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RE-READING RAINBOW BOYS:
ROMANCE, REPRESSION, AND REPRESENTATION

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RE-READING RAINBOW BOYS:
ROMANCE, REPRESSION, AND REPRESENTATION

By

Thomas Bryan Crisp

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to
Michigan State University
In partial fulfillment of the requirements
For the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
Curriculum, Teaching, and Educational Policy

2008

ABSTRACT

RE-READING RAINBOW BOYS:
ROMANCE, REPRESSION, AND REPRESENTATION

By
Thomas Bryan Crisp

Few pieces of GLBTQ fiction have received the popular and scholarly acclaim
awarded to Alex Sanchez’s Rainbow boys series. Although “problem novels” are rarely
taken seriously as literature, the books — the first novel in particular — have joined the few
pieces of GLBTQ literature incorporated into educational discourse and curriculum. In
this dissertation, the author suggests that although the positive nature and surface
construction appeals to those seeking “affirmative” representations of GLBTQ youth, the
contributions made by the series are overshadowed by its reliance on heteronormative
gender stereotypes that may actually work to perpetuate homophobic attitudes toward gay
sexuality.

After initially exploring how a problem of practice led to the questions that
undergird this project, the author makes the case for the importance of critical reading
and literary analysis of children’s and young adult texts for scholars, critics, and teachers.
He moves on to explore the “possibilities” offered to young people who read this series
of canonical fiction that is not only defining the genre, but creating it as well. Drawing
primarily on critical reading and feminist and queer theory, the author identifies the three
co-protagonists as tropes which rely on and reinforce stereotypical constructions of

gender and sexuality. As disturbing as those depictions may be, equally problematic is

the world constructed within the series: a place where GLBTQ people are tormented
deviants who find solace only when isolated from the abusive heterosexual
“mainstream.”

Ultimately, the author makes the case that the findings in this study are about
more than just these three books. He argues that the depictions in literature matter for
both heterosexual and queer readers and that teachers, writers, publishers, and scholars
need to begin more carefully considering the possibilities offered in gay adolescent

fiction.

DEDICATION

For the limitless possibilities he offers,
this is for John.

iv

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This dissertation would have been impossible without the generous support and
patience of my family, friends, and Colleagues. I am indebted to everyone who has guided
me to this point.

My dissertation committee has been remarkable throughout this process. My
advisor and dissertation director Laura Apol and committee members Janine Certo, Mary
J uzwik, and Lynn Fendler have served as mentors in many ways. They have pushed my
thinking with insight, generosity, and compassion. They provided listening ears when I
felt lost and pressed me to continually improve my work. I am grateful for the education
they have provided.

I would not have survived the doctoral program without the Children’s Literature
Team: people whom I am proud to have as colleagues. They have served as therapists,
allies, advocates, teachers, and friends. They have listened with patience (and without
judgment) to my complaints, my fears, and my frustrations and have shared my joys, my
successes, and my triumphs. I am honored to have Claire Batt-Vandenburg, Suzanne
Knezek, Jacqueline LaRose, and Valerie Struthers Walker as friends. They have pushed
me to work harder than I thought I could and were always by my side to pick me up when
things felt hopeless. I can never repay them. An additional note of thanks to Jackie for
driving me to (and from) my dissertation defense and Suzy for spending a week
collecting signatures and submitting the final copy of this document on my behalf.

Several professors have provided encouragement and advice while I was at

Michigan State University: Michael Pressley, Mary Lundeberg, Nell Duke, and Suzanne

Wilson opened doors and guided me through this process. Kenneth Kidd has been a
generous mentor, cheerleader, and advocate. I am grateful for his friendship.

Finally, to my mother and father, brother and sister I can merely say thank you for
helping me find my way, guiding me when I’ve fallen, and helping me move ahead.

Thanks to Cooper, Cody, and Taymor for their love and companionship.

To John, who amazes me: thank you for showing there are possibilities worth looking for.

vi

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1
INTRODUCTION ............................................................................................................... 1
Roots of the Study .................................................................................................... 2
The Problem ............................................................................................................. 4
Dissertation Overview ............................................................................................. 8
Some Brief Disclaimers ......................................................................................... 10
Reinforcing the Normative Binary ............................................................. 10
“Authenticity” and “Accuracy” in Young Adult Literature ...................... 11
Not a Call for Censorship .......................................................................... 12
Notes ...................................................................................................................... 13
CHAPTER 2
THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK: POSITIONING THE PROJECT ............................... 15
Children’s Literature as Ideological ....................................................................... 18
GLBTQ Children’s and Young Adult Literature Reinforcing and
Resisting the Heteronormativity ................................................................ 20
The Normative Construction of Gender ................................................................ 22
The Normative Construction of Sexuality ............................................................. 25
Reviewing the Literature: Major Studies of
GLBTQ Young Adult Literature ............................................................... 27
Contributions of the Current Project ...................................................................... 32
Notes ...................................................................................................................... 35
CHAPTER 3
RAINBOW BOYS AS GAY [CANON ICAL] YOUNG ADULT FICTION ...................... 37
Alternative Viewpoints: The Stories of the Rainbow Boys ................................... 37
Creating the Canon ................................................................................................ 40
“8,000 Thumbs Up!”: The Success of Rainbow Boys ........................................... 42
“A Bright Ray of Hope:” The Appeal of Sanchez and the
Rainbow Boys Series .................................................................................. 47
Notes ...................................................................................................................... 50
CHAPTER 4
THE HETERONORMATIVE COUPLE .......................................................................... 51
Rainbow Boys as Romance Fiction ....................................................................... 51
Jason and Kyle as Romantic [Heteronormative] Couple ....................................... 52
Rainbow Boys as Series Romance ......................................................................... 54
A Promise Fulfilled: The Pattern of Romance ........................................... 55
Knowing When to Say “Yes”: The Transformative Power
' of “The First Time” ........................................................................ 58
The Formula of Rainbow Boys .............................................................................. 60
Reinforcing the Gender Binary .............................................................................. 62

vii

Writing the Rainbow Boys Gay: How Sanchez Constructs

Jason and Kyle as Queer ............................................................................ 64
The Inverted Heterosexual Couple ........................................................................ 67
Perpetuating the Tropes ......................................................................................... 70
Notes ...................................................................................................................... 78
CHAPTER 5
THE “QUEER AND PROUD” HOMOSEXUAL ............................................................. 79
The Sexual Invert ................................................................................................... 8O
Queering the Romance: Nelson as the “Other Woman” ........................................ 81
Not Knowing When to Say “No”: Nelson as Cautionary Tale .............................. 82
Subverting Gender Binaries: Nelson as “Queer” ................................................... 85
The Negative Role Model as “Queer and Proud” .................................................. 87
[Not Quite] A Glimmer of Hope ............................................................................ 89
Notes ...................................................................................................................... 92
CHAPTER 6
GAY INEVITABILITIES93
Resilience, Not Acceptance ................................................................................... 93
Safety in “Archadia” ............................................................................................. 99
AIDS: “When I Get It” ....................................................................................... 100
Notes .................................................................................................................... 105
CHAPTER 7
THE [LIMITED] POSSIBILITIES OF RAINBOW BOYS .............................................. 106
Rainbow Boys and Queer American Culture ....................................................... 107
The Popularity and Possibilities of the Rainbow Boys Series .............................. 109
“Difficult” Conversations and “Deep” Reading .................................................. 111
Re-Imagining Possibility: Gay Adolescent Literature
Beyond Rainbow Boys ............................................................................. l 14
Expanding Possibility: Limitations and Future Research .................................... 125
BIBLIOGRAPHY ............................................................................................................ 1 28

viii

CHAPTER ONE
INTRODUCTION

Few books for gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgender/queer or questioning (GLBTQ)
young adults have received the type (and quantity) of critical, scholarly, and popular
acclaim and commercial success as has Rainbow boys (2001) by Alex Sanchez. With the
possible exception of Nancy Garden’s (1982) Annie on my mind, Rainbow boys has
become as close to a canonical work of GLBTQ young adult fiction as any other book.
Widely hailed across publications by readers, critics, and scholars, Rainbow boys (2001)
and its sequels (Rainbow high [2003] and Rainbow road [2005]) have joined what are
only a select number of GLBTQ pieces of literature to have found their way into
classroom and school libraries. To say that the books are beloved almost seems an
understatement: readers across a range of sexual identities and ages and from a variety of
professional backgrounds (i.e. students, critics, scholars) have affirmed them as both
realistic in their portrayals and positive in their content.

The popularity of the series appears to stem from several sources: it is light in
tone (a quick read for young adults) and deals quite convincingly with the angst of high
school life, suggesting a reflection of reality that strikes readers as being “honest” and
“true.” Furthermore, it is nearly impossible not to admire the author himself: a quick visit
to his website (<httpzl/www.alexsanchez.com>) reveals that this professional guidance
counselor and immigrant from Mexico wants nothing more than to share with readers his
own struggles with his sexual identity in ways that he hopes will simultaneously support

and inspire the next generation of young people.

However, in looking beyond the surface construction of the novels, I hope to
suggest that the series relies on a number of gendered stereotypes and stereotypes of gay
male sexuality: depicting them as sexually inverted heterosexual couples (where one
partner is the “masculine” male and. the other is his “feminine” counterpart), and as
sexually insatiable and both internally and externally tormented. Further, the world
Sanchez has created in the series suggests that it is permissible to harass queer people and
those with “deviant” identities can only find solace when secluded from the heterosexual

population.

ROOTS OF THE STUDY

This study came through a problem of practice: writing a dissertation about the
depictions of gay males in adolescent literature was not something I anticipated when I
began my studies at Michigan State University. Approximately one year ago, I was
poised to complete a very different study, but became preoccupied with a disconnect that
seemed to repeatedly occur for me and my colleagues while instructing an undergraduate
course entitled TE 491/448 — Issues of Diversity in Children’s and Adolescent Literature.
In order to clarify how this problem came to my attention and the forefront of my
thought, it is necessary to briefly step back and explore the purposes and context of the
course and how it fits into the work I have tried to do more generally.

When I arrived at Michigan State University in the fall semester of 2004, I began
working with the Children’s Literature Team in the College of Education. I spent a year
learning about how children’s literature courses were constructed and taught in addition

to how they fit into the various undergraduate and graduate programs offered by the

College of Education. In the summer of 2005, I taught my first section of TB 348 -
Reading and Responding to Children’s Literature. This course (required for
undergraduate elementary education majors) asks students to take a primarily literary (as
opposed to pedagogical) stance toward the genre of children’s literature. Instead of
focusing on how children’s literature is “used/useful” for literacy or content area
instruction, students explore the ways in which the literary elements of texts (i.e. plot,
setting, character, theme, point of view) work to position them (as readers) in particular
ways. In addition, they are asked to consider the influence of elements like intertextuality
(i.e. the context in which the book was released, the author’s larger body of work) as they
take a critical stance (looking at issues of power, Class, race, gender, implicit/explicit
messages) in exploring literature written for children and adolescents. It’s a position with
which students often struggle, getting stuck in questions like, “But what does this have to
do with kids?” (Apol, 1998, 32).

The course requires that students speak from their own experience and resist
speaking hypothetically about how “children” (as an anonymous, nebulous group) may or
may not respond to the books read for class.| Perry Nodelman (2003) writes, “while adult
readers are trying to guess how a typical child might respond, they aren’t paying attention
to the only thing they can know for sure: their own response” (15). Therefore, the
children’s literature courses at Michigan State University push student to consider
“children’s literature” as a genre (in the same way “Victorian literature” is a genre) and
take “ownership” of their responses as opposed to imagining what potential meanings “a

child” might negotiate with text.

THE PROBLEM

Upon the completion of taking TB 348, students have the option of enrolling in
the elective course TE 491/448 — Issues of diversity in children’s and adolescent
literature. This course draws on scholarship around issues of race, ethnicity, ability, and
sexual identity from a number of perspectives (authors, publishers, scholars of race,
cultural studies, etc.) in approaching literature about populations that have been
traditionally underrepresented in literature and media. It’s a course which demands
students [again] speak from their own experience (avoiding hypothetical statements and
hearsay) and support their statements with “evidence” from course readings and activities
(this could come from articles we’ve read, films we’ve watched, speakers to whom we’ve
listened, or children’s and adolescent literature we’ve read).

I am often impressed with the students who participate in this course: they work
hard to critically evaluate, unpack, and analyze their own assumptions, opinions, and
perspectives. While we ultimately agree that we may leave the course disagreeing (as
there is disagreement among scholars who focus on these issues), students are generally
thoughtful and careful in their work: these are people who are “trained” in the ways of the
world. They are generally caring, sensitive, and aware of the importance of issues

,9 6‘

surrounding “equality, multiculturalism,” and “diversity.” They worry about saying the
“wrong” thing or offending other members of the class — they recognize that this is work
that must be done carefully, and they make efforts to back up their statements with
appropriate scholarship.

