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According to the movies, lesbians and bisexuals are always falling in love in the summertime. Usually it’s a first love, and it often involves a multifaceted awakening of some sort. Of course, summer love is a longstanding literary trope that isn’t exclusive to queer women, but this is Paging Dr. Lesbian, and we’re laser-focused on the gays here. With the upcoming release of Hayley Kiyoko’s Girls Like Girls movie, which has all the makings of a lesbian summer classic, I thought I’d delve into the concept in the most literal sense.

According to my research, there are (at least) eight lesbian movies with “summer” in the title, which seems like a high number to me. Most — though not all — of the movies take place in the summertime, and all of them highlight the outdoors and the sunshine in a significant way. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend all of these, so I decided to rate them (out of ten sunshines) to give you an idea of how you might prioritize your summer watch list. Two of these I haven’t seen, but I’ve added them to the list for the sake of accuracy. I’ve also included a few honorable mentions that don’t technically fit the brief, but align with the overall theme. See if you notice how similar many of these plots are. Happy summer and happy Pride to all!

Not rated: Summer (2014)

Summer is a Dutch coming-of-age film that centers on 16-year-old Anne (Sigrid ten Napel). Anne lives in a small town beneath the shadow of a power plant, and yearns for something more. She gets her wish in the form of Lena (Jade Olieberg), a cool girl who wears leather and rides a motorcycle. Anne’s feelings for Lena create tension between her and her peers, but it also forces her to grow up. According to several reviews (of which there aren’t many), this film appears to feature sexual assault, so keep that in mind if you plan to watch it.

Where to watch: For rent on Fandago and Apple TV+ in the US

Not rated: Summer of Mesa (2020)

Summer of Mesa seems a little bit like a low-budget lesbian Call Me By Your Name, though undoubtedly not as good. Directed by a 20-year-old Josh Cox, the film takes place in 1985 Cape Cod. Lily (Molly Miles) is a 16-year-old girl who vacations on the Cape with her family. One auspicious summer, she meets Mesa (Andrea Granera), who turns her whole world around. Lily thinks there’s no one else on the planet like Mesa because she’s pretty and seems confident — a classic tale of lesbian first love.

Where to watch: For rent on Amazon Prime in the US

The Beautiful Summer (2023)

I’ve written about The Beautiful Summer before, but here’s a summary. Directed by Laura Luchetti, it follows 17-year-old Ginia (Yile Yara Vianello), who moves from the countryside to Turin, Italy, in 1938. While working as a dressmaker, Ginia meets Amelia (Deva Cassel), a gorgeous brunette who models for local painters. Ginia falls hard for Amelia, but Amelia is difficult to pin down. Ginia was once a studious worker and a devout daughter and sister, but her obsession with Amelia leads her to ignore her responsibilities. She’s also so in love with Amelia that she’s totally oblivious to the rise of fascism, which is starting to become a pretty big problem for some of Ginia’s neighbors.

The Beautiful Summer uses every trope in the lesbian movie book to tell its story, but none of it adds up to a film worth writing home about. Ginia is naive, Amelia worldly and attention-seeking, and together, they embody a dynamic we’ve seen many times before. In fact, most of the films on this list use similar tropes. There are some pleasant scenes involving swimming and frolicking in the countryside, but nothing particularly memorable.

Aesthetic appeal: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Good vibes: ☀️☀️☀️/10

Overall score: ☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Where to watch: Amazon Prime with a trial of Film Movement, for rent on Apple TV+, Fandango, YouTube, Google Play

My Summer of Love (2004)

Did you know that Emily Blunt’s first film role was in a lesbian movie directed by Oscar-winning Polish filmmaker Paweł Pawlikowski? It’s true. The film in question is My Summer of Love, which follows a mercurial teenage love affair in the Yorkshire countryside. Mona (Natalie Press) is a working-class girl living with her brother, Phil (Paddy Considine), who has just been released from prison and has found God while inside. Mona meets Tamsin (Blunt), a wealthy, rebellious young woman dying for attention.

The two form a close bond, and their connection eventually veers into toxic obsession. Phil reverts to his old ways, but Tamsin isn’t exactly trustworthy, either. Part innocent first love and part Heavenly Creatures, the movie is as volatile as their love affair, with some twists and turns that leave a sour taste in your mouth. Still, Emily Blunt fans will appreciate her alluring turn as a mean, spoiled lesbian horse girl, and there’s something interesting here about the restless afflictions of youth.

Aesthetic appeal: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Summer vibes: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Overall score: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Where to watch: For rent on Apple TV+, Amazon Prime, YouTube, etc. in the US

The Summer of Sangaile (2015)

The Summer of Sangaile is an odd movie, but it’s about teen lesbians, so it’s worth looking into. The Lithuanian film follows Sangailė (Julija Steponaityte), a 17-year-old who hopes to become a stunt pilot. Shy, withdrawn, and struggling with self-harm, Sangailė meets the exuberant Austė (Aistė Diržiūtė), who loves fashion. Sangailė’s piloting dreams are thwarted by her vertigo, which Austė tries to help her get over. Meanwhile, Sangailė models Austė’s creations.

This film about two eccentric young women is brought to life by dreamlike, at times sky-high (literally) cinematography that emphasizes the hazy, timeless nature of their summer love. Someone on Letterboxd wrote that this movie “feels like a lorde song,” which is an apt description. Nice to look at though light on plot, The Summer of Sangaile is mostly pleasant, if not entirely captivating.

Aesthetic appeal: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Summer vibes: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Overall score: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Where to watch: Tubi, for rent elsewhere in the US

Summertime (2015)

Summertime is a lesbian period piece about an alluring blonde woman named Carole, which some of you may appreciate. Known as La Belle Saison in French, a much more evocative (and accurate) title, the film follows Delphine (Izïa Higelin), a lesbian who lives on a farm in 1971. Tired of her life there, she moves to Paris, where she meets a feminist collective, including a woman named Carole (Cécile de France). Despite her political affiliations, Carole has a boyfriend, and is initially hesitant to accept Delphine’s advances. But the two women soon begin a relationship, and when Delphine has to return to her family farm after her father has a stroke, Carole joins her.

Living on the farm is hard for the pair, as Delphine must remain closeted there and Carole isn’t used to farm life. It becomes apparent that while Carole talks a big talk, Delphine may be the braver of the two women. Given that it’s a period piece, Summertime is not without complications, and there’s no easy, breezy ending to this story — summer doesn’t last forever, after all. But it’s beautifully shot, and features two great performances from the leads.

