An Interview with William J. Mann by Tim Miller (2004)
But, sequel he has penned all the same. Where the Boys Are is the aptly titled follow-up to The Men From the Boys. You don’t need to have read the original to understand the new book, but it might help make the experience even more vivid. Bombarded for years with requests from readers to tell the next chapter in the lives of Jeff and Lloyd and their friends, he finally gave in. “I’ve written three books since, but The Men From the Boys is still the one I get letters and emails about, at least a couple a month,” Mann said. “And so many of the letters ask, ‘Where are they now? What would they be doing today?’ I thought [writing a sequel] was a good opportunity to explore some realities of contemporary gay life using characters we already knew.”
Wearing his other hat as a journalist-historian, Mann has been acclaimed for his research into the Hollywood film industry. Last year, Salon called his Behind the Screen “the book of the moment” for its insightful look inside the studio system. But among readers, he is perhaps best known as an adept chronicler of contemporary gay life. In the new book, just as he did with The Men From the Boys, Mann depicts a segment of gay life in America, with Provincetown as locale. Where the Boys Are is a fast-paced mix of sex, love, grief, fear, friendship, drugs, dancing, and camp––the stew of gay life in the 21st century. This time there are three narrators: Jeff O’Brien, the protagonist from The Men From the Boys; his on-again, off-again lover Lloyd Griffith; and a new character, Henry Weiner, a former 98-pound weakling turned hunky muscle-boy escort.
So you don’t find any deficiencies in gay culture?
Of course there are deficiencies. There are deficiencies in any culture. My point in the book, though, is to stop all the caterwauling once in a while and actually celebrate what we’ve got going on. There’s a lot of joy and fun and affirming qualities to gay life. That’s why I used the circuit as a backdrop, because it’s all about celebration and revelry.
Isn’t it kind of hard to talk about celebration and revelry right now, with the war in Iraq and the threat of terrorism around the world?
Actually I think there’s no better time to talk about such things. The powers that be are vested in keeping us scared and on edge. There was talk that the White Party in Palm Springs ought to be canceled, just as there was talk that the Oscars ceremony should be canceled… We need to remember there’s still joy in the world. Bush and his henchmen don’t want us to relax and have a good time. If we do, we’ll start realizing they’re all a bunch of frauds.
But the circuit party scene carries with it some negative connotations.
Yes, and I think that’s part of the pattern we see in American society. Gay culture isn’t immune to the idea that we constantly need to find scapegoats, somebody to demonize, something to fear. So much ink has been spilled lambasting circuit parties for their supposed drug use and unsafe sex. Sure, lots of guys who go to circuit parties have a problem with drugs, and someone with an addictive personality or low self-esteem can be overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of something like the White Party. But these are not problems inherent to the circuit. These are problems inherent to society. Does the circuit provide a space that encourages drug abuse? Perhaps. But so do gay bars across the country, so do any kind of bar or party situation. I’m not denying that many guys on the circuit get lost…but I know lots more who don’t get lost, who go for the sense of fun and connection and the pure thrill of it. Then they go back to their lives and their lives are fully productive. What I was interested to write about was the experience of brotherhood the circuit gives to the characters in the novel.
But Jeff is using his circuit partying as an escape, isn’t he? He’s still caught up in his grief over the loss of his mentor and the breakup of his relationship with Lloyd. So he retreats to the dance floor to forget his troubles.
What’s that old song? “I Take My Problems to the Dance Floor.” Well, that’s my point exactly. The scene doesn’t have the problem. Jeff does. Sure, he uses his clubbing and partying to avoid dealing with what’s really going on. He even had a bit of a drug problem that he’s pretty much kicked by the start of the novel. But what happens is that the sense of community he finds on the circuit becomes the most powerful influence for him.One of the things Jeff is dealing with––or, more precisely, not dealing with––is his lingering grief over the AIDS death of his mentor, David Javitz. Tell me about that.
You know, I actually had someone say to me, ‘Don’t you think an AIDS storyline is a bit dated? It’s 2003.’ It’s the same mentality that said the AIDS character in Michael Cunningham’s The Hours was a distraction. There’s this view out there that the crisis is over, or at least manageable, so mentioning it is passé, a real downer. You never see anything about AIDS on Will and Grace, for example. But the truth is that even if our friends aren’t dying on daily basis, many are still struggling. And for me, the most ongoing issue I still face regarding AIDS is my grief. You never hear it talked about, how we’re still grieving. We lost hundreds of thousands of people and we’re supposed to be over that already?
I imagine writing about Javitz’s death was difficult, as I know he was in many ways based on your own real-life mentor, activist Victor D’Lugin.
Yeah, it was hard, but also cathartic. I never thought I’d write about it. As I said, I like ambiguities in fiction and in film, and I liked the idea that maybe Javitz, unlike Victor, had managed to survive somehow. I think it was real important that he not die in The Men From the Boys, that he was left alive. It was a time where we needed some hope. But Javitz’s death is what really transforms both Jeff and Lloyd in the new novel, and in some ways it helps transform Henry, too, who didn’t even know him.”
The plot is essentially three different narratives that weave through each other and then ultimately connect. Seems very cinematic.
Well, given that I write about movies in my other, nonfiction writing career, maybe that’s inevitable. I do think cinematically when I’m writing. Like I’ll start a new chapter with a line of dialogue, envisioning it as the start of a movie scene. I think readers are adapted to reading that way, too. Movies and television have so influenced the way we read and write and, again, I’m not only seeing the negatives to that. I think it has often helped writers be very crisp and precise and vibrant. I get so bored by books that rarely move outside of the protagonist’s mind, where all the action is interior. I’m pulling my hair out, saying, ‘Somebody ring the doorbell, please! Make this person get out of his head and go do something!’ Much of The Men From the Boys took place inside Jeff’s head. When you look at that book, not a lot happens. But with this new one, there’s a lot going on.
That’s for sure. A kind of murder mystery, a mysterious fag hag, all of Henry’s serio-comic adventures as an escort. In some ways, this book, for all your confrontations with grief and soul-searching, is very light-hearted. More so than your other works of fiction.
Yes, and that probably reflects where I’m at in my own life right now. I’m enjoying myself. And I do believe that we can get so caught up in misery that we forget to have a good time. Since September 11, it’s been seen as callous or insensitive, and certainly unpatriotic, to have too much fun. Remember all that talk about the death of irony? That’s so ridiculous. Like all the people who died would want us to lose what makes us most human.
Tim Miller is a solo performer and the author of several books. He can be reached at his website http://hometown.aol.com/millertale/timmiller.html