The final population we consider in TE 491/448 is what we classify as people

who identify as “gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgender/queer or questioning” (GLBTQ).

When we approach this population, my colleagues and I noticed that each semester, the
conversation and environment would suddenly change: students would refuse to come to
class, refuse to do the course reading, and often these students (who had previously been
so thoughtful and careful) started saying unkind things — often without intention, but
sometimes, seemingly with malice. Statements ranging from “Americans obviously don’t
want gay marriage” to “that’s just not right” and “what they want to do in the privacy of
their own homes is fine, but it needs to stay behind closed doors” dominated the
discussion. I was puzzled by this drastic change in the discourse and wondered what it
was about the GLBTQ population that seemed to be altering the conversation for my
students.

A possible explanation could be that students in the course didn’t feel there were
members of the class who identified as GLBTQ, so they no longer felt the need to be
careful about what they said. This is certainly plausible, but it feels unsatisfying to me: in
class, we talk about the dangers of making assumptions about people based on their
physical appearance. In addition, there were populations previously discussed that didn’t
“appear” (on a surface level) to be represented in our class population and similar shifts
in conversation did not occur around those identities. Something else seemed to be going
on here.

I realized that the questions I was asking myself were too broad: since this is a
course that demands participants back up statements with “evidence” from the texts read
for class, I found myself ultimately wondering, What is not “working ”for my students
when they approach these texts? By rephrasing the problem this way, I began to realize

that my students were bringing a “different” set of questions to our conversation about

GLBTQ Americans than they brought with them to the previous populations we
discussed. For one, they seemed to assume that sexual orientation is a choice, while one
is born with disability, race, etc. Also, for many students it felt acceptable to bring moral
imperatives into the discourse around GLBTQ Americans: instead of focusing on issues
of social justice, students seemed determined to debate whether identifying as GLBTQ
was “good” or “bad.”

The mission statement of the College of Education at Michigan State University
states (in part) that “We seek to improve the conditions of learning and teaching for
everyone in a technological society” and that “We seek to understand how children and
adults learn and develop, and how educators can best use that knowledge for benefit of all
learners” (“Our mission”). I made explicit statements to my students about the fact that
they are enrolled in a course (and a program more generally) that has taken an active
stance toward issues of social justice and that when educators employed at MSU state
that we prepare our students to meet the needs of all learners, we mean that (by awarding
students enrolled in the College of Education a degree from Michigan State University)
we are certifying that they as educators share the belief that all students have the right to
see themselves and their families represented in multiple, meaningful, and “authentic”
ways in literature, curriculum, and classrooms more generally.

This seemed to do little to change the tone of the conversation in TE 491/448 and
the situation continued to puzzle me and my colleagues: this literature was polarizing for
our students — arguments broke out; people “dug in their heels” and refused to consider
alternative positions (eventually seeming to “shut down” and simply “give up” on the

conversation). I was surprised to be encountering these problematic perspectives and

positions in my students and decided to further reposition the argument: being GLBTQ is
not a question of morality (moral imperatives have no place in this discussion); it is a
matter of social justice. Further, being GLBTQ is not issue to be debated: it is an identity.
It exists; therefore, it must be represented.2

As I worked with my students, I brought in books from my own collection of
children’s and young adult GLBTQ literature. It is a collection I have worked hard to
assemble and contains virtually every title (both in and out of print) published in the
United States. As I read and used these books, I became increasingly troubled by what I
was seeing within the texts classified as GLBTQ children’s and young adult literature.
Many of these titles seemed to be reinforcing the problematic perspectives my students
were bringing to the conversation by inadequately countering or addressing these
problematic perspectives.

In reading about gay adolescent literature and attending conference presentations
on the topic, one particular series of novels seems to come up again and again: Alex
Sanchez’s (2001, 2003, 2005) Rainbow boys books. This same series also found its way
into my classroom: in TE 348, students interested in reading GLBTQ literature almost
always wanted to read Rainbow boys (2001) and in TE 491/448, the book was often
contrasted with the novel we read as a class (David Levithan’s [2003] Boy meets boy). In
reading the Rainbow boys series, I was troubled by the representations gay males in the
novels and concerned about the praise the series was garnering from critics, scholars, and
readers. In this dissertation I hope to present a reading of the Rainbow boys books that
questions the content of the books themselves and the accolades they have received. The

major research question I bring to this analysis is:

0 How are gay males represented in the Rainbow boys series?
In answering this question, I consider several other “sub-questions” including:
o What are the “stories” being told about gay youth in the Rainbow boys series?
0 What “possibilities” are offered to gay youth in the Rainbow boys series?
0 How is high school culture (and the world more generally) depicted around
issues of homosexuality in the Rainbow boys series?
0 How is AIDS — a complicated subject in all young adult literature —
constructed in the Rainbow boys series?
Through this analysis, I consider how depictions of gay males in Rainbow boys may
simultaneously shape the perceptions of gay people for heterosexual readers and the offer
possibilities to gay adolescent readers as to what their lives can be like as young people

and when they are adults.

DISSERTATION OVERVIEW

In Chapter two, “Theoretical framework: Positioning the project,” the case is
made for the use of critical theory and textual analysis to answer the questions of this
project. Too often, literature is chosen for classroom use based solely on how it can be
used as a “tool” to meet pedagogical objectives in literacy or content area instruction.
Although this as an important part of the classroom environment, teachers, critics, and
scholars need to carefully consider the content and depictions in the texts they bring into
the classroom because the depictions in children’s literature are ideological and
normative and work to shape the lives of young readers.

After a brief synopsis of the plots of the three novels (for those unfamiliar with

the series), in Chapter three, Rainbow boys as gay [canonical] young adult literature,”

the success and accolades for the Rainbow boys series are explored to make the case that
— despite their genre of contemporary realistic fiction and their structure as “problem
novels” (a “type” of novel rarely taken seriously) — Rainbow boys (2001) and its sequels
are novels with which to be reckoned. By exploring reader reviews and comments about
the books, discussions of the series in professional reviews and scholarly resources, and
the awards the texts have received, it quickly becomes clear that Rainbow boys and its
sequels are not only defining the genre of gay adolescent literature, they simultaneously
work to create the genre as well.

In chapters four and five, the constructions of the three co-protagonists (from
whose points of view the series is told) are explored. In Chapter four, protagonists Kyle
and Jason are analyzed and it is argued that despite their surface construction as “gay
males,” in actuality, these are tropes of gay males that have repeatedly appeared in media,
literature, and popular culture. Jason represents stereotypes of the “masculine male”
whose process of self-discovery comes at the expense of his “feminine” counterpart
(Kyle). In Chapter five, Nelson, the character who is widely held up as the sole example
of what it looks like (and means) to be “queer and proud” (see, e.g. Cart & Jenkins,
2006), is examined. In actuality, Nelson is a character who exemplifies several
stereotypes of gay males: he is sexual insatiable, sexually inverted, recklessly impulsive,
and filled with self-loathing. Ultimately, there is little about this depiction that reflects an
image of being “queer and proud.”

In Chapter six, “Gay inevitabilities,” the issue of heteronormativity within the
series is addressed. The world of the Rainbow boys novels reinforces homophobia and

heteronormativity by presenting gay people as both internally and externally conflicted

and tormented: marginalized and deviant targets of discrimination and oppression. It
seems that they can only find solace from intolerance when isolated in “Arcadian”
settings: away from heterosexuals. Further, although it is an under-represented and
important topic in all adolescent literature, the construction of AIDS within the series
depicts the disease as an inevitability for gay people.

Finally, in Chapter seven, “Conclusions and implications,” the question is raised
as to what all of this reveals and implies about the Rainbow boys books and what it
(subsequently) means for readers of the series. Luckily, those who explore the books
have the ability to be resistant readers (Fetterley, 1978) who can raise questions about
these depictions as they decide to go along with the reading, negotiate meaning, or resist
what is offered (Hall, 1980). The limitations of this work and opportunities for future

work are also made explicit.

SOME BRIEF DISCLAIMERS
Reinforcing the normative binary
It must first be acknowledged that the use of words such as “masculine,”

,9 £6

“feminine, male,” and “female” (and even “gay” or “homosexual”) throughout this
project ultimately reinforces the normative binaries it critiques. Following the work of
Monique Wittig, Judith Butler (1999) argues such words exist “only within the
heterosexual matrix; indeed, they are the naturalized terms that keep that matrix
concealed and, hence, protected from a radical critique” (111, italics in original).

However, with this nod to their obvious limitations (and the more in depth discussion of

gendered and sexual identities as social constructions in chapter two), these slippery

10

constructs are employed to examine and make explicit the ways in which these texts often
operate within this dualistic frame. While the power of these words and the images they
instantly evoke make them problematic, they are used in this analysis because they are
the most familiar and readily available terms. Their familiarity helps facilitate the

analysis of the elements at play in the series: because the Rainbow boys books rely on and

99 6‘ 99 66

reinforce images of “masculine” and “feminine, male” and “female, gay” and
“straight,” using these terms makes it possible to “unwrap” the depiction of the characters
and world of the Rainbow boys books. It may be helpful to imagine these words as

crossed out (i.e. “maseuli-ne” or “femin-ine”) to serve as a reminder that although these are

the terms used, they are highly problematic constructs.

“Authenticity” and “accuracy” in young adult literature

Terms such as “authentic” and “accurate” are also complicated and complex in
the ways they are used throughout this project. The issue of “authenticity” in children’s
and adolescent literature has proven problematic — and often irreconcilable — for scholars,
authors, and publishers. Kathy G. Short and Dana L. Fox (2003) write in their seminal
Stories matter: The complexity of authenticity in children’s literature that “authentic”
literature is presumed to include “cultural facts and values and what is considered ‘truth’
about a particular cultural experience” (20). However, they note that there is no
standardized “authentic” insider or outsider perspective, which makes the issues
surrounding cultural authenticity increasingly complex. Concrete definitions of what
“authentic” depictions “look like” may not be uniformly agreed upon, but their

importance is unarguable. Short and Fox (2003) write, “all children have the right to see

11

themselves within a book, to find within a book the truth of their own experiences instead
of stereotypes and misrepresentations...literature is one of the significant ways that
children learn about themselves and others; therefore, those literary images should not be
distorted or inauthentic” (21). While authors may ultimately create depictions of their
choosing, Weimin Mo and Wenju Shen (2003) write, “authors and illustrators need to
consider the implications of the cultural values they introduce in their stories” (206).
Because literature helps children create an understanding of the world around them,

authors have a responsibility to construct their representations with thought and care.

Not a call for censorship

Arguments such as the ones made in this dissertation could easily be appropriated
by individuals seeking to keep GLBTQ literature out of the hands of young people.
Because all children and young adults need to see themselves and their families
represented in literature, it should be clarified that this essay does not call for the
censorship of these novels. Its purpose is to raise questions around the importance of
critical reading, the careful analysis of literature, and carefully selecting GLBTQ
literature because accurate depictions of GLBTQ people are profoundly important for

youth of all sexual identities.

12

NOTES

 

' It seems that often students limit what “children” are able to do with books or
would(n’t) like about particular texts in the name of an imagined “innocent” child. This
tendency leads adult readers of children’s literature to worry if (as examples) Sendak’s
(1964) Where the wild things are is too frightening or if (to borrow Perry Nodelman’s
[2003] example), not understanding all of the [nonsense] words in Edward Lear’s The
owl and the pussycat would lessen a child’s enjoyment of the text. As Perry Nodelman
(2003) writes, “In thinking about the poem [The owl and the pussycat] as a text for
children, they had ignored their own responses and, instead, guessed how some
hypothetical children might respond. Many adults base their judgments of children’s
literature upon such guesses. But making accurate guesses is difficult, maybe even
impossible. Guessing forces adults to make generalizations about children — how they
read, how they think, what they enjoy or don’t, and how they absorb information...such
generalizations can be dangerously misleading. If nothing else, they misrepresent the
tastes and abilities of many individual children” (15-16).
2 In an article for School Library Journal, young adult novelist and editor David Levithan
(2004) writes:
I’ve had librarians say to me, “People in my school don’t agree with
homosexuality, so it’s difficult to have your books on the shelves.” Here’s
the thing: being gay is not an issue, it is an identity. It is not something that
you can agree or disagree with. It is a fact, and must be defended and

represented as a fact. (44, emphasis in original)

13

 

He goes on to point to another part of his identity as Jewish to say that if someone told
him that they disagreed with being Jewish, he would fight that position to his death. He
argues that we don’t assume a single book can represent the range of experiences
classified as (for example) African American,2 so it is equally wrong to assume that one
book can accurately represent the range of identities classified as “GLBTQ.” Finally, he
suggests that we wouldn’t allow ourselves to be told we could have books in our libraries
by females only if they weren’t “openly female,” and uses the absurdity of this position to
again point to the fact that this is the position taken too often regarding GLBTQ
literature. We cannot deny that gay people exist. They exist; therefore they must be
represented. Levithan (2004) ultimately concludes that, “discrimination is not a legitimate

point of view” (44).

