Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Broome debuts with a magnificent and harrowing memoir that digs into the traumas of growing up Black and gay in Ohio in the late 1970s and early '80s. His reflections jump between locations and times, which Broome organizes into chapters titled by the stanzas of Gwendolyn Brooks's classic poem "We Real Cool." Another framing device utilized throughout is Broome observing a young Black boy on a public bus as he's berated by his father, reminding Broome of his own childhood. "What I am witnessing, is... this 'being a man' to the exclusion of all other things." Broome frankly details his early physical and emotional abuse at the hands of his father, white teachers, and neighborhood boys, as well as his later struggles with shame, substance abuse, and melancholic attempts to find community in Black queer spaces ("Most of my night-time encounters I will spend the rest of my life trying to forget"). He uncovers deep, intergenerational traumas, and racialized queerphobia and misogyny ("White boys liked girl things and acting like a white boy or a girl of any color was prohibited"). There are no easy victims or villains in Broome's painful, urgent telling--his testimony rings out as a searing critique of soul-crushing systems and stereotypes. Agent: Yona Harvey, Upstart Crow Literary (May)
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Review by Library Journal Review
Famous for breaking the Watergate story with Bob Woodward, Bernstein backtracks to his early-1960s experiences as a teenage reporter at the Washington Star in Chasing History.
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Review by Kirkus Book Review
An engrossing memoir about growing up Black and gay and finding a place in the world. Structured around Gwendolyn Brooks' poem "We Real Cool," Broome's thought-provoking, emotional journey unfolds through a clever use of parallel stories and juxtaposition. Writing about an experience at a bus stop on "the Black end of town," where he watched a father berate his toddler son for crying, the author addresses his own upbringing with an abusive father whose "beatings were like lightning strikes. Powerful, fast, and unpredictable. He held his anger so tightly that, when it finally overtook him, the force was bone-shaking. He punched me like I was a grown-ass man." As a dark-skinned Black boy in Ohio, Broome's childhood was fraught with peril; at school, it was made abundantly clear that God "made white people and Black people and meant for us to stick to our own kind." His parents used shame and abuse to try and toughen him up, tactics the author describes in heart-wrenching detail. While watching the man on the bus, he realized that "what I am witnessing, is the playing out of one of the very conditions that have dogged my entire existence. This 'being a man' to the exclusion of all other things." Moving back and forth through time, Broome revisits similar scenes--e.g., punishment and rejection for not acting according to someone's expectations, halting attempts to express himself--and he interrogates his complicated relationship with his parents. In one particularly poignant passage, the author describes how he convinced his mother to buy him a girl's shirt at the store: "And from that day to this one, no one has ever looked at me like my mother did that day. It was pity mixed with worry for what was to come. It was the piping pink manifestation of all she had ever suspected." Beautifully written, this examination of what it means to be Black and gay in America is a must-read. A stellar debut memoir. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