Aesthetic appeal: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Summer vibes: ☀️☀️☀️/10

Overall score: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Where to watch: Amazon Prime with a free trial of Strand Releasing, for rent on Apple TV+, Google Play, etc. in the US

My First Summer (2020)

My First Summer is a manic pixie dream girl story for the lesbian set, though it takes that archetype and grounds it in a darker reality. 16-year-old Claudia (Markella Kavenagh) lives in a remote house with her parents. One day, a strange girl named Grace (Maiah Stewardson) appears in her garden, seemingly with no parents and fearful of authority. Frankly, Grace is a bit feral, and Claudia introduces her to the comforts of the modern world, including candy bracelets and strawberry milk.

Their relationship turns romantic, though Grace’s troubled past comes back to haunt her. My First Summer is ultimately a very sweet movie, though it also features some serious themes. (Trigger warning for suicide in this one.) It might be a little too cute for some, but it manages to ground its overwhelmingly twee nature with some harsh reminders of reality.

Aesthetic appeal: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Summer vibes: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Overall score: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Where to watch: For rent on YouTube, Amazon Prime, Apple+ etc. in the US

Summerland (2020)

Summerland is far and away my favorite film on this summer list, and I’d definitely recommend a watch if you haven’t seen it. Gemma Arterton plays Alice, a reclusive folklore researcher who lives in a cottage above the sea in Kent. Harassed by the local children and rumored to be a witch, Alice is shocked to receive Frank (Lucas Bond), a young WWII evacuee from London. Alice has no desire to care for Frank, but no one else in town is available.

Alice slowly begins to warm to Frank, and we learn why she’s become such a cumeregon. She once had a great love in the form of a woman named Vera (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), but it didn’t work out. As Alice and Frank grow closer, Alice tells Frank the myth of Summerland, the pagan afterlife in the sky. Together, they may be able to re-write a happy ending.

Summerland is not totally a summer movie seasons-wise, though it is sunny for much of its runtime, a notable feat for rainy England. Most of the flashbacks of Alice and Vera have a distinctly golden, summer tinge, and Frank and Alice’s simultaneous growing up aligns in some ways with a classic summer narrative.

Aesthetic appeal: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Summer vibes: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Overall score: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Where to watch: Acorn TV, Roku, Amazon Prime (Acorn add-on), for rent on Apple TV+ in the US

Honorable mention: Cocoon (2020)

Though it doesn’t have summer in the title, Cocoon follows the formula of a lesbian summer coming-of-age film to a tee. Nora (Lena Urzendowsky) is a 14-year-old living in Berlin. Ignored by her mother and only tolerated by her older sister, Nora longs for connection. She finds it with Romy (Jella Haase), a cool girl at her school. Nora learns more about herself with Romy and starts to feel confident in her own skin for the first time.

The film is rambling and lacks structure, like many indie films set in the summertime, but it features some great performances and succeeds in conveying both the feeling of insecurity and the rush of first love.

Aesthetic appeal: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Summer vibes: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Overall score: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Where to watch: Amazon Prime with a free trial of Film Movement, for rent on YouTube, Google Play, Apple TV+ in the US

Honorable mention: Hearts Beat Loud (2018)

Hearts Beat Loud is my other favorite movie on this list. It’s a really sweet movie without too much tragedy, and it totally fits the summer theme. It also stars two out queer actors in the lead roles. Kiersey Clemons plays Sam, an 18-year-old spending her last summer in Red Hook, Brooklyn, before leaving for college. Her mom passed away, and she lives with her dad, Frank (Nick Offerman), who runs a record store. They make music together, and Frank wants them to start a band, but Sam is adamant about becoming a doctor. Meanwhile, Sam begins a relationship with a local girl named Rose (Sasha Lane). The cast also includes Toni Collette, Ted Danson, and Blythe Danner.

Hearts Beat Loud is a really warm film with great performances from Clemons and Offerman, who have wonderful chemistry as a father/daughter duo. The original songs in the movie are also really catchy. It’s a queer film where querness isn’t “the point,” which is refreshing in its own way. More of a coming-of-age story for Frank than for Sam, it hits all of the right notes for a summer watch.

Aesthetic appeal: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Summer vibes: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Overall score: ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️/10

Where to watch: Xumo Play, Tubi, Roku, Fandango, for rent on Apple TV+, Google Play, YouTube in the US

Results of last month’s poll: 78% of you have worn a carabiner! Let’s go, lesbians.

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The carabiner is an enduring symbol of lesbianism, affixed to Carhartt pants and baggy Levi’s for as long as anyone can remember. But where did this evocative accessory come from? And what does it mean today?

Like many aspects of lesbian style and culture, we can trace lesbians’ use of carabiners back to the mid-20th century, when it reflected the material conditions of the working class. In the 1940s and 1950s, many butch lesbians worked blue-collar jobs involving manual labor. This was the result of both the opening up of factory positions during WWII and the appeal of jobs that weren’t overtly feminine. As Christina Cauterucci writes in Slate, “without strict dress codes, women who worked as custodians, postal workers, and mechanics could stretch the boundaries of accepted gender presentations. They also needed easily accessible keys.”

Thus, carabiners emerged as a practical accessory for a portion of the lesbian workforce, one that was implicitly sanctioned by the gender-bending nature of their employment. This was an era in which butch and femme relationships were more than aesthetic choices; they were also economic imperatives, giving lesbian couples the means to pay their bills without the assistance of a man. Much of lesbian fashion, including carabeners, is at least partially the result of economic conditions.

What began as a functional adornment soon gained coded cultural connotations. For some, particularly those involved in the BDSM community, it became a symbol of “flagging,” indicating one’s sexual preference based on how it was worn. Wearing a carabiner on the left side means you’re a top, and on the right side means you’re a bottom. It’s often theorized, based on a gossipy piece in The Village Voice, that this carabiner code actually pre-dates the hanky code, in which gay men slip color-coded bandanas into their back pockets to communicate their sexual tastes.

Carabiners have since become a broader visual marker of lesbianism. In her excellent blog Dressing Dykes, Eleanor Medhurst writes that “clothes are an extension of the lesbian self, a conscious display (or, perhaps, a conscious veil). Because of this, the true question is not ‘what does a lesbian look like?’ but ‘what clothing is a lesbian signal?’” Carabiners have become lesbian signals, conveying unspoken messages. They have also aided in community formation. As Callen Zimmerman writes in Getting Located: Queer Semiotics in Dress, these fashion choices and aesthetic codes worked to “create an authentic lesbian sexuality appropriate to the flourishing of an independent lesbian culture.”

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Receiving these cultural messages can be impactful. In the 21st century, one of the most memorable carabiner references comes from Alison Bechdel’s 2006 graphic memoir Fun Home and the accompanying musical. In the memoir, she describes a powerful moment of recognition when, as a child, she sees a butch lesbian wearing a key ring in a diner. In the musical, this epiphanic moment becomes a song called “Ring of Keys,” in which the protagonist describes how she felt when she first recognized a lesbian in public. “[Key rings are] a phallic symbol—they’re all about potency, agency, capability,” Bechdel told Slate.