14

CHAPTER TWO

THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK: POSITIONING THE PROJECT

This study of the Rainbow boys series draws on a number of perspectives:
primarily various theories of children’s literature, children’s literature criticism, and
gender and queer theory. Because the Rainbow boys books are not published in isolation,
it is important to explore how Western conceptions of gender and sexuality and
assumptions about the purposes of children’s literature more generally can provide
insight into the series as well as place the current study within the body of work currently
being done around GLBTQ children’s and young adult literature.

It seems necessary to consider how children’s literature is generally regarded in
the United States. Too often, the content of children’s and adolescent literature is given
little critical attention. Emblematic of what often happens with literature in schools, in
1995, Allen, Freeman, Lehman, and Scharer reported that literature was usually selected
for classroom use based on how well it lent itself to use in the acquisition of literacy
skills, but the literary quality of the books themselves was typically not considered.
Conversations about the content of literature rarely find their way into educational
circles, and when they do happen, they are often limited to investigating the “moral” or
“pedagogical” value of books. Peter Hunt ( 1999) writes, “very often, children’s literature
is seen as the last repository of the ducis et utile philosophy: the book may be pleasant,
yes, but essentially they have to be useful” (11, italics in original). Many instructors who
try to push their university students to think critically about the content of children’s

literature must confront the stubborn mindset that “books are designed to teach reading”

15

(May, 1995, 5). This “appropriation of children’s literature” seems widespread and while
it is an undeniably important element of the classroom culture, using books as tools
through which children can gain literacy skills or through which teachers can achieve
objectives in subjects such as history, science, or math shortchanges the power of
literature: there is no doubt that literature can provide unique avenues through which
young people can learn, but children learn more than merely “skills” from the books they
are given. As Jill P. May (1995) suggests in her book Children’s literature and critical
theory, we “need to begin to look at children’s literature as literature” (7, italics in
original).

It should be noted that even within “literary” circles (i.e. departments of English),
children’s and adolescent literature is seldom taken seriously as literature. Beverly Lyon
Clark (2003) writes “contemporary critics have been slow to take children’s literature
seriously and treat it canonically” (2). Parents and teachers often find literary analysis or
critical evaluations unhelpful or inaccessible and those involved in more “serious”
literary pursuits often look upon critical readings of children’s books with some
skepticism — these books often do not “count” as Literature. Roderick McGillis (1996)
calls this the “double estranging” of critics of children’s literature. He writes,

Critics speak to critics and not to the people directly involved with
children’s books: teachers, librarians, parents, and most important,
children themselves. But because the texts upon which critics of children’s
literature write are for children, and because the audience for these texts is
relatively unlettered, children’s literature critics find themselves looked

upon with some suspicion by academic critics who work on mainstream

l6

literature. From the other end, the teachers, librarians, parents, and

children who read children’s literature look with some suspicion on those

who spend their lives intellectualizing these ostensibly simple books. (17)

One of the premises of this Study is that — even though it often doesn’t happen -
the content of children’s and adolescent literature needs to be taken seriously. In teaching
young readers to think carefully about how a book is constructed, we teach them to
consider how they are “acted upon” as readers. When we give literature to children and
young adults, we teach them to perform their lives. As Roderick McGillis ( 1996) writes,
“what we teach when we teach literature to children is not, then, themes and structures,
but rather the desire to examine, analyze, recreate, perform, and understand the forces
that shape our own lives” (206).
As I have tried to argue elsewhere, the depictions in children’s literature matter

(Crisp, 2008). David Levithan (2004) writes that, “When we talk about the books in a
library, we call them a collection. But to a young reader — especially a teen reader — it’s
really more of a representation” (44, italics in original). Literature can serve as both a
window and a mirror for readers (Cullinan and Galda, 1994). When books serve as a
mirror, readers see reflections of themselves and their experiences in the text being read.
For readers who identify as gay males, when they read the Rainbow boys series, they
hope to have images of themselves reflected back: these novels are supposed to provide
depictions of “people like me.” These readers are often looking for representations of
whom they can be now and what they can be like as adults. On the other hand, when
literature serves as a window, readers often hope to see beyond their own experiences and

learn about people different than they are. For readers who identify as heterosexual, the

17

Rainbow boys books can serve to teach about what it is “like” to be young and gay in the
contemporary United States. Ideally, as these readers stare through the window into gay
culture, they eventually see shadows of themselves reflected back in the pane of glass and
not only learn about “others,” they learn about themselves as well. Regardless of identity,
one of the functions of the Rainbow boys books (and all literature) should be, as Michael
Cart (1999) suggests, “bestow[ing] knowledge by showing us the commonalities of our
human hearts” (1811). Lee Galda and Bernice Cullinan (2006) write, “Books have shaped
our lives. They are. . .our means of thinking about what kind of people we are and what
we value...Give children books and books will shape their lives” (xiv).

In writing of the way literature “shapes” thinking and values, Galda and Cullinan
(2006) are suggesting that books do not merely reflect an objective “reality.” Instead,
books contain ideological constructions of reality for young readers: books are written to
“mold” young minds into particular ways of thinking about the world. As Gail S. Murray
(1998) writes, “Children’s books often tell us much more about the image of the ideal

child that society would like to produce than they do about real children” (xv).

Children’s literature as ideological

Historian Robert V. Hine (1973) writes, “what a society wants its children to
know reveals what a society wants itself to be” (238). If children are seen as the “future”
of a society, it makes sense that they are indoctrinated with the very ideals of how that
society wants itself to be seen. Children’s literature is a primary “vehicle for education, a
major means of teaching and indoctrinating” (Shavit, 1986, 35) and the books written for

and given to children serve as “repositories for cultural values” (Apol, 1998, 34) for the

18

society in which they are released and consumed. Jacqueline Rose (1984) likens
children’s literature to colonization, writing, “if children’s fiction builds an image of the
child inside the book, it does so in order to secure the child who is outside the book, the
one who does not come so easily Within its grasp” (2).

Books that are classified as “GLBTQ”l reflect the values that undergird dominant
US. society. While the remainder of this dissertation will focus on how the Rainbow
boys series constructs the world for readers, the very existence of this genre of literature
(more generally) reveals a tremendous amount about the culture in which GLBTQ books
are published.

“GLBTQ” literature as a genre can only exist in a society that relies upon
gendered and sexual identity categories. In his History of sexuality, volume one: An
introduction, Foucault ( 1978) argues it is through the act of naming practices as either
acceptable or not that ultimately defines and creates those acts. Until identities are
“named” and deemed “moral” or “deviant,” they do not exist. Because of this, acts of
regulation are not denials that sexual deviance exists or even attempts to repress these
identities; they instead allow members of the population to police themselves (by
determining what is and is not “acceptable” and “appropriate”) and further to talk about
these sexualities, thus bringing them into existence. When something is named “moral,”
it automatically creates the “deviant.”

The ways in which US. society has traditionally considered particular identities
either “acceptable” or “not” are revealed through an exploration of the concept of
heteronormativity. Adrienne Rich (1980) argues that in Western culture, heterosexuality

is presumed and as a result of this assumption, other experiences and identities (she

19

specifically writes of lesbian existence) are made invisible — or cast as deviant and
unacceptable ways of being. Building on Rich’s (1980) work on compulsory
heterosexuality, Michael Warner (1991) coined the term “heteronormativity” in his
introduction to a special issue of Social text. He further defines the term in Publics and
counterpublics (2002) as “a whole field of social relations becomes intelligible as
heterosexuality, and this privatized sexual culture bestows on its sexual practices a tacit
sense of rightness and normalcy. This sense of rightness — embedded in things and not
just in sex — is what we call heteronormativity” (194). “Heteronormativity” is generally
used to describe the assumption that heterosexuality is the “norm” (see, e. g., Chambers
[2003, 2005], Cohen [2005]) and therefore positions a heterosexual identity as the only

“acceptable” gender or sexual identity category.

GLBTQ children’s and young adult literature reinforcing and resisting
heteronormativity

Rainbow boys and other books classified as “GLBTQ” are ultimately reactions to
(and against) heteronormativity. Although they may be resistances to “normative”
constructions of the world, by remaining on the path of named and defined “identity
categories,” these books necessarily reinforce and maintain the very normativity they
hope to subvert. Foucault writes, “A normalizing society is the historical outcome of a
technology of power centered on life” (144). He argues that in order to truly disrupt
normative conceptions of sexualities, one must move outside identity categories (as being
on the side of “life”) into the realm of “bodies and pleasures” (159) beyond named

practices.

20

It is precisely because acts of repression and regulation serve to proliferate (and
not eliminate) sexuality that acts of resistance to heteronormativity often prove so
ineffective. But before dismissing all gay adolescent children’s literature as maintaining a
heteronormative construction of the world (because of its reliance and reinforcement of
identity categories), it may be helpful to consider these texts as resistances to
heteronormativity. Foucault argues that although they remain on the path of identity, such
resistances are not always futile. He writes:

Are there no great radical ruptures, massive binary divisions, then?
Occasionally, yes. But more often one is dealing with mobile and
transitory points of resistance, producing cleavages in a society that shift
about, fracturing unities and effecting regroupings, furrowing across
individuals themselves, cutting them up and remolding them, marking off
irreducible regions in them, in their bodies and minds. (96)

In her essay, “How to Bring Your Kids up Gay,” Eve Kosoflcsy Sedgwick (1991)
demonstrates how heteronormativity is often enacted against queer children. She points to
recent developments in American psychology (and society more generally) to argue that
constructions which feel (on a surface level) “affirmative” or “positive” as
representations for queer youth often work to make homosexuals invisible in order to
maintain heteronormativity. As an example, she points to the “nature/nurture” debate and
argues that while the “discovery” of a genetic or biological basis for homosexuality may
initially seem to provide voice and legitimacy to queer “existence,” there is never talk of
“any supposed gay-producing circumstance as the proper hormone balance or the

conducive endocrine environment for gay generation” (147). A “gay gene” is only

21

considered in an effort to explain (and ultimately — through the prevention of Such genes
— eliminate) queerness.

Following Sedwick’s (1991) lead, I argue that despite the proliferation of young
adult novels that depict gay males as characters in “affirmative” ways work to make them
invisible through the reliance on heteronormative gender stereotypes and constructions. It
is precisely because, as Sedgwick (1991) argues, there is “a long tradition of viewing
gender and sexuality as continuous and collapsible categories” (141) that

heteronormativity is reinforced and maintained within gay adolescent literature.

The normative construction of gender

These modern theories of sexuality will be used to analyze the content of the
Rainbow boys series alongside the conceptions of “gendered” identity from which they
tend to be derived. Although gender and sexuality are not “continuous and collapsible
categories,” theories of “gender” as a binary [oppositional] construction merit attention
before moving into thinking about sexual orientation and identity.

