Talk about getting punched in the gut...For a book with such an unassuming title, it is quite aggressive.In the City of Shy Hunters is a book that I discovered by accident, while I was bored out of my mind and scrolling through the fiction section in my library's database. When I opened it, the punching started immediatly.It is a long book, so I spent a good amount of time with it. When I would emerge back into reality and my step-mom would ask me what I did for the day, I wanted to say, "My good lady, you have no idea where I've been".Tom Spanbauer is able to transport the reader deep into the story, which is awesome and disturbing at the same time. He doesn't shy away from describing, well... every glorious detail. It's very messy and sometimes, I did feel like I was getting sick, in addition to wanting to take a shower everytime I closed the book.Usually, flashbacks are a big no-no for me, but they didn't bother me at all. It is the type of book that you often have to refer back to the beginning in order to understand some things, and I was okay with that.I'll admit, there was a moment when I stopped, looked up and asked myself, "Is it just me or is everybody dying from AIDS in this story?". That did throw me off for a little bit.Also, the ending jumped at me. When I turned the page and realized that there was nothing more, I frowned and was like, "That's it?!". It is the type of story that doesn't have a happy ending, but still... It felt like somebody pulled the rug from under my feet.I felt many things during my reading. I was very disturbed, most of the time I would have a knot in my stomach, and some other times the dry humor would crack me up so bad, people would step away from me.But it is definetly not the type of book you curl up with by the fireplace on a rainy night. In fact, you shouldn't curl up with that book at all. It's loud, has sharp edge, seems about to spontaneously combust at any moment and starts punching you from the moment you open it.I do not believe in perfection, and that's the only reason I gave this book four stars. The author accomplished a simple, yet at the same time difficult task: to make the reader feel.And I felt more things that I am comfortable sharing.
Honestly, I am over half way done and it has been a struggle to get this far. The writing style is frustrating and the grammar Nazi in me wants to scream at him "a complete sentence needs a verb!" He will write these sentences like this "The red chair." or "The unrelenting light." I should be getting used to it by now, but it is little things like this that are getting in the way of my enjoyment of the book. There is a lot of sex in this book which distracts me. I admit to being somewhat uncomfortable with reading these scenes and figuring out exactly how they are significant to the story. Some are, most aren't. But that is just my humble opinion. To say if I like this book or not would be to simplify the issue here. Because my answer would be that yes, I do like it, and no, I don't. I am kept up at night reading it and I can't tell if it is because I am hooked or because I want to have it over with. The main character reminds me of Mersault from Camus' The Stranger. Perhaps it is just the way he is written. This character, Will, is not without feeling, yet he seems to be a passive man, living life as it happens to him rather than making it happen. I get the sense that this will change though, and so I read on.....
Do You like book In The City Of Shy Hunters (2002)?
"Language is my second language" ... This early line from "In the City of Shy Hunters" is as much a statement as it is a warning to readers as author Tom Spanbauer bitch slaps James Joyce and begins his tale. The storytelling isn't convenient, but neither are the lives his characters lead. Each in his or her own way, they have fashioned a means to battle their fears and find the sanity or insanity or resolution which brings them peace. You may find yourself sitting there puzzling over their choices. I am still sitting there.
—Dolphe
I was completely entranced by this book and sobbed my way through the end, especially in love with Rose. This book is magical realism about queers dealing with AIDS and performance art in the 1980s in NYC - the Tompkins Sq Park riot is a central moment, and the book is dedicated to Ethyl Eichelberger, among others. On first reading, I felt nervous about the many characters that are mystical people of color... I think TS is a white guy (?) so it raised flags for me, but in the end I think TS's writing is insightful and illuminating about racism (among many other things). I just read this book a second time and was completely swept away all over again. the writing craft was even more moving this time, seeing the well-woven subtle introductions of information that becomes important later in the story. SO GOOD!
—Ezra
I should probably give this book four stars, but I can't.I started volunteering with people living with HIV/AIDS when I got to college. It seemed like the right thing to do. It was a show a gratitude to those who'd come before to make my gay life easier. It was a promise that my generation would learn our lessons; keep ourselves healthy.In the five years I volunteered, I watched young men grow horribly old and die. I discovered how strong the will to live can be. I learned to smile in the face of death; to pretend it wasn't waiting on the couch to take someone else away. And I learned how to say goodbye to beautiful people who didn't get a chance to fulfill their potential. The specter was always close.After college, I volunteered elsewhere, and learned different things. That the drugs were getting better. People were dying at a more reasonable rate. That life didn't have to end, and that healthy was an option. And I got to stop saying so many goodbyes. And there was talk of a vaccine; a hope that maybe this would end.And then it didn't. People are still healthy, the drugs work, and sometimes they don't. People get sick, and sometimes they get better. Sometimes they die and I have to remember to say goodbye.But it's worse now. Now, those young men (and women) are my friends. I knew them before, and now I have to know them after. Watch the struggle. Count the pills. Know about the medical appointments; the tests. Know the counts and the stats and the treatments and the services and the struggle.And I still can smile. And offer support and advice. I still know which support groups meet when, and I make referrals to service providers. And I make a mean chicken soup.But I'm tired, and I don't want to do it anymore. I want it to be over, and it's not. It keeps going on. And every time I read "AIDS" in this book, a tiny part of me wanted to hide and never come back. And that's why I had to give it three stars.But it really deserved four.
—Matthew