Though this history of carabiners isn’t widely known, the symbol has maintained its potency. Popular lesbian or lesbian-adjacent musical artists like MUNA, Towa Bird, and Sleater-Kinney have sold carabiners as merch, explicitly making these coded connections. Today, many associate carabiners with rock climbing, an activity popular amongst lesbians and bisexuals. While this connection doesn’t reflect the object’s cultural origins, it represents yet another instance of subcultural resonance.

This symbol is so powerful that it has persisted for several decades, even entering into the style codes of today’s Gen Z lesbians. The accessorized carabiner has taken on a new life on TikTok, where young adults are proudly showing off their gear. In particular, the femme carabiner has really taken off, including pink, heart-shaped carabiners. “POV: you’re a femme lesbian who wants to signal other gays without changing how you dress,” reads the text on a video depicting a lesbian with a carabiner clipped to her purse. “Wanted a way to signal that im lesbian so i a got a carabiner,” says a TikToker showing us her carabiner with a pink Tamagochi and lip gloss attached to it. Another user sells carabiners with charms on them, while others have used carabiners as a starting point for crafting projects.

Some younger folks have discovered the history of lesbian flagging via these TikTok videos. One popular lesbian TikToker with 1.7 million followers made a video referencing the carabiner hanky code, joking that you can hook the carabiner directly in the middle of your pants if you’re “vers.” It has entered fandom spaces as well. An X user created a thread imagining which carabiners the women on The Pitt would wear based on the vibes they give off. In a chapter in Queering Desire: Lesbians, Gender, and Subjectivity, Eleanor Medhurst discusses modern-day lesbians’ nostalgic interest in our cultural histories. She asks, “How better to translate a lesbian past into the present and the personal than to use clothing, accessories, and symbolism?”

Though a fandom-brained post about carabiners may not be the cultural stewardship our lesbian ancestors would have wanted, the carabiner’s digital footprint is worth noting. As Krista Brunton writes in a 2016 New York Times article titled “Lesbians Invented Hipsters,” there was a time when lesbians started to become invisible. “Since you now all wear carabiners as key chains, we lesbians no longer have any private signals to each other. We’re all screwed, except none of us are, because we can’t find one another anymore,” she jokes (semi-seriously).

So-called lesbian style has never been more mainstream than it is today (apart from, perhaps, during the ‘90s grunge era), yet it’s clear the carabiner has retained its prized cultural status as a lesbian object. It has utility, it has style, and it can exist anywhere on the spectrum between subtlety and swagger. These kinds of codes, style choices, and inside jokes are precisely what make up a robust subculture. The carabiner carries even more weight than advertised.

Have you ever incorporated carabiners into your personal style? Worn them for strictly practical purposes? Let me know in the comments below.

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Last month, a nasty rumor spread around the lawless social media platform known as X. According to a series of increasingly distraught posts, the new film Mother Mary, starring Anne Hathaway and Michaela Coel, isn’t actually gay. “just found out from oomf mother mary isn’t even gay like the characters are supposed to be best friends and not exes. I’m gonna throw up. I’ve been waiting for this movie for YEARS this is the worst day of my life,” wrote one user.

Many folks responded to posts like this with outrage, claiming they felt “baited” because marketing materials made it seem as though the two protagonists had a romantic relationship. Several X users noted that the film’s official description seems to have changed over time, at one point referring to the characters as exes and later as former best friends. In one trailer for the film, their relationship is left ambiguous, though it does include a moment between Anne Hathaway and FKA Twigs where it looks like they’re about to kiss. To be fair to the marketing department and the film’s cast, it’s difficult to describe the film in a way that entices people without giving too much away — though what is there to give away, exactly?

In many ways, this discourse recalls the online discussion about Forbidden Fruits, which I wrote about several weeks ago. Notably, none of these indignant X users had actually seen the movie when they made these posts, and one user even rescinded their claim after watching the film themselves.

These disapproving posts didn’t go unrefuted. “Every single person who said this wasn’t gay watched this movie with their eyes completely shut and with noise cancelling headphones on. #STOPMISINFORMATION,” one user wrote. “Mother Mary is a very gay film. This shit is subtext heaven,” wrote another.

Critics didn’t agree about the nature of Mother Mary (Hathaway) and Sam’s (Michaela Cole) relationship either. Writing in The Film Stage, Jourdain Searles calls Sam “a woman haunted by love, her passion fueled by sustained, aching heartbreak,” and notes that “Though it’s never spoken, the queerness of [Director David] Lowery’s film is unmistakable.” On the other hand, IndieWire’s David Ehrlich writes, “You get the sense that all of her songs [...] are fundamentally about her friend break-up with Sam, even if they resonate with her fans on much different and more romantic terms.” In Rolling Stone, David Fear describes Mother Mary as Sam’s “ex-employer and close companion.”

So what is the truth? Mother Mary is a legendary pop diva returning to the stage after a breakdown of sorts. Sam is Mary’s ex-fashion designer and ex…something. Mary comes to Sam because she needs a new dress, and their years of history create a fraught environment filled with ghosts (literal and figurative) and hurt feelings. Most of the film is a two-hander, as Sam and Mary attempt to work it out on the remix through some extremely barbed words and a bloody seance. The intensity of their feelings is immediately apparent, and as one X user wrote, “The movie doesn’t even make sense if they’re not in love/hate with one another.”

Indeed, Mother Mary is a gay film, but not in a yaaas, queen! sort of way. It’s a gay in a demented, broody, lesbian sort of way. Their visceral emotional intensity, their deep wounds, their transcendence of the corporeal form, their shared haunting, even the unspoken nature of their relationship – these are all very lesbian-coded elements. The movie emphasizes queerness as a narrative framework, reveling in ambiguity and multiplicity, while lesbianism serves as an emotional anchor.

Still, the film may have benefited from more specificity and detail. It would have been enriching to learn more about who Mother Mary is, as a person, and as an artist. What’s her relationship to fame, and to this persona she created? Why did she end things with Sam, and where does the music fit in? How does race factor into their dynamic? The metaphors are grand and evocative, but the characters could have used some fleshing out.

This back-and-forth on X reflects the increasingly literal, black-and-white way people discuss film and other media, particularly in online spaces. Using words like “canonically” and “explicitly” to describe a character’s identity or the nature of their feelings elides the nuance and allegory that many of the best films traffic in. Mother Mary is comprised almost entirely of metaphors, making those terms irrelevant. The movie is more interested in symbolism than it is in reflecting reality. Refraction, maybe, but not reflection.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing that people want to experience films via their own experiences or understanding of the world. That’s a matter of human nature. But this film requires attention to symbols and metaphor, and a kind of surrender to ambiguity that can be hard to concede. Mother Mary leaves the viewer with much to chew on, and the gays are hungry.