Gendered identities are often considered “naturally occurring” and as biological
“differences” between those labeled as one of two genders: either “male” or “female.”
These constructs of gendered identity categories are difficult to untangle. “Talking about
gender for most people,” writes Judith Lorber (1995), “is the equivalent of fish talking
about water” (13). Contemporary US. society is plagued by constructions of gender and
sexuality despite evidence that there are actually more similarities than differences
between “males” and “females.” Hess ( 1990) argues, “rather than being a property of the

individual, maleness and femaleness are products of the operation of social systems on

22

both the variability and similarities provided by nature...gender is created by suppressing
similarities, and is maintained by a deep ideological commitment to differences between
women and men” (83-84, italics in original).
As opposed to being “naturally occurring,” evidence suggests that “identity” is
negotiated through discourses and institutions (Foucault 1978/1990) that produce sexual
knowledge (Seidman 1996) and carry meanings dependent upon variables/contexts such
as class and location (Mahay, Laumann, and Michaels 2005). As Judith Butler (1990)
argues, identities are not “natural,” but are shifting and fluid; constructed through
“repeated acts within a highly rigid regulatory frame that congeal over time to produce
the appearance of substance, of a natural sort of being” (43). In Manliness and
civilization: A cultural history of gender and race in the United States, 1880-1917, Gail
Bederrnan ( 1995) argues that gendered identities are constructed through culturally and
contextually situated processes and practices. She writes:
Many historians have simply assumed that manhood is an unproblematic
identity - and unchanging essence — inherent in all male-bodied humans
(...) [G]ender — whether manhood or womanhood — is a historical,
ideological process. Through that process, individuals are positioned and
position themselves as men or as women...manhood — or ‘masculinity,’ as
it is commonly termed today — is a continual, dynamic process. (6-7,
italics in original)

This process is one through which individuals interact daily (see e.g., Fine 1989). West

and Zimmerman (1987) write that gender is an “achieved property of situated

23

conduct...an emergent feature of social situations...and a means of legitimating one of the
most fundamental divisions of society” (126).
Toril Moi (1985) argues that there has been a long tradition of depicting “males”
as “masculine” (i.e. active, aggressive, dominating) and “females” as “feminine” (i.e.
passive, subservient, self-sacrificing) which, despite work of critical feminist scholars,
pervades Western society to this day. R.W. Connell (1987) calls this “sexual character,”
the idea that:
women and men as groups have different traits: different temperaments,
characters, outlooks and opinions, abilities, even whole structures of
personality...often it is assumed that there is just one set of traits that
characterizes men in general and thus defines masculinity. Likewise, there
is one set of traits for women, which defines femininity. (167)
Talcott Parsons’s (1942, 1956) academic writing is the most famous example of the
“instrumental” versus “expressive” traits that stereotypically correspond to “masculine”
and “feminine” roles, but despite the work of feminist scholars (Halley 2006), these
gender distinctions routinely appear in children’s and young adult literature.
In her study of the depictions of girls and women in Youth ’s companion serials,
Laura Apol (2000) writes that in literature, coming of age “is characterized by a rite of
passage that transforms boys into men, girls into women, often in highly stereotyped
gender-specific ways” (61). In exploring the Rainbow boys series, it will be clear that
these binary conceptions of gender are prevalent, despite the fact that these books explore

the relationships between gay males. The ideas that undergird the construction of the

24

characters in the series rely on “gendered” conceptions of what it means to be a gay

2
male.

The normative construction of sexuality

Modern theories of “gendered” homosexuality date back over a century. Freud
(1905) wrote in his Three essays on the theory of sexuality that homosexual men have
more in common with heterosexual women than they do with heterosexual men and
therefore strive to achieve traits held as “feminine” gender role ideals. Most famously
postulated by Havelock Ellis (1897) in his book, Sexual inversion and by Richard
Freiherr von Krafft-Ebing ( 1886) in Psychopathia sexualis, the theory of sexual inversion
suggests gay males are assumed to be females “trapped” in male bodies. In her book
Fashioning sapphism: The origins of a modern English lesbian culture, Laura Doan
(2001) summarizes “sexual inversion” as the idea that males with inverted gender traits
are inclined to “female pursuits” (26).

Prior to the 19703, it seems that being “male” was synonymous with being
“masculine” and that the terms did not receive much attention (Franklin 1984). However,
feminism and the Gay Liberation movements of the 19705, led to increased visibility of
queer identities and several psychoanalytic theorists argued that homosexuality relied on
gendered binaries of a repressed “feminine” gay male identity. As an example, Mario
Mieli (1977) argued that male homosexuality was necessarily “feminine” and called for
the celebration of “feminine” queerness. These increasingly visible images of gay male
identities (as “masculine” [i.e. the leather daddy] and “feminine” [i.e. the drag queen; the

twink; the “boi”) further solidified the misconception that because “male/masculine” was

25

the binary opposite of “female/feminine,” in gay relationships, one partner must occupies
the role of the “man” while the other is the sexually inverted “woman” in a “heterosexual
matrix” (Butler 1995).

Although much research contradicts the “inversion” model (see, e. g. Jones & De
Cecco 1982; Robinson, Skeen & Flake-Hobson, 1982), these attitudes and
misconceptions have changed little (Kite & Deaux 1987). As an example, John Boswell
(1989) writes of the “fellator” and “ceveator” (the “recipient” of semen) and the
“predicator” (he who penetrates) and “irrumator” (he who offers his penis for oral sex) as
“active” and “passive” gay male sexual roles that parallel the construction of
“heterosexual” sexuality. As problematic as these constructions may be, they have
allowed entry points into the analysis of “inverted” queer characters in Literature written
by a number of prominent authors like Radclyffe Hall, Oscar Wilde, and Herman
Melville (see, e.g., Creech 1993; Meyers 1977; Lilly 1993; Dynes & Donaldson 1992).

These constructions of the “dominant and the [inverted] deviant” (Dollimore,
1992, 87) inform the work that follows, but before moving into the analysis of the
Rainbow boys series, this study should be placed within the larger context of scholarly
work being done around young adult literature featuring gay males as characters. As the
following discussion will demonstrate, there is little being written about this genre. Most
scholarly, critical, and survey texts on children’s and young adult literature fail to
acknowledge such books exist - and those that contain chapters on GLBTQ literature (i.e.
Lehr [2008], Salem [2006]) seem to lack any critical evaluation of the content of the
books. All GLBTQ titles seem interchangeable — none are considered to be of a higher

literary quality than any others.

26

REVIEWING THE LITERATURE: MAJOR STUDIES OF GLBTQ YOUNG
ADULT LITERATURE

Many under—represented pOpulations have emerged in children’s and adolescent
literature by gradually and sporadically appearing as peripheral characters. As a result,
critics and scholars often start tracking these representations through a mode of “counting
characters” (see, for example, Sims 1982) in which any depiction is celebrated. After a
period of engagement in this activity, scholars begin to move toward more nuanced
systems of classification and analysis. Therefore, it seems logical — and not surprising —
that GLBTQ literature has progressed in a way similar to other diverse populations.

While in the past five years, there has been an increase in scholarly literary
activity around gay adolescent literature, there remain very few studies that critically
examine the content and constructions of the books themselves. Because there has been
such a dearth of scholarship around this population, there often seems to be the
assumption that all representations (any representations) are “good enough.” There have
been books and articles written about masculinity in adolescent fiction (see, for example
Stephens [2002]; Wannamaker [2006]; Khan [2006]) and in youth culture (i.e. Firminger
[2006]), but these often make no mention of queerness. On the other hand, there have
been attempts to “queer” children’s and adolescent fiction (see, for example Pugh and
Wallace [2006], Latham [2006], Cummins [2004]) and culture (i.e. Rand [1995]) that
don’t explicitly mention homosexuality. Eric L. Tribunella (2002) even explores refused
queer identification in the novel A separate peace: the author seems to actively (and

successfully) work to discredit any possible reading of the relationship between the two

27

protagonists as gay. There has been some token critical work done on the depiction of
transchildren (i.e. Norton [1999]), queer families (i.e. Mallan [2004]), and adolescent
fiction with lesbian characters (i.e. Thompson [2006], Abate [2007]), but outside of
Benjamin Lefebvre’s (2005) article in the Children’s literature association quarterly,
there are no studies that critically explore the content of gay adolescent fiction. Focusing
on two Canadian young adult novels with heterosexual protagonists, Lefebvre argues that
ultimately, these depictions reinforce:
“shaming interpellations” for gay or otherwise non-heterosexual
adolescent readers seeking validation through forms of representation and
imaginative models with whom they can identify; instead, these readers
are once again interpolated into this homophobic ideology, learning to
silence their own confessions of trauma out of fear of being severely
reprimanded. As a result, readers of any gender or sexual orientation are
discouraged from developing the imaginative capacity to understand and
embrace a wider range of possibilities for male subjectivity. (308)

More emblematic of the work being done in the field are the several book-length
studies published around GLBTQ young adult literature that provide insight into the
development of the genre. Generally, these major studies reflect this “counting
characters” mode — the authors look for any depiction of GLBTQ people and classify all
books that contain a representation as “GLBTQ” without giving much thought to the
quality, “authenticity,” or importance of the characterization.

In Out of the closet and into the classroom: Homosexuality in books for young

people, an early study of children’s and young adult books with gay and lesbian

28

characters, Australian educators Clyde & Lobban (1992) constructed an annotated
bibliography of every book of which they were aware that contained gay and lesbian
characters. They list several titles that they have never seen themselves: books that
(through “word of mouth”) they’ve heard exist somewhere in the marketplace and
contain some instance of homosexuality. Ann Rinaldi’s (1987) The good side of my heart
is one book Clyde & Lobban (1992) admit has “not been sighted” but they include it
anyway because it “is listed in several [other] bibliographies” (94). In examining the
book, it does indeed deal with homosexuality: the protagonist is devastated to learn that
the object of her affection (a young man named Josh) is gay. What I appreciate about this
collection is that it gives a glimpse into the development of the genre of GLBTQ
literature: scholars, educators, and readers were desperate to find representations — any
depictions of gay and lesbian characters, so much so that even books merely rumored to
exist were included in the collection. Unfortunately, no attention is given to the quality of
the representation in terms of nuance of character, reinforcement or resistance to
stereotyping, or the potential impact of these representations. What is presented is simply
a list of books; some with synopses of plot structures, others without (based on their
availability to the authors).

A similar reference is the more recent Lesbian and gay voices: An annotated
bibliography and guide to literature for children and young adults by Frances Ann Day
(2000). Day lists more than 275 titles in her annotated bibliography and specifies that the
collection does not list every single representation of lesbian and gay characters; it only
includes recommended titles. “Many additional books were considered,” she writes, “and

even though most of them have some strengths, they were rejected because they promote

29

negative stereotypes or do not meet the criteria set forth in the ‘Suggested guidelines for
evaluating books with lesbian and gay content’” (xix). She states that she limits her
collection to books in print, but offers some historically significant titles as well. As Day
(2000) makes clear in the above qUote, what is significant about this collection is that it
puts forth some criteria for evaluating books with gay and lesbian content, including the
categories of “general selection criteria” (the books should be of a high literary quality

and be free of problematic constructions), “self-esteem” (the books should contain

99 6‘ 9, 6‘

positive images), “homophobia and heterosexism, omission, characterization,”
“language,” the depiction of healthy “relationships,” and the avoidance of “stereotypes”
and “erasure” (summarized from pages xxiii-xxv). But even these are vague, general,
surface level, and ideological criteria for analyzing texts.

Day’s book is notable because contains lists of picture books, fiction, short
stories, nonfiction, biography/autobiography, professional resources, and ends with
author profiles all within this single volume. Unfortunately, there are far more out-of-
print titles than Day initially suggests and many of the books included contain racist and
stereotypical constructions that have been overlooked. Ultimately, the collection remains
commendable in the sense that it attempts to establish criteria for evaluation of texts in
the genre and its selection of some titles as being more exemplary than others (although
the development and application of her criteria feels insufficient) suggests that Day
doesn’t assume that any representation is “good enough.”

Published the same year as Clyde & Lobban’s annotated bibliography, Allan A.

Cuseo (1992) constructed the first systematic literary study of gay characters in his book,

Homosexual characters in YA novels: A literary analysis 1969-1982. The study is an

30

important landmark publication, too often overlooked and unacknowledged in subsequent
studies. Written before there was a substantial body of titles within the genre, Cuseo
draws on a range of adolescent and adult titles to explore the depiction of characters,
contexts, and literary elements as Constructions to analyze what they reveal about public
attitudes toward homosexuals. Cuseo finds five major flaws in the available
representations: silence (most books have no positive references to homosexuality),
rejection of family and peers, recognizability of gay characters merely through their
appearance and/or behavior, and retribution (the gay character is the “problem” and so
must suffer) (summarized from pages 392-393). It is unfortunate that the study has not
been pursued in any meaningful way in terms of the literature published in the last 25
years.

The most comprehensive and systematic study of GLBTQ literature can be found
in Michael Cart and Christine A. Jenkins’s (2006), The heart has its reasons: Young adult
literature with gay/lesbian/queer content, 1969-2004 in which the authors suggest that
GLBTQ literature “must continue to come of age as literature” (166, italics in original).
As I have argued elsewhere (Crisp, 2007) Cart & Jenkins begin to move scholars toward
a more critical way of examining this literature by adapting the frame proposed in
Shadow and substance, Rudine Sims [Bishop’s] (1982) seminal study of what she termed
"Afro-American" young adult literature. Cart & Jenkins (2006) name three "phases" of
GLBTQ literature (summarized on page xx) which include homosexual visibility (stories
in which "a character who has not previously been considered gay/lesbian comes out
either voluntarily or involuntarily"), gay assimilation (stories which "[assume] the

existence -- at least in the world of the story -- of a 'melting pot' of sexual gender

31

identity"), and queer consciousness/community (stories which "show GLBTQ characters
in the context of their communities of GLBTQ people and their families of choice").
Whereas Sims’s frame fits chronologically (first “social conscience” books, then
“melting pot” books, and finally “culturally conscious” literature), the three categories
Cart and Jenkins use are not limited by a particular time frame. In other words, in the
1970s, we had books that fit in all three categories and the same is true today. We haven’t
moved from homosexual visibility to queer consciousness/community; they continue to
co-exist.

