this happens, however, are admirably bizarre and worthy of both Micky and CJ. And Redmann. And if that isn’t impetus enough to buy this, you’re reading the wrong blog.

Other reasons? Strong dialogue, lots of interesting minor characters–including a new Quarter denizen, jaded and rakish Rob Byrnes (where have I heard that name before?)– and sub-plots, and a continued exploration of Micky’s flawed but all too human character. She’s one of my favorite detectives because she’s occasionally sloppy or stupid, especially where Cordelia and Cordelia’s friends are concerned.

Not Dead Enough, then, is a great addition to the Micky Knight series. If you haven’t read them, this is a great place to start. If you have, you’ll love it just as much as the others.


© 2020 Jerry L. Wheeler

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Two Plays: The Snow Queen, November Door – David Pratt (Hosta Press)

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David Pratt, Lambda Award-winning author of Bob the Book, plus the author of three other novels and a collection of short stories, has come out with a new work: Two Plays: The Snow Queen, November Door. Originally written almost twenty years ago, The Snow Queen is based upon a short story Pratt wrote by the same name. The two plays are here presented together for the first time. Both plays focus on the same two characters (the Narrator, Steven Underwood, and Jo Osbourne) and each presents a different pivotal time when their lives intersected.

The first play, The Snow Queen, takes place in the Narrator’s hometown in north central Connecticut, when he is eleven, and Jo is thirty-eight. The Narrator remembers how and when he first met Jo, describing the beginnings, trajectory, and eventual ending of their brief friendship. Jo is an adult, but unlike all the other adults that the Narrator knows: she lives alone, the other townspeople ostracize her, and it is clear that she recognizes a kindred (read: queer, in all senses of the word) spirit in the young Narrator. She, unlike the other people in the Narrator’s life, accepts him as he is. Unfortunately, due to outside forces (and Steven’s insecurities) their friendship does not last. The second, November Door, occurs twenty-seven years later in the same town, when Jo is sixty-five, and the Narrator is now thirty-eight: for different reasons (but both stemming from their common queerness) both characters have left town; and also for different reasons, both have returned—she permanently, he temporarily.

The first play occurs during the fall/early winter of 1968, ending at Christmas, while the second happens just before Thanksgiving of 1995, which suits the meditative, nostalgic quality of the narrative. Despite the explicit historical references in both plays, there is a timeless quality to the story. Both plays have to do with remembering the past, but with different purposes. The Snow Queen is mostly an interior play: Steven, as the Narrator, does all the reminiscing, making his first steps toward self-discovery, whereas in November Door, both characters are present, confronting each other and the past, especially the intervening years after the events of the first play. The gentle, poignant tone of the first play is replaced by a sharper, less forgiving tone in the second as both characters are forced to come to terms with their actions and the resulting ramifications.

Personally, I feel that a play—like poetry—should be performed, not merely read silently (sometimes even regular fiction should be read aloud.) Although each play is complete in itself and could be performed separately, the two plays together form a diptych and, therefore, I think, should be performed (or at least read) together. (Apparently each play premiered in subsequent years. I don’t know if they have ever been produced together.) Given the interior nature of The Snow Queen, it would not be necessary to perform it first, even though the events it portrays occur earlier than those in November Door—I wondered as I read the two plays, if the Narrator was actively remembering the events of the first play while experiencing the events of the latter. It would be too confusing to produce both plays simultaneously, obviously, but this heightens the sense that the story takes place outside of linear time. And while you can not leave the past or escape it, sometimes you can make your peace with it.

Reviewed by Keith John Glaeske

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Shameless Self-Promotion Corner

One of the projects I’ve been working on in my recent absence was the revision and re-release of my collection of short stories and essays, “Strawberries and Other Erotic Fruits.” I’m proud to say thanks to the talented Matt Bright at Inkspiral Design, my cover has been revamped, and the whole package looks wonderful. This collection was a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award in Gay Erotica when it was released in 2012.

The cover blurb says:

If you like cream with your strawberries, prepare yourself for a double helping of satisfaction with this reissued and revised edition of Jerry L. Wheeler’s collection of short stories and essays. From the title story of a magical farmer with low-slung jeans and a very peculiar pair of scarecrows to a gypsy curse that brings out the bear in a former bottom, Wheeler’s demons and angels and lovers and cheaters blend erotica with Elvis, spider tattoos, harrowing commutes, lifelong loves, and cops eating donuts. Layer by layer, this confection will linger on your tongue—and elsewhere—for days.

“Great,” you say. “Do you have links?”

Do I have links? Get the paperback here and the Kindle ebook here.

Happy reading!



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Judge Me When I’m Wrong – Cheryl A. Head (Bywater Books)

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Soooo what have I been doing the past few months that I haven’t even appeared on my own blog? Well, recovering from a nasty breakup with my former publisher, Lethe Press, self-publishing my short story collection he put out of print, and reading for the Publishing Triangle’s Ferro-Grumley award for LGBTQI literature. We had over eighty–count ’em–eighty books to review, so that took up a tremendous amount of time. However, I’m back on as an even a keel as it gets for me, beginning the year’s reviews (albeit a scosh late) with one of my favorite lesbian mystery writers, Cheryl Head, and her latest Charlie Mack Motown Mystery.

As it does for every voter, jury duty comes to Charlie Mack–who can’t help but become involved in the trial she’s on. When she’s not on the watch for suspected jury tampering, she and Gil are also working a case that begins as an investigation of a college student accused of rape. When the supposed rapist comes out as gay, however, things take a different turn. And when the defendant gets wind of Charlie’s investigating the other jury members, things get dangerous in the courtroom as well.

You had me at ‘courtroom drama,’ because I’m old school and grew up on Perry Mason reruns–a sucker for relentless cross-examinations followed by angry and/or tearful confessions. And Head doesn’t fail to create great tension during those scenes. The exchanges are tough and terse and never get bogged down with extraneous stage directions. Head knows that the best writers gather their characters in a room and then butt out, letting them play off each other.

Interestingly, Head uses the post-climax lull to make a change in her cast of regular characters. I won’t say more for fear of spoiling it, but the move is savvy as hell because it promotes a great character who has been in the series from the beginning and says goodbye to another. Like one of my other favorite lesbian mystery writers, J.M. Redmann, Head is not afraid to shake things up to keep them fresh for herself as well as the reader.

Head is hitting her stride with this series, and it’s a treat to watch her work. I’m very much looking forward to the next one.


© 2020 Jerry L. Wheeler

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