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Open the window and stick your head out — can you hear that? It’s the sound of a million lesbians screaming into the void. Today marks the final day of Lesbian Visibility Week, a time when lesbians celebrate themselves, each other, and raise awareness of issues facing the community. You may have seen folks posting about it online, but do you know anything about its history?

As far as we can tell, the first Lesbian Visibility Week in the United States took place in West Hollywood in 1990. Co-founded by the West Hollywood Lesbian Visibility Committee and the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Center, the week was “a combination of cultural programming, workshops addressing current and impending needs, awards ceremonies, and social events.” Lesbian Visibility Week continued to be celebrated in Southern California for several years, but it didn’t gain national traction until the 2000s. (New Zealand and Canada supposedly held Lesbian Visibility Weeks as early as the 1980s.)

In 2008, activist Amy Ellis is said to have started the annual observation of Lesbian Visibility Day on April 26, though we have little evidence from this period. In its modern iteration, Lesbian Visibility Week was founded by Linda Riley, publisher of the UK’s DIVA magazine, in 2020. Riley came to the conclusion that lesbians needed more than a single day to celebrate and be visible. She was also concerned about the negative connotations surrounding the term ‘lesbian’ and assumptions about inclusivity. Speaking with The Advocate in 2022, Riley explained,

“I had noticed that more and more, the L in LGBTQ+ was becoming particularly marginalized. I am a proud cis lesbian and a proud trans ally. But many in the LGBTQ+ community were beginning to equate cis lesbians with transphobes, which is fundamentally untrue. I wanted to help create a narrative that shows once and for all that the vast majority of cis lesbians are inclusive. We are intersectional. We want to remove any negative connotations associated with that word. So this is why during Lesbian Visibility Week we celebrate and center all lesbians, both cis and trans, while also showing solidarity with all LGBTQ+ women and nonbinary people.”

In North America, Lesbian Visibility Week is sponsored by organizations like the Curve Foundation, an offshoot of Curve Magazine, as well as GLAAD. The theme for 2026 is Health and Wellbeing. “Our aims remain clear: to build public understanding of LGBTQIA+ women and non-binary people’s lives, to increase lesbian visibility and to create a legacy that benefits our community everywhere,” read the official Lesbian Visibility Week website.

Lesbian Visibility is celebrated in a myriad of ways. Curve Magazine publishes the Curve Power List, which honors influential lesbians in fields like STEM, entertainment, activism, and sports. In 2023, Lesbian Visibility Week made it to the White House, as The L Word stars Leisha Hailey, Jennifer Beals, Katherine Moennig, along with L Word creator Ilene Chaiken, joined press secretary Karine Jean-Pierre for a special press briefing. Unsurprisingly, the White House has not acknowledged Lesbian Visibility Week this year.

Though you may be primarily aware of it via online posts, Lesbian Visibility Week sponsors virtual and in-person events across North America and the UK. Events include a Queer Women in Sports Day, a lesbian speaker series, flag-raising ceremonies, an Earth Day Salt Marsh walk in Provincetown, a queer women’s history walk in the Castro district, a sound bath in Lily Dale, NY, a lesbian arm wrestling competition in Portland, OR, and The Great Lesbian Pie Eating Contest in Winnipeg.

Of course, most lesbians celebrate Lesbian Visibility Week by posting about it on the internet. On X, one user uploaded an iconic clip from The L Word depicting Jenny and Alice’s argument about artistic license and Monet, among other things. “lets celebrate amazing lesbian writing on our visibility week,” they wrote. A number of folks took the opportunity to post photos of themselves and/or their girlfriends/spouses. Others bemoaned the tragedy of celebrating Lesbian Visibility Week without a girlfriend. MUNA’s Katie Gavin celebrated lesbian visibility by posting nudes on main. On Bluesky, many users posted NSFW artwork or furry-related content to promote visibility.

Considering the centrality of fandom on social media platforms like X, it’s not surprising that many users celebrated Lesbian Visibility Week by shouting out their favorite fictional characters or couples. “Happy lesbian visibility week to them” or “happy lesbian visibility week to her” were common refrains as fans posted their favorite lesbian or lesbian-coded media. Posts included characters from Pluribus, 9-1-1, Adventuretime, Arcane, Agatha All Along, The Pitt, and House of the Dragon, to name only a few. Others interpreted lesbian visibility differently, such as the fan who posted a series of photos of Taylor Swift wearing the colors of the lesbian flag or the fan who posted a photo of someone holding up a “Lesbians for Louis” flag in front of former One Direction member Louis Tomlinson.

On Threads, a debate erupted about language. Some users posted lists of books to read for Lesbian Visibility Week, and others noted that some of these books — included under the broad umbrella of “sapphic book recs” — didn’t feature any lesbian main characters. Several users got annoyed about the concept of “sapphic book recommendations” during Lesbian Visibility Week because of how it contributed to lesbian erasure, while others took umbrage with lesbians not wanting to be called sapphic, claiming they were being exclusionary.

Clearly, queer language remains a hotly contested subject online, though one wonders if such debates would ever occur IRL, such as at a lesbian pie-eating contest, for example. Ironically, both the meaning and the origins of Lesbian Visibility Week lack visibility, though this isn’t surprising considering the myopic, often ahistorical nature of the internet. Being a lesbian means different things to different people, and visibility is a slippery subject. Watching gay movies or going on gay walks means being visible to some, while others stare longingly at their phones. It’s all equally lesbian.

How did you celebrate Lesbian Visibility Week? If you could plan any event for Lesbian Visibility Week, what would it be? Let me know in the comments.

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Forbidden Fruits is a film that wears its references on its sleeve. Directed by Meredith Alloway and based on a stage play by Lily Houghton, it follows four young women who work at a clothing store in a mall. Apple (Lili Reinhart), the ringleader of the group, runs Free Eden like she’s in the Navy alongside her two disciples, Cherry (Victoria Pedretti) and Fig (Alexandra Shipp). When a new girl, Pumpkin (Lola Tung), starts working at the store, they adopt her into their witchy cult.

The film, which Diablo Cody produced, was inspired by Jennifer’s Body, the queer cult classic that satirizes girlhood as a demonic hellscape. Mean Girls is another clear inspiration (Forbidden Fruits was actually filmed in the Mean Girls mall), with its cliquish attitudes and quotable catchphrases. The film’s witchy elements harken back to The Craft, in which magic is both a metaphor for power and an entry point for twisted sisterhood. Forbidden Fruits cleverly updates these references for the 2020s, creating a compelling visual and linguistic landscape that resonates on the big screen as much as it does in TikTok edits.