The analysis serves as a call for scholars, critics, and readers to begin thinking
about the content of the books used in the classroom and as one gets used to the way their
frame operates, it serves as a useful enough beginning to categorizing the literature.
However, I argue that Cart & Jenkins (2006) do not go far enough in their critique of the
novels, often failing to look beyond the surface construction of characters and “worlds.”

B. Aaron Talbot (2006) writes in his scholarly review that “Cart and Jenkins’s
incredibly detailed and researched historical survey provides a starting point for any
critical, contextual, and theoretical examination of young adult GLBTQ literature” (392).
The goal of this dissertation project is to further the scholarship previously published by
looking beyond titles and large-scale categorizations and critically evaluate the content of

a specific popular series.

CONTRIBUTIONS OF THE CURRENT PROJECT
In chapter three, the decision to focus this analysis on the Rainbow boys series is

detailed further, but at this point, it feels appropriate to merely reiterate that Rainbow

32

boys and its sequels are as close to canonical pieces of gay adolescent fiction as any other
book. As mentioned in chapter one, the series has been so wildly popular that it is not
only held up as the shining example of the genre, it is creating the genre as well: the
character tropes and plot structure'of the series have been mimicked in a number of
different titles to the point that one could almost identify particular texts as “another
Rainbow boys-esque” book.

With little attention being given to the content of children’s and adolescent
literature and the privileged place Rainbow boys occupies in the field of young adult
literature, I hope to raise questions about the representations of gay males in the series
that will push the conversation about this series. The ultimate goal of this analysis is to
assist the genre in moving beyond “counting characters” or titles, beyond vague attempts
at criteria without adequate applicability. This work will also serve as a model as to how
literary elements can help explain the ways such books “work” for (and on) readers. In
this analysis, I primarily focus on character development - as opposed to elements like
setting or plot — to explore how the protagonists are constructed as representations of gay
males.

As I will argue in chapters four and five, although the characters in Rainbow boys
are gay males, they rely on a number of culturally constructed assumptions about gender
and sexuality. Author Alex Sanchez depicts gay males as exemplifying characteristics
that are either stereotypically “masculine” or a sexually inverted “feminine” counterpart
according to the heteronormatively “gendered” role they occupy within the relationship.
However, before moving to unravel the assumptions undergirding the novels, chapter

three centers on the popularity of the series and argues that — despite the fact that the

33

books are “problem novels” — these are books (and constructions) that need to be taken

seriously.

34

NOTES

 

I “GLBTQ” is simply one modifier of many that could be chosen when discussing
literature depicting this population. In many ways, choosing GLBTQ over LGBTQ,
GLBT, LGBT, and other modifiers is a personal choice. However, the use of this term is
not incidental. First, I follow the lead of Michael Cart and Christine A. Jenkins (2006) wo
use the term in their landmark study The heart has its reasons: Young adult literature
with gay/lesbian/queer content, 1969-2004. Cart and Jenkins (2006) point to the
Stonewall Riots of 1969 as its roots. “We have chosen to use ‘GLBTQ’ in this historical
account,” they write, “to reflect the fact that the human rights movement on behalf of
GLBTQ people that began with the 1969 Stonewall Riots was originally referred to as the
gay rights or gay liberations movement” (xv). Often, “LGBTQ” is the preferred modifier
because it is feared that a “lesbian” identity will be lost due to a focus on the “G” (gay)
identity category. For Cart and Jenkins, the “G” is placed before the “L” because it points
to the beginning of the movement for gay rights.

There is another (more personal) reason this modifier is employed: when I was
teaching TE 348 - Reading and Responding to Children ’s Literature, I spent time
exploring GLBTQ children’s and young adult literature with my students. After class,
one of my students walked over to me with what I read as a pained expression on her
face. “You know,” she said, “I don’t quite fit.” I pushed her to elaborate. “I am in a
relationship with another woman right now,” she continued, “but I am not ready to
classify myself as a ‘lesbian’ or ‘bisexual.’ So even in looking at this group, I still don’t

fit in anywhere.” I was happy to be able to point her toward the “Q” in GLBTQ, which

35

 

can stand either for queer or questioning people. This seems to be the most inclusive

modifier available.

2 The previous discussion implies why the term “sexual identity” is used in this
dissertation as opposed to “sexual orientation.” Although all identities are constructed
within a normative frame, “sexual orientation” seems to suggest a hierarchical subject
position in relationship to that “norm” (i.e. “How am I oriented in relation to
heterosexuality?”). Warren J. Blumenfeld (1994) defines sexual orientation as being
“determined by whom we are sexually (or erotically) attracted” and sexual identity as
“what we call ourselves.” “Identity” is an evolving construction and we must remain
cognizant of the fact that we have the power to define (and “name”) ourselves. Edward
O. Laumann (1994) writes, “development of self-identification as homosexual or gay is a
psychological and socially complex state, something which, in this society, is achieved

only over time” (299, emphasis mine).

36

CHAPTER THREE

RAINBOW BOYS AS GAY [CANONICAL] YOUNG ADULT FICTION

ALTERNATIVE VIEWPOINTS: THE STORIES OF THE RAINBOW BOYS

Simplistically, Rainbow boys (2001) is the story of three young men struggling to
successfully complete their senior year of high school. Told from alternating viewpoints,
the novel introduces readers to three protagonists and the chapters alternate from Jason’s
perspective (described on the back of the book as “J ock. Good looks. Beautiful girlfriend.
Popular. Unsatisfied”), to Kyle’s (who is described as “Swim team star. Friendly.
Easygoing. Intelligent. Confused”), and finally to Nelson’s (described as “Independent.
Opinionated. Defiant. Joker. In love.”) and back again in a rotating fashion as the story is
told. In brief, best friends Kyle and Nelson (both identify as gay males) become involved
in a complicated love triangle when classmate Jason Carrillo shows up at a gay youth
meeting. Jason is not only Kyle’s long-time love interest, he’s also the school jock. On its
surface, the story is about many of the issues teens might face in coming out (Kyle comes
out to his parents and his high school and Jason comes out to himself, his family, and his
girlfriend) as well as what it means to be “queer and proud” (through the character of
Nelson.)

As Rainbow boys (2001) begins, Jason is dating a young woman named Debra
who will do anything to satisfy his needs. After avoiding the conversation with her for
some time, at their prom, Jason finally confesses to Debra that he is “confused” (he does
not specifically say he is confused about his sexual identity) and needs to “figure things
out...to decide what I want” (60) before he can continue in their relationship. As the pair

breaks up, Jason immediately remembers Kyle’s offer to tutor him. He invites Kyle over

37

to his house, shows him his athletic trophies, and shares his cologne with him before
hesitantly approaching a conversation about when/how Kyle knew he was gay.

When Kyle returns home, he reminisces about what it was like to be in Jason’s
room and imagines introducing Jason to his parents as his boyfriend. Just before falling
asleep, Kyle is so preoccupied with his feelings for Jason that he forgets to hide gay
pornographic magazine at which he was looking. When she wakes him up for school the
following morning, Kyle’s mother finds the copy of Honcho and he is forced to “come
out” to his parents.

Throughout the novel, Kyle’s voice is dominated by his confusion over Jason.
After the excitement of Jason’s appearance at the gay youth meeting, Kyle finds himself
in several situations in which he and Jason are alone, but his attempts to be more intimate
cause both panic and subsequent abandonment. Eventually Kyle and Jason kiss, leading
Jason to reject Kyle. They then have sex, after which Jason rejects Kyle once more. For
his part, Kyle is generally willing to wait for Jason as he works through his confusion.

As Jason and Kyle gradually get closer to one another, Nelson becomes
increasingly frustrated: realizing he is in love with Kyle, he is angry that his friend is
casting him aside for Jason. Eventually, Nelson meets a young man named Blake at a gay
youth meeting and quickly becomes infatuated with him while simultaneously chatting
online with an older gay male named Brick to whom he will lose his virginity. After
having unprotected sex with Brick, Nelson becomes worried that he may have contracted
AIDS; an issue never resolved at the end of the novel (serving as a “cliff-hanger” if

readers decide to continue through the series).

38

The second book, Rainbow high (2003), explores the lives of the three
protagonists as they move closer to the end of their senior year — for these boys, it’s a
period filled with the anticipation many high school seniors face and, with the
development of promising personal relationships, the “rainbow boys” look forward to
their senior prom and try to iron out their individual (and collective) plans for life after
graduation. As the story progresses, all three protagonists are accepted to the same
college, but their plans to attend “Tech” with one another become complicated when
Kyle learns he has also been accepted to Princeton. For all three boys, their personal
decisions lead to a range of difficulties: Jason decides to “come out” to his coach,
teammates, and the world, Nelson struggles to sustain his relationship with his HIV-
positive boyfriend when those around him disapprove, and Kyle tries to weigh his
relationship with Jason against the opportunity to study at a prestigious university.

In Rainbow road (2005), the final novel of the series, Jason has been invited to
speak at the opening of a new high school for gay and lesbian students in California. In
order to spend time with Kyle before he leaves for college, Jason opts to forgo a flight to
Los Angeles and instead embarks on a cross country driving trip with his boyfriend. The
three protagonists (Nelson tags along because the road trip is his idea and involves the
use of his car) travel together and encounter a range of individuals: from homophobic
heterosexuals to a transgender teen, a committed gay couple, and a commune of “social
misfits.” As the adventure progresses, Kyle becomes increasingly unsure of his
relationship with Jason, Jason tries to sort through his sexual confusion, and Nelson

continues to search for Mr. Right (or at least, Mr. Right Now.) By the time the journey

39

ends, Nelson has found (what could be) love and Kyle and Jason’s relationship remains

intact.

CREATING THE CANON
Widely hailed across publications by readers, critics, and scholars, Rainbow boys
(2001) and its sequels (Rainbow high [2003] and Rainbow road [2005]) have joined what
are only a select number of GLBTQ pieces of literature to have found their way into
classroom and school libraries. It would ultimately be unfair to solely explore in this
dissertation the first novel in the trilogy as the books should be considered as an artistic
whole and also because much of the growth and change for the three protagonists doesn’t
come until the third novel, Rainbow road (2005). However, in structuring the arguments
in subsequent chapters, time will be spent looking at the portrayals and themes
established in the first novel before moving to show how these depictions are either
reinforced or complicated as one continues to read through the remainder of the series. It
may feel artificial or unnecessarily extensive, but this construction is adopted because:
(1) Rainbow boys (2001) is a book which can (and is often asked to) stand
on its own as an artistic creation — unless one is compelled to continue
through the series, a reader can leave the first book with a feeling of
closure.
(2) As a result, more young adults are likely to pick up and read the first
novel than they are to read the entire series.
(3) Additionally, in academic scholarship and professional writing, it is
Rainbow boys (2001) — and not the other two titles — that is routinely

recommended for classroom use from high school through the university.

4O

As an example, although Linda C. Salem’s Children’s literature studies:
Cases and discussions was published in 2006 (a year after the final book
in the series was published) she asks her undergraduate pre-service teacher
audience only to read and consider Rainbow boys (2001 ).
(4) Penultimately, in any classroom (even in a course entirely devoted to
the study of GLBTQ children’s and adolescent literature), it is unlikely
that time will be spent collectively studying the entire series of novels.
Teachers who use this particular literature will mostly likely share only the
first installment; leaving it up to students (if it has captured their interest)
to continue reading the series on their own.
(5) Finally, it is clear that Sanchez has written these books for a dual
audience of both homosexual and heterosexual readers. If one of his goals
is to leave “intolerant” heterosexuals (who will probably not seek out and
read the remainder of the series on their own) with a depiction of
homosexual characters that might positively impact how such readers
subsequently view GLBTQ people, it is even more important that the
depictions in the first installment of the series be accurate representations.
It should be made clear that I am not denying the existence of gay young men
who embody many (or all) of the characteristics found in protagonists Nelson, Kyle, or
Jason — it is wonderful that this series provides readers with depictions of three very
different gay men. However, when they serve as the only representations that readers

explore, these token tropes serve not to present “authentic,” “positive” homosexual

41

characters, but may actually work to limit readers’ understandings of what it can look like

(and what it means) to be gay.

“8,000 THUMBS UP!”: THE SUCCESS OF RAINBOW BOYS

When Rainbow boys hit bookstore and library shelves in 2001 , there was little
doubt that author Alex Sanchez had created a nearly unrivaled success in the field of
GLBTQ young adult literature, and over subsequent years the accolades have continued
to multiply. In 2003, the International Reading Association selected Rainbow boys as
“Young Adults’ Choice,” it’s been named an American Library Association “Best Book
for Young Adults,” a “Gay Youth Book of the Year,” a Center for Children’s Books
“Blue Ribbon Winner,” and a New York Public Library “Books for the Teen Age”
selection. In April 2006, it was listed “Best, Notable, and Recommended” by the Young
Adult Library Services Association. The success of this 2001 novel has launched author
Alex Sanchez to celebrity status in the field of YA literature. In fact, on the covers of the
hardback editions of his most recent novels, Getting it (2006) and The god box (2007),
his name appears boldly and prominently while the titles themselves are nearly lost in the
background.

More than one-hundred-fifty readers on Amazon.com and the Barnes and Noble
website have reviewed Rainbow boys and in both locations, the book has earned the
maximum rating, a nearly unprecedented “five stars.”1 Readers have called Rainbow
Boys, “one of the greatest books I’ve ever read” (“Yessy Jess”, 2005) and give it “8,000
thumbs up” (“A reviewer”, 2007). They declare “the story will inspire you to be
yourself...” (“a reader”, 2003) and are convinced that it “really helps break down

sterotypes” [sic] (“Claire”, 2003). Furthermore, they recommend it “to anyone who is

42

really narrow minded or is a gay or lesiban” [sic] (Vickery, 2002). A “Top 1000
Reviewer” named T. Burger nicely sums up the overall tone of these reviews, “...if you’re
a gay teenager, this book should shine bright rays of hope into your life” (2005, my
italics).

These reviewers not only recommend the book for all young adult readers, they
identify themselves as being from a range of sexual identities across a tremendous span
of ages. A reviewer who names herself “Just Grammy’s Opinion” says, “This is the
definition of a page turner. Beautifully written and totally honest in tone...” and a middle
school reader says, “I love this book...everyone should read it!” (“A Reviewer”, 2007).
Another reviewer, who calls herself “J anell, a straight who could relate to this” says that
the book made her more open to homosexuality and although “I know I'll never trully
understand how I could kiss the same sex as me, but I know that to some people, it feels
all right” [sic] (2006). Readers refer to their anticipation of reading other books in the
series and even suggest the creation of a television series based on the characters.

While it may be difficult to take some of these reviews seriously (as many of the glowing

99 “

comments are at the same time speckled with phrases like “typical queer, the sissy
kid,” and “faggy”), these reviews tend to come from Sanchez’s target audience and
clearly, their opinions matter. The fact that they praise the book indicates that on some
level, it strikes them as true.

The accolades for the book continue in professional publications where reviewers
particularly praise the novel for its realism, honesty, and positive messages. Betty S.

Evans (2001) wrote in the School library journal that “[t]his gutsy, in-your-face debut

novel speaks the language of...having what it takes to stand up and be proud of who you

43

are...it can open eyes and change lives” (169, my italics). A 2003 Kliatt review by Paula
Rohrlick (2003) declares, “YAs who are struggling with some of the same issues will
appreciate this realistic, caring portrayal of the relationships between the three boys and
their efforts to accept their sexuality in the face of intolerance” (my italics). A review by
Kristin Kloberdanz (2001) in Book calls the novel “clear [and] honest” and states that
“the three boys learn how to be themselves and stand up to their tormentors, who are not
just ignorant students but also older predators and gay bashers.” A 2001 VOYA review by
Lynn Evarts (2001) states, “this book is an important purchase for libraries serving
teens.” Kate McDowell (2001) wrote of Rainbow boys in the Bulletin of the center for
children’s books, “Sanchez...creates believably nuanced portrayals...When a work of
fiction embodies such accuracy and emotional complexity, there is but one word to
describe it: true” (91, my italics).

Within academic scholarship, Linda C. Salem’s (2006) publication Children ’s
literature studies: Cases and discussions extensively uses Rainbow boys (2001) in her
chapter, “Literature with GLBTQ Characters, Themes, and Content,” where she states
“[GLBTQ] fiction in the late 19908 and 20005 is characterized by authentic stories and
characters” (103) and lists Alex Sanchez as a recommended author in the next generation
of writers of GLBTQ fiction. She asks her presumed undergraduate teacher education
audience to read Rainbow boys (2001) as the one piece of GLBTQ fiction they examine
and assumes they will recommended it to their own students. In her Braverman Prize-
winning article published in Progressive librarian, Jennifer Downey (2005) recommends
the book because the characters are “not stereotypes whose lives revolve around sexuality

or who are surrounded by violence and a lack of acceptance” (86).

An article published in the Journal of adolescent & adult literacy by Mollie V.
Blackburn and JF Buckley (2005) calls for queer-inclusive English Language Arts
curricula in high schools. The authors were dismayed to find that only 8.49% of schools
responding to their survey indicated “that they use texts, films or other materials
addressing same-sex desire in their English language arts curriculum” (205) and even
these were often in a single course or through the use of a single text (many of which
depicted GLBTQ people in negative ways.) The authors state they want to help prepare
teachers by identifying “materials that provide authentic and accurate representations of
diverse LGBTQ people” (206). Although they voice concern that some heterosexual
characters with stereotypically Latino names “tend to be disturbingly homophobic” (207),
they recommend teachers use Rainbow Boys because it “disrupts the stereotypical notions
of gay men” (206).2

In The heart has its reasons: Young adult literature with gay/lesbian/queer
content, 1969-2004, scholars Michael Cart and Christine Jenkins (2006) note that
Rainbow Boys is “sometimes didactic” (144), but even they praise the “realistic,
sympathetic characters” (144). Cart and Jenkins place Rainbow boys (2001) in all three
categories in the system they have created (see chapter two) and Rainbow high (2003) in
the categories of “homosexual visibility” and “queer consciousness/community.”3

While the sequels to Rainbow boys (2001) are often recognized to be more
didactic, the books are still generally lauded by readers and critics — in fact, all three
books are Lambda Literary Award finalists. Rainbow high (2003) was named a New

York Public Library “Book for the Teen Age” in 2004, the same year the Children’s

Book Council named it 3 “Notable Social Studies Trade Book for Young People.” Robert

45

Gray (2003) writes in School library journal that “Sanchez has written a respectable
sequel to the noteworthy Rainbow boys (S & S, 2001). He has a definite feel for the
thoughts, feelings and speech patterns of contemporary high school students, and his
characters are believable, although perhaps not as fully developed as one would like”
(146) and suggests “the narrative flows smoothly, with plenty of soap-opera dramatics to
keep readers interested and a steamy scene or two to boot” (146). In The horn book
magazine, Rodger Sutton (2004) praises the “frankness” of Rainbow high and ultimately
refers to the novel as “a guilty pleasure — and reassuring, too” (83). Jeff Katz (2005) in
the School library journal calls Rainbow road (2005) “a true winner” (172) and declares
the characters to be realistic, saying, “these boys are distinct personalities and genuine
teens, searching for clarity and identity and acceptance, trying to make sense of
themselves and a world that can be equally bright and dark” (172). He concludes that the
novel is “a tender book that will likely be appreciated and embraced by young adult
readers” (173). While Rodger Sutton (2005) calls the book “the last and best” (725) of the
Rainbow boys series, Michael Cart (2005) notes in The booklist that the book is highly
banal until “halfway through the cross-country joumey...the story becomes more
involving as characterization finally takes the driver’s seat” (113). He goes on to identify
Nelson as “annoyingly predictable” but concludes “the other two boys are sympathetic
charmers, and fans of Sanchez’s first two Rainbow novels will certainly want to read this

one” (113).

46

“A BRIGHT RAY OF HOPE”: THE APPEAL OF SANCHEZ AND THE
RAINBOW BOYS SERIES

“Problem novels” are rarely taken seriously as literature, and yet the Rainbow
boys series has become GLBTQ literature with which to be reckoned. What has made the
series popular and influential with readers of all sexual identities, both young and old?
There seem to be several factors that contribute to the popularity of the series (especially
the first installment) that deserve further exploration as to what they suggest about the
novels’ appeal.

According to his online biography, Sanchez initially set out to write a story about
gay teens which reflected what he “wanted and needed to read when he was a young

99’

teenager — a book that would have told him: ‘It’s okay to be who you are (Sanchez,
2007). Recognizing that in the history of GLBTQ literature, “there has been little focus
on gays as protagonists” (Dean, 2001), he decided to write a novel which worked against
the trend of subjugating gays to secondary roles. It is commendable that Sanchez (unlike
many authors of GLBTQ young adult fiction) is remarkably open not only about his
educational, professional, and personal background, but about his own self-identification
as a gay male. Clearly, he cares deeply about providing representation and voice to this
population: his website includes detailed pages that guide young adults in issues ranging
from “coming out” to family and friends to spirituality and censorship.

As an author, Sanchez says he is concerned that “the predominant experience for
most GLBTQ youth is still one of isolation, harassment, persecution, and self-loathing”
(Smith, 2005) and hopes that his books will help young people come to believe in

themselves when those in society are telling them what they feel is wrong. In interviews,

he shares excerpts of emails he receives from young adult readers of his books — all of

47

which are deeply moving and heart—felt thanks for his work; it is work that has
undoubtedly provided many gay young people an opportunity to see themselves reflected
in literature for the very first time. Further, the admiration doesn’t just move in one
direction; Sanchez says, “gay yoUth today are my heroes...so many of them are so willing
to stand up for themselves and take risks, and I recognize the courage that takes”
(Murphy, 2002).

In the structure of his writing itself, Sanchez tackles three alternating perspectives
throughout the series, something worthy of applause as the technique often proves elusive
for even the most seasoned writers. And yet, in spite of all the accolades and praise, he
appears remarkably humble: in an interview for Youth resource: Advocates for youth, he
states, “no one taught me to think of writing and books as agents of social change, able to
inspire, empower, and change lives. That my books can do this ceaselessly amazes me”
(Alana, 2004).

Obviously, it’s not just Sanchez himself that makes the series so popular. Michael
Cart (2002) has said of Rainbow boys (2001) in his column “Carte Blache” for Booklist,
“What saves the story from problem-novel limbo are its realistic, right-on dialogue; its
sympathetic characters who rise above the stereotypical; and — most important — its focus
on love as the heart of homosexuality” (587). In a genre with a history of assuming
homogeneity among homosexuals, the Rainbow boys series is commendable because it
presents for readers different “types” of gay men. And the books are also notable because
they contain both gay men and lesbian women as characters — another rarity in GLBTQ
young adult fiction (certainly fitting with Cart and Jenkins’ category of “queer

consciousness/community”), which too often explores the lives of gay men and lesbian

48

women in isolation of one another. The series remains important because it addresses the
issue of AIDS (a subject Cart and Jenkins have noted is habitually absent from GLBTQ
young adult literature) and the books appear to provide an accurate, realistic depiction of
contemporary high school life: filled with cliques, heartaches and crushes, and the
struggle to discover one’s self-identity.

Scholars, critics, and readers also praise the book for its realistic, sympathetic
characters and that is primarily where the reading explored in this dissertation stands at
odds with other analyses. Having the best authorial intentions is not enough: it is the
subtext of what Sanchez has created (by depicting his themes and queer characters within
a heterosexual binary) that establishes the problematic way 'the books work. Although
they are hailed for making gay men visible, these books must be analyzed in terms of
how characters are made to feel “realistic” and “true” and how gay relationships are made

to feel “acceptable” for readers.

49

NOTES

 

1 By November 2001, Rainbow boys had the distinction of being Amazon.com’s top
selling piece of gay and lesbian fiction (http://alexsanchez.com/AmazonNo1.htm).

3 If heterosexual Latinos are uniformly depicted as homophobic, it may be enough for us
to rethink the Rainbow boys series because, to extend Debbie Reese’s (1997) argument
around depictions of Native Americans in children’s literature, it is “wrong to celebrate
one culture at the expense of another” ( 161).

3 The Heart has its reasons chronicles GLBTQ young adult literature through 2004 and
therefore does not include the final book in the Rainbow boys trilogy, Rainbow road

(2005).

50

CHAPTER FOUR

THE HETERONORMATIVE COUPLE

The Rainbow boys books Can be classified in multiple genres: including
contemporary realistic romance fiction and as gay adolescent problem novels. As it
happens, situating these texts within a particular genre has an influence on the way the
books can be “read” and shifting the genre shifts the meanings. In order to achieve the
most complex understanding of what is occurring in these books, it will be necessary to
consider how the literary elements shape the text according to the conventions of each

genre type and formula.