Reviews have been mixed, though trending positive. Chris Azzopardi of The New York Times decried its “vibes-only pastiche,” while Variety’s Owen Gleiberman called it an “agreeably sharp-witted black-as-midnight comedy.” In IndieWire, Alison Foreman looked at the film from another angle, questioning its marketing as an “instant cult classic.” She argues that the phrase is a “contradiction in terms,” because films only emerge as cult classics over time, after an initial period of misunderstanding or a lackluster box office performance. She also makes a salient point about expectations, noting that “When female-driven, queer-coded, or subculture-centered stories are immediately framed as ‘cult,’ it can also imply an invisible ceiling.”

We could discuss the meaning of a cult classic further, but we have more pressing matters to attend to. Namely, one very important question: Is the movie gay? After we saw the film, a friend sent me a TikTok that said “there is no scissoring in forbidden fruits i repeat there is NO scissoring in forbidden fruits” set to sad SpongeBob music. Commenters were dismayed, to say the least. “truly devastating news thank you for informing us.” “literally what do i do now.” “then what’s the point.” “will not be watching then, thanks!”

There is indeed no scissoring in Forbidden Fruits, and any explicit queerness is minimal. But fans’ hope that Forbidden Fruits would be queer didn’t come from nowhere. In fact, the film’s official Instagram account posted a video of Reinhart and Pedretti almost kissing, only for Pedretti to pull away and mouth to an audio clip saying “you’re gay.” “go see forbidden fruits this weekend for more of this,” the captain reads. Sadly, there is not much “more of this” in the film.

Initially, Forbidden Fruits seems to imply an undercurrent of queer flirtation between Fig and Pumpkin. Fig is immediately taken with Pumpkin, and the two share a sweet kinship. However, the flirtation goes nowhere, and Fig’s secret boyfriend becomes problematic. Apple and Cherry have their own unique dynamic. Apple keeps Cherry on a tight leash, maintaining her sobriety and admonishing her for her “main character” energy. Later in the film, Apple suddenly kisses Cherry, but Cherry pushes her away. We might assume that Apple has been harboring secret queer feelings for Cherry, but it’s never explored any further. (Later events indicate that Apple’s care for Cherry only goes so far.)

Let’s compare it to some of its references. In Jennifer’s Body, Needy (Amanda Seyfried) and Jennifer’s (Megan Fox) friendship is clearly homoerotic. Lines like Jennifer’s “God, you’re butch,” and their sexually charged kiss illustrate a strong undercurrent of sexual tension that runs through the entire film. In this case, these protagonists’ “complicated female friendship” includes gay feelings. Forbidden Fruits, on the other hand, only briefly stokes this possibility. Reflecting the adolescent language of its era, in Mean Girls, being called a lesbian is an insult. The reboot tries to move past this high school prejudice, with mixed results. Meanwhile, in The Craft, queerness is reserved for outsiders and weirdos.

Despite the ambiguous, often toxic nature of their relationship, some sapphic viewers have latched on to the pairing between Apple and Cherry, creating shaky fancams of their most dramatic moments. Pedretti’s loyal queer following, thanks to her roles in projects like The Haunting of Hill House and The Haunting of Bly Manor, certainly adds to the excitement. But while Apple (and perhaps Cherry) being queer is an intriguing angle, it doesn’t feel earned, and the kiss fails to leave a major impact. It feels more like these are bits of queerness sprinkled in for fun, rather than a part of the movie’s fabric.

In an interview with Variety, director Meredith Alloway argued that while Apple may seem like the antagonist, it was the patriarchy all along. “The villain is expectations of women,” she explained. “It’s capitalist systems. It’s quite literally the mall itself.” Her point is well-taken, but one wonders if this argument could have been strengthened if the film had deigned to critique the institution of heterosexuality as well, through a more explicit introduction of queerness. The film does a good job pulling its references into the 2020s, using Gen Z slang without it sounding cringe. But I’m left considering what it might have looked like had it included the concept of comphet (or compulsory heterosexuality), an internet-era expression of a Second Wave term. Putting queerness more squarely in the text could have pulled the film further into the future.

Still, though the aforementioned TikTok commenters might believe otherwise, the lack of scissoring in Forbidden Fruits doesn’t ruin the movie. It’s a good movie! The script is sharp and witty, the smart production design and costuming provide some amazing world-building, and the acting is top-notch. Reinhart and Pedretti are particularly impressive. Reinhart’s glacial gaze is deliciously cutting, and she pulls off the film’s biggest tonal swings. Pedretti makes her bimbo-esque character not only the funniest part of the film, but also gives her emotional depth. It’s a shame the film didn’t put queerness in the forefront (in a departure from its mostly queer-coded references), but an hour or two of laughs is worth a lot these days.

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Despite the homophobic and transphobic environments in which many of them were produced, the cross-dressing film is a mainstay of American cinema. She’s the Man, Yentil, Mulan, and Some Like It Hot are a few popular examples of the medium’s interest in the cross-dressing farce. Genre differences aside, these films tend to follow a similar plot, in which anomalies that arise due to gender-bending are smoothed over, and heterosexuality is affirmed (to varying degrees of believability). The 1935 film Sylvia Scarlett stands out not because it flouts these conventions, exactly, but because it tries to follow them – and fails. The film’s characters bring up questions that the film is unable or unwilling to answer. While this is true to some degree in most cross-dressing films, Sylvia Scarlett emerges as a particularly queer failure.

Sylvia Scarlett stars Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant in their first of four collaborations. It was directed by George Cukor, one of ten movies he made with Hepburn (following the 1933 hit Little Women). Hepburn and Grant starred in the film before they had really become the stars we know them as today — Grant hadn’t yet perfected his Cary Grant persona, and Hepburn was just beginning to set the world on fire. Notably, Cukor was a gay man, and Grant and Hepburn have long been rumoured to be queer, which only adds to the film’s queer resonances. (The trio’s second collaboration, Holiday, is their best, and is also very queer.)

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Sylvia Scarlett starts with a prologue that was added after the fact. The film’s original screenwriter, John Collier, wanted to begin the film with Hepburn’s character already masquerading as a man, but studio execs balked at this radical idea, so Cukor added the shmaltzy prologue and inexplicable ending. We meet Sylvia (Hepburn) and her father, Henry (Edmund Gwenn), following the death of Sylvia’s mother. Henry has gambled away all of their money, and decides to travel from Marseilles to London, smuggling an expensive piece of lace in his suit. Sylvia insists on going with him, and resolves to pose as Henry’s imaginary son, Sylvester, so as not to arouse suspicion. She chops off her long braids, coifs her hair, dons a suit, and we’re off. Before we continue, know this: Katherine Hepburn looks very, very good dressed as a young man. She has an appealing Peter Pan air to her, and her floppy hair and boyish demeanor recall a young Leonardo DiCaprio, maybe even James Dean.