RAINBOW BOYS AS ROMANCE FICTION

In many ways, Rainbow boys can be read as a contemporary version of the
traditional romance formula. In the late 19705 and early 19805, several scholars and
critics began writing about the conventions and content of romance novels. With roots in
Samuel Richardson’s 1740 epistolary novel Pamela, the contemporary romance is a
highly profitable venture for publishers (Mussell, 1984; Radway, 1984/ 1991; Thurston,
1987). According to the Romance Writers of America (2008), sales of romance novels
topped $1.37 billion in 2006. Carol Thurston (1987) notes that there is variation between
the plots and characteristics of romance novels, arguing that “romance novels today are
not all the same, nor have all of them changed in fundamental ways” (61). Kay Mussell
(1984) agrees by noting that each era “finds its own models for the familiar tale” (4), but

writes that although individual texts may play with the events of in the book, “the shape

51

of the narrative is predictable, even when the outline of a specific plot seems to represent
an innovation” (37). John Cawelti (1976) identifies some general traits of the formula
romance when he writes that “the crucial defining characteristic of the [modern] romance
is not that it stars a female, but that its organizing action is the development of a love
relationship, usually between a man and a woman...The moral fantasy of the romance is
that of love triumphant and permanent, overcoming all obstacles and difficulties” (4]).
Reiterating classical rhetorical theory, Linda Barlow (1993) is more straightforward when
she writes that “all romances share four basic elements: a heroine, a hero, a conflict-
ridden love story, and a happily-ever-after ending” (47). The general conventions of the
contemporary romance focus on the trials and tribulations of a single couple as they work
against internal or external forces that keep them apart. The optimistic endings promise a

future in which both partners find happily monogamous domestic bliss with one another.

JASON AND KYLE AS ROMANTIC [HETERONORMATIVE] COUPLE
Although romance novels are generally told through the third-person perspective
of the heroine, Rainbow boys breaks this tradition by telling its story through multiple
viewpoints, giving readers a glimpse into the mindset of three protagonists as opposed to
a single heroine. In these books, readers are invited to experience firsthand what it “feels
like” to be both a dominant (a role traditionally assigned to the “hero”) and passive
(traditionally the “heroine”) partner in a romantic relationship. One of the major critiques
of the romance novel is that it reflects and reinforces the notion that women find
satisfaction and fulfillment in life by gaining the love of a man: a woman’s success is

measured by whether or not she is able to “tame the stud” (Mussell, 1984, 36). These

52

9

books rely on stereotypical constructions of what it means to be a “man” and a “woman.’
Although the heroes and heroines are not identical across novels, they rely on known
stereotypes (Gilbert, 1993, 71) and scholars have described a number of characteristics
that are frequently attributed to these character tropes (compiled from Mussell, 1984;

Radway, 1984/1991; Christian-Smith, 1993; Krentz, 1992):

HERO HEROINE
Sexually experienced Chaste

Protector Needs protection
Powerful in traditionally masculine ways Weak in traditionally feminine ways
Emotionally remote Emotional
Self-motivated Self-sacrificing
Exciting Quiet

Older Younger

Rough Gentle

Strong Soft/Compassionate
Suspicious Trusting
Dominating/Domineering Submissive
Hot-tempered/Capable of violence Calm

Moody Talkative

Dark Light

Lost Grounded

In Rainbow boys, the “hero” Jason is essentially a stock character who appears in
many gay young adult novels, and is identified by Alex Sanchez in Rainbow boys
(through the voice of Nelson) as the “Tragic Closet lock” (or T.C.J.), a trope that
represents many of the stereotypes of a “masculine” male. He is the “dominant” actor
who is self-sufficient, self-gratifying, physically aggressive, athletic, immature, and
unemotional. It seems that this trope is also familiar to the readers of romance and, like
the romance hero, Jason must carry the Rainbow boys books by drawing in readers with

his “desirable maleness” (Kinsale, 1993, 37): Jason is handsome, physically well

53

developed, and quintessentially “masculine.” This is a character that has become a staple
in numerous gay young adult literature titles: the closeted school sports hero who
discovers his sexual identity through interactions with a “feminine” gay counterpart (in
the case of the Rainbow boys series, Kyle). As only two examples, recent T.C.J.’s include
Kevin, the baseball star/object of protagonist Russell’s affection in Brent Hartinger’s
(2003) popular Geography club trilogy and Colin, the closeted jock and secret boyfriend
of protagonist Joe in James Howe’s (2005) Totally joe. Embodying many of the same
stereotypical and troublesome characteristics traditionally assigned in literature to
females, Kyle fills the role of the heroine: he is emotional, sensitive, and willing to put
his own needs secondary to those of the dominant male. Kyle’s courage comes from

having the strength to always be ready to accept the love of the hero.

RAINBOW BOYS AS SERIES ROMANCE

In her book Fantasy and reconciliation: Contemporary formulas of women ’s
romance fiction, Kay Mussell (1984) lays out a typology of romance formulas; although
there is some overlap between the various categories of romances, she generally divides
them up into series, erotic, suspense, gothic, biographies, and historical. The Rainbow
boys books (particularly as they pertain to Jason and Kyle) fit most closely as an example
of the series romance. Rainbow boys, like all series romances, “concentrate[s] on the
development of a romantic relationship between two characters” (30) as readers follow
the internal turmoil for Jason and Kyle while they find their way to one another. Rainbow
boys is primarily a story about the lovers working through issues that “come from

within.” Jason works through his internalized homophobia as he struggles to accept his

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budding sexuality. However, Mussell (1984) notes that in the series romance, “external
impediments love to play only a minor part” (30) and in Rainbow boys, I would argue
that external forces are also contributing in a major way to keeping the two lovers apart:
the “Rainbow Boys” have been living in a world in which they have been conditioned to
be fearful of the intolerance of those around them. The fear Jason has of “coming out” (to
himself or others) stems from the ways his father, his peers, and nearly everyone around
him reinforces the idea that being queer is undesirable at best and immoral, disgusting,

and the grounds for ridicule and abuse at worst.

A promise fulfilled: The pattern of romance

Mussell (1984) notes that the series romance begins “with a problem or dramatic
change in the life of the heroine” (31) and in the first chapter told from Kyle’s
perspective, readers see the marking of this change: Jason, the long-time object of his
sexual desire, has shown up at the gay youth meeting. Suddenly, this young man is no
longer unattainable: the fantasy star athlete may actually be gay. Told from his
perspective, readers see firsthand what Jason’s appearance at this meeting has meant for
Kyle: “In an instant, he raced through the door and down the four flights. When he
reached the front stoop, he looked down one end of the street, then the other. Had the
man of his dreams really shown up at the meeting? He searched every block around the
neighborhood” (10). After seeing Jason in this entirely new context, readers know that
life will not ever be the same for Kyle; things are different now. Like all romance
heroines, Kyle’s life is more joyful, but also more difficult and complex once Jason is

playing a more predominant and direct role in his life (it is indirectly a result of Jason that

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Kyle “comes out” to his parents).

In the series romance, “characters go to great lengths to resist their feelings” (35)
and in the first chapter on the novel, Jason appears, standing on the steps and debating
whether or not he should attend the gay youth meeting. He reminds himself that he has a
girlfriend and reminisces about “that night he made it with her — a girl. Homos couldn’t
do that. Ergo, he couldn’t be a homo” (3). He continues to dream about men and question
his sexual identity even as he has sex with his girlfriend Debra to “take his mind off
everything -— and prove once again he wasn’t queer” (31). When he finds himself unable
to perform with her, Debra worries that he is no longer interested in her, to which Jason
thinks, “He was interested, if for no other reason than to reassure himself he wasn’t
queer” (32). As he and Kyle become closer to one another, Jason continues to resist his
feelings. The pair decide to go to a movie together and Jason eventually finds his hand
sharing an arm rest with Kyle’s. As their hands touch, Jason reprimands himself: “the
longer his hand stayed there, the more significant the fact became, the more difficult it
would be to explain away. He should remove his hand now. Do it. Now” (99, italics in
original).

When Jason comes to Kyle house to study (they choose to work in the bedroom —
where Kyle has to quickly hide the yearbook lying open on his bed, as it is, of course,
open to J ason’s picture), the pair practice shooting hoops with wads of balled up paper
before staring lustfully at one another and eventually kissing.

As is traditional in the structure of the series romance, in Rainbow boys, Kyle
admits his love before Jason is ready to accept it. When the pair kiss for the first time,

“their mouths met perfectly” (137) and Kyle blurts out that he loves Jason — and Jason

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flees, leaving Kyle alone to bask in the fact that “he had actually kissed the boy he loved.
And that boy had kissed him back” (138). Jason hurriedly leaves and decides he needs to
break things off with Kyle. As Kyle approaches his lunch table the following day at
school, Jason tells him “Uh...someone’s sitting here” ( 159). Kyle flees from the cafeteria
and Jason chases after him saying they should talk it about it later, someplace no one can
see them. Although Kyle calls Jason a creep, he (as “feminine” counterpart) is willing to
take the responsibility on himself. Luckily, Kyle finds solace in fantasies about Jason: he
looks at Jason’s yearbook photos (even scanning one into his computer) and lies in bed
where “his mind drifted to images of Jason in the locker room of tenth-grade gym class —
his biceps bulging against his T-shirt sleeves, his butt framed by his jockstrap. Kyle
wrapped his arm around his pillow and, smiling, fell asleep” (16). It is the dream of
obtaining the love of the Jason that simultaneously creates strife and satisfaction for Kyle.
In spite of what Jason reconstructs as an unwelcomed kiss, he decides that he
values his friendship with Kyle and hopes that he can make it clear to him that he wants
to be friends — but not lovers. Like many romantic heroes, Jason does not initially
recognize what Kyle can offer and does not recognize his potential as a partner. It is not
until the pair walk to Kyle’s house to study that:
Every once in a while he glanced over at Kyle. He had never really taken a
good look at him before. His eyes were hazel, and his wire-frame glasses
gave him a teddy-bear face. His hair was a honey color and hung down in
bangs from beneath his cap. His shoulders were broad for such a thin guy.
He remembered Kyle telling him he was on the swim team. He had a body

like a swimmer — long, firm, and lean. (2001, 62-3)

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In a scene reminiscent of countless love stories, Jason looks beyond Kyle’s glasses and
realizes that there may be more to this guy than he originally thought: he notices his eyes
— and the rest of him — for what feels like the very first time. Kay Mussell (1984)
identifies this as the “domestic te5t”: “masculine” Jason is able to look beyond his initial
impressions and can “recognize worth despite the exterior package” (Mussell, 1984, 99)
by finding the beauty hidden within/beneath the “ordinary” package.

For his part, Jason will also be subjected to the “domestic test.” Although the
romance hero must be unfailingly “masculine,” “heroes also may need understanding,
protection, and sensitivity” (103). Through his relationship with his younger sister
Melissa, readers see Jason as someone with nurturing characteristics. He knows that “she
trusted him” (161) and he works to protect her from the violence of their father. He plays
with her, spends time with her, and teaches her about life and what it “means” to be gay

(Melissa concludes that “it means when two boys are really happy ‘cause they love each

other” [161]).

Knowing when to say “yes”: The transformative power of “The first time”

After Jason rescues Kyle and Nelson from a hate-attack from school bully Jack
Ransom, the pair begin to become closer. Kyle is invited to Jason’s house and when he
arrives, he finds Jason crying: sitting “on the bed, leaning against the headboard. His eyes
were closed, his cheeks wet” (209). Despite his efforts to work through his emotion with
aggression, “masculine” Jason releases his anger at his abusive father and confusion
stemming from his identity only when he believes he is alone in a darkened house. Kyle

moves to comfort him and the two cry together.

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Jason looked up at Kyle. His soft, damp cheek brushed his own,
and their lips touched. Kyle’s body melted beneath the kiss, but his mind
flooded with anxiety. This wasn’t the right time.

“We better not,” he said, drawing away. “You’re upset. You may
feel different tomorrow.”

Jason stared back with a look so hurt it broke Kyle’s heart.

“What about your mom?” Kyle insisted.

Jason ran a hand through his curls, as if considering. When he
looked again at Kyle, his face was changed, looking calm like Kyle had
never seen it. “She won’t be back till late. Please, stay?”

The song from the headphones drifted beside them, dispersing Kyle’s resolve. If
this was what Jason wanted, he would give it to him. He might die from pain if Jason
ditched him after, but he’d get through somehow. (210-11) Finally, when the couple
begins to have sex for the first time, Kyle again blurts out that he loves Jason and feels
Jason’s hands slide away from him: “How stupid I could be, he thought. I should just
shoot myself and end my misery” (212, italics in original), but this time his feelings are
accepted as Jason works through his initial feelings of panic and proclaims his love for
Kyle as well. Like all good romantic heroines, Kyle has maintained his virginity, but
intuitively recognizes when he must give this “gift” to the hero. He has the “courage” to
take this risk and trust that the loss of his virginity will be a rite of passage for both him
and the hero (effectively domesticating Jason). As Doreen Owens Malek (1993) writes,
“we as readers anticipated the loss of the heroine’s virginity to this one very special

man...virginity is a gift that can only be given once, and it is ideally bestowed on a

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woman’s great love. This giving of virginity adds an immeasurable element of drama and
power to a story. It changes the heroine, of course, but in romance novels it also changes
the hero” (118). Jason realizes how much Kyle has been there for him and knows then
that he must possess him. In Rainbow boys, there are two moments of triumph for Kyle:
found in the moment when he and Jason finally kiss and when he has effectively “tamed

the stud.”