Despite the assistance of his new hot son, Henry’s plan goes awry when a charming conman with a cockney accent, Jimmy Monkley (Grant), tips off authorities. The trio work things out (after Sylvester punches Jimmy in the face, which he can do now, as a man) and begin working as scammers in London. Sylvester keeps messing up the scams, so when they meet Maudie (Dennie Moore), a maid with showbiz dreams, they decide to leave town and work as a traveling troupe of entertainers. The reasons for this are never really explained.

Even though it’s no longer necessary (was it ever?), Sylvester keeps up the farce, which leads to some awkward scenarios typical of the cross-dressing film. After drawing a mustache on Sylvester’s face with a pencil, Maudie plants a big kiss on his lips. Sylvester is very upset by this and flees at once. Moments later, Sylvester encounters Jimmy in his caravan and learns they’re meant to be bunking together. Jimmy takes off his shirt to reveal his very manly chest, and quips, “It’s a bit nippy tonight, you’ll make a proper hot water bottle.” Jimmy’s gay joke also freaks Sylvester out, and he vacates the caravan so fast he almost trips over his feet. It’s hard work being such a pretty boy — everyone wants you.

Meanwhile, a handsome painter named Michael Fane (Brian Aherne) invites the troupe to his party, and Sylvester is immediately taken with him. Michael experiences some queer feelings as well. Unfortunately, Michael’s conniving ex, Lily (Natalie Paley), some sort of Russian heiress, arrives in town and sows the seeds of chaos. But Michael and Sylvester still get to have their moment, as Sylvester literally climbs in through Michael’s window to visit him that night — very Romeo of him. Michael, still trying to work out why he’s having some gay rumblings in his tummy, proclaims, “I know what it is that gives me a queer feeling when I see you. There’s something in you to be painted.”

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Though the plot is quite rambling, it’s a delight to watch Hepburn perform as Sylvester, and the film crashes and burns once the ruse is up. When Sylvia visits Michael in a sundress and hat she stole from some poor woman at the beach, Michael is overcome with laughter. So he’s not gay, it was all a silly lark! He makes fun of her because she doesn’t know how to act like a girl — when he tries to kiss her, she hits him instead of demurely turning her head. Despite his overjoyed reaction to her “true” gender, Michael seems less interested in Sylvia as a girl. He quickly takes Lily back when she comes knocking, ignoring Sylvia’s brokenhearted reaction. Lily, however, thinks Sylvia makes an adorable girl, and kisses her on the cheek to show her affection.

At this point, the film has an identity crisis of its own. Michael Koresky, an expert on queer cinema of the golden age, describes the tonal whiplash like this: “the film begins as something like a prestige costume melodrama before sojourning in the realm of poetic realism then diving back into screwball comedy before submerging itself abruptly into tragedy and going back to farce.” Indeed, after Sylvia leaves Michael in tears, we’re plunged into a noir, wherein two characters die by or attempt suicide following romantic disasters. When Michael and Sylvia reunite, the screwball joviality returns.

The last twenty or thirty minutes of Sylvia Scarlett are nonsensical and majorly disappointing. In a review of the film, Time wrote that “Sylvia Scarlett reveals the interesting fact that Katharine Hepburn is better looking as a boy than as a woman,” which could easily be read as an insult. Of course, contemporary queer viewers are unlikely to view this fact as a negative, but it does, in part, account for the film’s failure.

Sylvia Scarlett was a flop, losing RKO thousands of dollars and tanking Hepburn’s career, at least temporarily. Audiences at the time were unable to deal with the film’s queer elements. According to TCM, during a test screening, “when the seductive maid kissed Hepburn, three quarters of the audience walked out.” To be fair to these viewers, it’s a very confusing movie, and it still doesn’t work today – just for different reasons.

To put it simply, Hepburn is a little too convincing as Sylvester. It’s clear that she — both the character of Sylvia and Hepburn herself — has a lot of fun behaving like a boy, jumping out of windows, doing somersaults, and embodying an acrobatic, lithe manner that actually feels a little Cary Grant-ish. The freewheeling nature of the film works during these portions because Sylvester’s vagabond attitude mirrors the plot.

When Sylvester becomes Sylvia again, her girlishness seems much more of a performance than her boyhood did. While some of this is written into the script, it’s impossible not to think of Hepburn’s famously androgynous persona here. In 1981, the trousers-loving actress told Barbara Walters, “I put on pants 50 years ago and declared a sort of middle road. I have not lived as a woman. I have lived as a man.” Hepburn’s performance as Sylvia, both at the beginning of the film and the end, is off-puttingly dainty. She puts on a soft, breathy voice and makes herself small. Sylvester also appears diminutive next to a much taller Grant, but his stature is endearingly boyish, in a twinky heartthrob sort of way. When Sylvester becomes Sylvia, we immediately mourn his loss.

Consider the similarities between Sylvia Scarlett and other cross-dressing movies. She’s The Man features the typical queer diversions, as Viola-as-Sebastian (Amanda Bynes) has a crush on Duke (Channing Tatum) when she’s a boy, while Olivia (Laura Ramsey) likes a boy who’s really a girl. It all works out in the end, of course, as Duke sees Viola for who she really is and we’re reminded that Viola never wanted to be a boy at all –she just wanted to play soccer.

Sylvia Scarlett probably has more in common with Mulan, in which the title character, who had a terrible time living as a woman, becomes increasingly comfortable living as a man, and the “outing” scene is legitimately upsetting. By the end, with her mid-length haircut, there’s something a little non-binary about Mulan, and she seems to have reconciled her two gendered selves better than some of her cross-dressing contemporaries.

Billy Wilder’s Some Like It Hot has the most radical ending out of any of these films, and is basically pro-trans. Out of the two protagonists, Jack Lemon’s Daphne appears most comfortable being a woman, celebrating her engagement to millionaire Osgood (Joe E. Brown) before realizing the predicament she’s in. In the very last moment of the film, Daphne takes off her wig and says, “I’m a man,” and Osgood responds, “Well, nobody’s perfect!” Daphne’s gender farce is only revealed to her paramour in the last 15 seconds of the film, and there is no real reversal or return to normal.

In Sylvia Scarlett, Katherine Hepburn’s Sylvester is too winsome for his own good. He doesn’t get to be a sports star like in She’s The Man, or save the nation as in Mulan — he’s just a boy who wants to be loved. When the film tries to reverse the queer course it’s been set on, everything falls apart. Confusingly, the film is both very queer and quite conventional, with the latter being a consequence of the former. The movie is unable to tie up the loose threads of Sylvia/Sylvester’s gender journey, and it was a mistake to try. You can’t put the boy back in the box.

Have you seen Sylvia Scarlett? What are your favorite – or least favorite – “cross-dressing” films? Let me know in the comments below.

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It’s all about casting news this week. First, and most excitingly, Kristen Stewart has been cast as Sally Ride in an upcoming Prime Video series. I loved the documentary Sally about the famous (lesbian) astronaut, and I think this is great casting — a lesbian icon playing a lesbian icon. Reneé Rapp is set to star in Season 5 of The Morning Show, the Apple TV+ series that has, as far as I can tell, increasingly gone off the rails. This is Rapp’s first role in two years, since she starred in Mean Girls and The Sex Lives of College Girls. Controversy has erupted following the news that The Last of Us has cast a cis girl to play the role of a trans boy in the upcoming season. The character in question is Lev, a 13-year-old trans boy and Abby’s (Kaitlyn Dever) main companion. If you have thoughts about this news, feel free to sound off in the comments below.

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The Oscars weren’t particularly gay this year, but the queers showed up on the red carpet and at choice moments throughout the ceremony. Two People Exchanging Saliva tied for Best Short Film, which is exciting because it’s a sapphic love story. (Luàna Bajrami from Portrait of a Lady on Fire is one of its stars.) One Battle After Another editor Andy Jurgensen won the Oscar and thanked his partner on stage, to the delight of queer viewers everywhere. Queer musician Brittany Howard performed with the cast of Sinners.

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Happy almost-spring! I’m here with another roundup of book recommendations for you. There is no particular theme to this list, and there is a broad range of genres represented here, so hopefully you can find something that appeals to you. Many of these books are queer in some way, which I’ve noted in the descriptions. Reading is good for you, and it makes your brain feel good! We should all be doing it as much as we can. Let me know if you’ve read any of these books in the comments below.

Monstrilio by Gerardo Sámano Córdova

(Literary fiction, horror, magical realism)

I received this book as a Christmas present, and it was a total delight (in a freaky sort of way). The novel follows parents Magos and Joseph as they grieve the loss of their son, Santiago. Unable to accept his absence, Magos removes a piece of Santiago’s lung and, following instructions from an old folk tale, feeds and cares for it until it becomes a sentient being. As this monster grows into a boy, and later a man, Magos, Joseph, and their best friend Lena, struggle to curb his monstrous impulses while still loving him as their child.

Monstrilio is a wildly original novel that borrows from classic Gothic literature like Frankenstein to create something brand new. An evocative meditation on the meaning of family and what it takes to be human, the book is at once heartbreaking and hopeful. Read if you like magical realism mixed with literary horror.

Is it gay? Yes, most of the main characters are queer.

Bog Queen by Anna North

(Fiction, mystery, ecology, history)

Anna North’s Bog Queen is a time-hopping story that tackles the tension between culture, identity, and land. Agnes is an American anthropologist doing her postdoc in England. When a body is discovered in a bog, Agnes learns that the woman lived over 2,000 years ago. The mossy bog has preserved her body and left evidence of how she lived.

The book follows two timelines: that of Agnes and her search for the truth about the mystery woman, and the bog queen herself, a Celtic druid confronting the influence of the Roman Empire. In the present day, Anges must contend with what her work means for the environment and the local community, as environmental activists work to protect the bog and its natural resources and developers make plans to destroy it.

Agnes — brilliant but naive, someone with good intentions who often struggles to connect with others — makes for a compelling protagonist, and her Celtic counterpart mirrors Agnes’ modern concerns in a profound way. A slow-burning mystery more concerned with personal epiphanies than definitive answers, Bog Queen is an invigorating read.

Is it gay? One of the side characters is queer.

The Wilderness by Angela Flournoy

(Literary fiction, friendship)

The Wilderness is a big, bold, brilliant novel about friendship and growing up. It follows four black women as they muddle through their twenties in New York and Los Angeles and grow into middle age. Desiree has a fraught family history and tends to keep people at arm’s length. January feels bored by her relationship until a surprise pregnancy shakes things up. Monique goes from librarian to influencer after a viral moment, and Nakia is an aspiring restaurateur navigating familial and community expectations.

As the four friends age, life takes them in unexpected directions, and their relationships come apart and come back together as the years go by. It’s a stunning work from Angela Flournoy, and the book’s journey is both briefly shocking and heartbreakingly inevitable. The last fifteen pages or so truly took my breath away.

Is it gay? Yes, one of the protagonists is queer.

Spectacular Things by Beck Dorey-Stein

(Fiction, family, love, soccer)

On the surface, Spectacular Things appears to be a sort of “beach read” (it is a Reese’s Book Club pick, after all), but that doesn’t quite capture the book’s expansiveness. It follows the soccer-loving Lowe family, headed by Liz, a single mom who had her first daughter, Mia (named after Mia Hamm), when she was just a teenager. Liz was a soccer phenom headed for the big leagues when she got pregnant with Mia, and she gave it all up to start a family. Mia and her younger sister, Cricket, were raised to be soccer players, though Cricket emerges as the star, and all of Mia and Liz’s resources are diverted to her success.

Broadly, the book explores the sacrifices we make for family and the joy and pain of having a Big Dream. Liz is a kooky single mom that fans of Gilmore Girls will surely appreciate, and the soccer plot will appeal to fans of women’s sports. Despite the hardships these characters face and the book’s length, it’s a fairly breezy read with heartwarming moments mixed in with its tragedy. Satisfyingly sentimental.

Is it gay? Yes, one of the main characters is gay. I’ll leave it to you to figure out which one, but you’ll probably be able to guess as you read.

Audition by Katie Kitamura

(Cerebral literary fiction)

I don’t quite know how to describe Katie Kitamura’s Audition; it’s a book that resists definition. Moreover, I don’t want to say too much about it, because its narrative leaps deserve to be experienced without warning. The novel follows an unnamed actress preparing for an upcoming stage play. She meets a young man who, had things worked out differently, could have been her son. What follows is a haunting take on identity and relationships without any easy conclusions. If provocative character studies that leave you with more questions than answers are your jam, pick this one up.

Is it gay? No.

The Safekeep by Yael van der Wouden

(Fiction, suspense, romance)

I want to start by thanking the reader who suggested I read this a few months ago — you were right! Yael van der Wouden’s The Safekeep is a matryoshka doll sort of novel. Set in 1960s Netherlands, the book follows Isabel, a young woman who lives alone in her family home following the death of her mother. Isabel dislikes most other people and lives a life of solitude, obsessing over her routine and the upkeep of her house. When her brother Louis asks Isabel if his girlfriend, Eva, can stay with her while he’s out of town, Isabel is taken aback, but has no choice but to acquiesce.

Isabel behaves coldly toward Eva and is quite mean-spirited, though Eva’s annoyingly cheerful demeanor remains constant. As the two women spend more time together, long-held beliefs are upended, perspectives shift, and the past arrives to haunt the present. An unpredictable love story, a quiet thriller, and an incisive family history, The Safekeep is a must-read.

Is it gay? Yep.

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling

(Thriller, atmospheric horror, sci-fi, dystopian)

Caitlin Starling’s The Luminous Dead reminded me of the Alien universe by way of The Descent, and if that sounds interesting to you, I think you’ll love this book. It takes place in a not-so-distant future wherein humanity has colonized the solar system, but class inequality remains — and has gotten worse, even. Some planets are wealthy, while others are populated by destitute workers with no means of upward mobility.

Our protagonist, Gyre Price, is from one of these destitute planets, and works as a caver — essentially spelunking on behalf of corporations — to claw her way out of poverty. Her current expedition is shrouded in mystery, and her only contact with the outside world is her above-ground handler, Em, who refuses to tell her what she’s looking for. As Gyre drops deeper beneath the ground, things start going haywire, and she wonders if she’s really alone down there.

The Luminous Dead is a wonderfully atmospheric novel, generating tension based on what’s just out of view. With only two characters and a dark, subterranean setting, the book does a lot with very little. It’s not gory or violent, but it is tautly written and deliciously spooky, which makes it hard to put down.

Is it gay? Yes, it is.

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Is a River Alive? by Robert Macfarlane

(Non-fiction, nature)

Is a River Alive? is a stunning work of nonfiction that explores humanity’s fundamental connection to nature. In an effort to understand our relationship with rivers and their importance to the functioning of our lives and this planet, naturalist Robert Macfarlane traveled to rivers across the globe, in Ecuador, Canada, and India, and spoke with the people who have pledged their lives to protect them. He explores the Rights of Nature movement and the effort to define rivers as living entities enshrined with the rights of personhood.

Is a River Alive? is a gorgeous book written with thoughtful, poetic prose, posing some of the most important questions of our time. Read this if you’re a nature lover, and if you’re not a nature lover, read it too, and maybe you’ll become one.

Is it gay? Well, no. But who am I to tell a river how it identifies?

Play You For It by Samantha Saldivar

(Romance)

Samantha Saldivar’s Play Your For It is a sports romance where neither of the protagonists actually play sports. We follow Jordan D’Amato, a former WNBA player named head coach of a college basketball team in Oregon. Jordan struggles to deal with the pressure of being the first of her kind and leading her team to a much-needed victory. Caroline Beck is a sports journalist tired of being underestimated by her male colleagues. Jordan’s rise to the top is the perfect story for Caroline, but will their personal relationship get in the way of their jobs?

Spoiler alert: yes, yes, it will. But that’s okay! This is a romance novel, so all problems can be overcome. I appreciated that this felt like an adult romance novel, with characters who care about their jobs and have responsibilities outside of romantic partnerships. The dynamic between the two characters is fun, and I enjoyed how ambitious they both are. Saldivar works in broadcast news and was a sports journalist herself, so the workplace elements are particularly strong.

Is it gay? Well, yes.

Somebody Is Walking on Your Grave: My Cemetery Journeys by Mariana Enriquez

(Gothic non-fiction)

Mariana Enriquez is one of our greatest living horror authors, and her new nonfiction book, Somebody Is Walking on Your Grave: My Cemetery Journeys, is even better than I had hoped. The book is exactly like it sounds: Enriquez shares her experiences visiting cemeteries around the world. In a less talented writer’s hands, this premise might feel derivative. But Enriquez is so tirelessly curious, empathetic, and a little (or a lot) freaky, that her experiences in these graveyards take on profound meaning.

With each graveyard Enriquez visits, over the course of several decades, she tells us how and why she ended up there, what was going on in her life at the time, and the many odd and unbelievable stories housed within its gates. Unapologetically macabre and more personal than Enriquez’s previous work, Somebody Is Walking on Your Grave is a riveting journey through many dark and buried histories.

Is it gay? Not particularly.

Every Step She Takes by Alison Cochrun

(Romance)

Every Step She Takes literalizes the journey one takes to find love and self-acceptance. We follow Sadie Wells, a 35-year-old woman who spends every waking moment managing her late grandmother’s antique shop in Seattle. Sadie has had no luck with romance, and comes to the sudden realization that she might be gay. When she gets the chance to walk the Camino de Santiago in Portugal, she decides that a grand adventure will be good for her.

The first problem arises when there’s turbulence on the flight and a slightly drunk Sadie spills her secrets — including her sexuality crisis — to her seatmate, a dashing stranger named Mal. Problem number two is the fact that Mal happens to be on Sadie’s Camion tour, which Sadie learns is a trip specifically for queer women. Both Sadie and Mal are keen on running from their problems, but the Camino forces them to confront what they’d rather keep buried — including their feelings for each other.

Every Step She Takes is a pretty classic sapphic romance, though the Portugal setting adds some intrigue and vibrancy. Not as dark as Cochrun’s previous book Here We Go Again (her best, in my opinion), it nonetheless touches on grief and familial strife. The Camino gives it a nice pace and a time/location constraint that works well for the plot and its familiar romance novel beats.

Is it gay? Yes, very.

Best Woman by Rose Dommu

(Rom-com)

Rose Dommu’s debut novel, Best Woman, draws clear inspiration from ‘90s rom-coms, and if those are your jam, you’ll probably get a kick out of this book. It centers on Julia Rosenberg, a Florida-born woman who leaves her glittery New York City life to return home and act as the “Best Woman” at her brother’s wedding. Though her family accepted her when she came out as a trans woman, she has mixed feelings about being back in the Sunshine State and staying with her overbearing mother.

Enter Kim Cameron, a smoking-hot lesbian whom Julia had a massive crush on in high school. Kim is also a part of the wedding party, and when the two reconnect, Julia tells an ostensibly harmless lie about her family that quickly spirals out of control. Julia desperately wants Kim’s love and approval, but her methods for getting it prove to be disastrous.

Best Woman’s closest rom-com relative is My Best Friend’s Wedding, the Julia Roberts film in which she plays an utterly unhinged woman who wreaks havoc on those around her. Similarly, Julia spends much of the book behaving badly and coming off as sort of an asshole, even if her intentions aren’t all bad. Dommu writes this messy but still lovable character well, and it adds some edge to the often syrupy rom-com genre.

Is it gay? Yep.

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