THE FORMULA OF RAINBOW BOYS

John Cawelti (1976) defines four functions common to formula romances: they
“affirm existing interests and attitudes by presenting an imaginary world that is aligned
with these interests and attitudes”; they “resolve tensions and ambiguities resulting from
the conflicting interests of different groups within the culture or from ambiguous attitudes
toward particular values”; they “enable the audience to explore in fantasy the boundary
between the permitted and the forbidden and to experience in a carefully controlled way
the possibility of stepping across this boundary”; and they “assist in the process of
assimilating changes in values to traditional imaginative constructs” (35-6).

In some ways, the Rainbow Boys books serve to bring queer identities further into
mainstream culture. They provide for readers a familiar plot structure, but with a twist: as
opposed to the traditional story of the hero who romances a heroine, instead, readers have
two males who are embarking upon a relationship with one another. These are familiar
codes being played out by these characters, which makes them particularly powerful and
immediately acceptable for readers. As Linda Barlow and Jayne Ann Krentz ( 1993)

write, “the greatest challenge for the romance writer working today is to excite and

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delight our readers while, at the same time, fulfilling their expectations. It has been our
experience that this is best achieved by making full use of the codes and conventions that
have served us well for centuries, codes that are universally recognized by our sisters in
every nation and culture, codes that celebrate the most enduring myths of feminine
consciousness” (28-9). Despite the fact that these are two gay males, their construction
makes them immediately recognizable for readers. This familiarity may be what leads
readers to remark that they now “get” what it is like to be gay: they’ve seen an image of a
gay romance that is familiar as a “heterosexual” model (albeit fictional) that pushes
against what has previously been considered taboo. The use of romantic myths around
what “males” and “females” are like serves as an “in” for heterosexual readers. What
draws readers to romance are the predictability of the characters and plot: readers know
that a love story will develop, the boundaries of that love will be tested, and ultimately, a
happy ending will bring about closure in the form of a monogamous couple with a bright
future. Putting readers through the difficulty and turbulence of the pursuit of romance
makes the “victory” even more appealing and triumphant. And in the safe harbor as
reader of a text, these identities can be “lived” without actually being experienced.
Responding to the criticism of the romance novel, many readers respond that “This is the
type of story we like, and why shouldn’t we have it? It’s labeled fiction, nobody thinks
it’s real, and it harms no one” (Malek, 1993, 79). As Sandra Brown (1993) writes,
romance novels are fantasies. She argues that fantasies allow readers personas
(“costumes”) that can be tried on and worn for awhile; romance novels are a type of
make-believe where readers are granted “momentary permission to be something that

we’re not” (146). The same type of arguments could be made toward the tropes in

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Rainbow boys. Unfortunately, what is harmful is that these are not merely neutral words
on the page; these myths and messages shape and construct “reality.” Romance novels
are fantasies, but Kathleen Gilles Seidel (1993) writes that “the plot of a romance novel —
especially its happy ending — sets’up fantasies about the way the world ought to work”
(160) and where romance novels become particularly problematic is within what
ultimately makes them so appealing for readers: the “happy” endings may make readers
feel satisfied and affirmed, but at the same time these characters and situations are
instantly recognizable because they are standard conventions that are repeatedly relied
upon. By employing these conventions, Sanchez is reinforcing heteronormative

assumptions about how the gendered world looks and operates for gay men.

REINFORCING THE GENDER BINARY

The characters in romance novels are grounded in a gender binary of
“masculinity” and “femininity” in which the characteristics of each are viewed as
distinctive, opposite, and both contradictory and complementary. Toril Moi (1985)
writes, “in the opposition of masculine/feminine, each term only achieves significance
through its structural relationship to the other: ‘masculine’ would be meaningless without
its direct opposite ‘feminine’ and vice versa” (105). Insofar as Rainbow boys maintains
this heteronormative structure, it is not an example of queer literature. Although both the
leading characters are male, the story structure is a conventional heterosexual romance.

Further, “masculine” and “feminine” counterparts are not equal, they are viewed
as dominant and subordinate. Moi (1985) writes that “these binary oppositions are

heavily imbricated .in the patriarchal value system: each opposition can be analysed as a

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hierarchy where the ‘feminine’ side is always seen as the negative, powerless instance”
(104). In order for this system to exist, one term must be viewed as central or dominant
while the other is subordinate and more reactionary. Throughout Rainbow boys (2001),
the “masculine” is routinely privileged — at even a superficial level, the “Tragic Closet
Jock” Jason gets both the first and last chapter of the book, giving him both the first and
last word and allowing him more opportunity for his voice to be heard. This privilegin g
and granting of power to the “masculine” is a result of the oppositional gender binary:
“the very injunction to be a given gender takes place through discursive routes” (Butler,
1990, 145) and these commonly accepted and taken for granted “differences” serve to
excuse inequities in power and social status (Epstein 1988). This is another feature of the
books that is more heteronormative than queer.

Warren J. Blumenfeld (1992) summarizes Western assumptions/constructions of
“traditional” gender roles in his book Homophobia: How we all pay the price, writing,
“Males are encouraged to be independent, competitive, goal oriented, and unemotional,
to value physical courage and toughness. Females, on the other hand, are taught to be
nurturing, emotional, sensitive, expressive, to be caretakers of others while disregarding
their own needs” (691). If Jason, the attractive star athlete who is allowed to discover his
sexuality at both his girlfriend and co-protagonist Kyle’s expense, is what Blumenfeld
characterizes as traditionally “male,” Kyle (in addition to Jason’s girlfriend Debra) fits
the “female” counterpart as the sensitive nurturer who puts his own needs secondary to
those of his boyfriend.

Like the Tragic Closet Jock, the Sympathetic, Understanding Doormat Kyle is

also an athlete, but the series makes clear that he is subordinate to the alpha male: being a

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swim team star is not in the same class as the jocks who play contact sports like
basketball. The sports played by “masculine” athletes (like Jason) and that carry positions
of social privilege are exclusionary of those who don’t identify as “male,” while sports
like the swim team on which “feminine” Kyle participates are co-educational.

The reliance on the heteronormative binary becomes particularly problematic
when these characters are explored as representations of gay men. It is because these
depictions of gay men are played so “straight” — without play or nuance — that the books
feel so “inauthentic” as representations of gay men, but often feel “authentic” in the
familiar context of the male/female heterosexual binary.

In an interview with teenread5.com, author Sanchez says that in Rainbow boys, “I
tried to depict characters that both embraced and challenged stereotypes of what gay
teens are like” (2002). While his acknowledgment is admirable, it comes at a tremendous
cost in terms of the negative implications inherent in these depictions. In fact, his reliance
on these constructions may actually work against the very goals he hopes to achieve: as
Rosalinda B. Barrera, Olga Liguori, and Loretta Salas (1993) suggest, “authenticity of
content and images in children’s literature is essential because inauthentic representation
subverts the very cultural awareness and understanding that such literature can build”

(212).

WRITING THE RAINBOW BOYS GAY: HOW SANCHEZ CONSTRUCTS
JASON AND KYLE AS QUEER
T.C.J. Jason’s construction as the quintessential unemotional “male” comes as a

result of his internalized homophobia; he desperately seeks the attention of his alcoholic

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father: a physically violent and verbally abusive man who consistently calls him names
like “Stupid, Dummy, Fairy-Boy, Pansy” (2001, 27). Although the novel distances itself
from Jason’s father (as readers, we are supposed to disagree with his viewpoint), it
routinely implies that if his father were more affirmative of his “masculinity” as opposed
to identifying him as “feminine,” Jason may not have “turned out” gay. Jason’s mother
gives voice to these concerns, asking, “Do you think it’s because of [your father] that
you’re...gay?” (2003, 190).i

In “How to bring your kids up gay,” Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick (1991) points to the
work of revisionist psychoanalysts as serving to renaturalize gender in ways which
suggest that boys (no matter how “effeminate”) can be dissuaded from homosexuality
through early affirmation of their “masculinity.” According to these accounts, “the reason
effeminate boys turn out gay...is that other men don’t validate them as masculine” (22).
These same psychoanalysts proclaim that, although they cannot affirm their son’s

99 ‘6

“masculinity, mothers who display any tolerance of their sons’ cross-gender behavior”

(25) also contribute to their homosexuality. Sedgwick argues:
Mothers, indeed have nothing to contribute to this process of masculine
validation and women are reduced in the light of its urgency to a null set:
any involvement in it by a woman is overinvolvement, any protectiveness
is overprotectiveness, and for instance, mothers “proud of their sons’
nonviolent qualities” are manifesting unmistakable “family pathology”
(193). (23)

Moments that exemplify this epistemological position are glimpsed throughout the series

in moments such as a scene early in Rainbow boys in which Jason and his father argue

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and his mother, seeking to prevent further violence, intervenes. In response to her request
that the two men cease their argument, Jason’s father replies, “Always mothering him.
No wonder he’s such a pansy” (28).

Sedgwick’s comments highlight another dimension of Rainbow boys that is more
conventionally heteronormative than queer. In all three novels, Jason’s self-perceived
“femininity” leads him to constantly work to embody “masculine” characteristics (i.e. he
routinely wills himself not to cry, but if he must, he does so alone and privately; he is
aggressive and physically violent). Even his vocabulary is “masculine” — throughout the
entire series, he perpetually and consistently says “Wha’s up?” Although it has been
argued that this is “teen talk,” not “masculine jock talk,” it is worth noting that only Jason
(as the “masculine” male) uses this terminology. Jason’s desire to be seen by other men
as “masculine” and therefore obtain (and maintain) their approval — what Eve Kosofsy
Sedgwick (1985) calls “male homosociality” — leads him to desperately seek the attention
and affirmation of other “masculine” males: as he explicitly states in Rainbow road
(2005), the teasing of his peers and his father’s abuse led him to “work harder to prove he
wasn’t gay” (623) by acting more “masculine.”

When Jason’s mind wanders during oral sex with his girlfriend and it is “too late”
(32) for him to fight the image of Kyle performing oral sex, the physical, sexual act
marks the pivotal moment in Jason’s realization that he is in fact, gay. Reflecting on these
events, he decides that, “Kyle was okay. If Jason ever did make it with another guy — not
that he ever would, he assured himself — but if he did, it would be with someone normal,
like Kyle” (33). It seems there are acceptable ways to be gay - and, for the “masculine”

male, the “natural,” “normal” counterpart would be someone occupying a stereotypically

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“feminine” position: subordinate, passive, and self-sacrificing. As Stevi Jackson (1996)
argues, “we all learn to be sexual within a society in which ‘real sex’ is defined as a
quintessentially heterosexual act, vaginal intercourse, and in which sexual activity is
thought of in terms of an active subject and passive object” (2). By defining a particular
way of being a gay male as “normal,” Sanchez implies that any alternatives are
undesirable at best and impossibilities at worst (Davies 1989).

In his analysis of gay men’s literature in the Twentieth century, Mark Lilly (1993)
writes of the “desirability of the brutish male” (118) as related to the work of Tennessee
Williams. There is a history in Western gay culture of privileging those gay men who
embody the characteristics traditionally thought of as “masculine” while those who are
“effeminate” are taboo and undesirable. Lilly’s argument that “culture, refinement and
kindness itself, in men, are seen as emasculating” (116) can be read as a defense of the
“masculinity” of Jason through the observation that it could very well be that Jason’s
internalized homophobia serves as an explanation for his routine rejection of “feminine”
Kyle. To open himself up and treat another male with kindness would make him “less of
a man.”

Although Sanchez depicts Jason as a character working through internalized
homophobia, in a novel that is steeped in gay identity politics with a self-proclaimed
mission of educating readers about what “gay teens are like” (Sanchez, 2002), it is
I troubling that there would be any talk of “normal” ways it of being gay. It seems to
simultaneously reinforce and rely upon the heteronormative ideological belief in the
“male/female” sex/gender distinction that “produces a correlative belief that those two

sexes/genders exist in order to fulfill complementary roles” (Queen, Farrell, & Gupta,

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2005, 3). As Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick (1991) writes, there is “a tradition of assuming that

anyone, male or female, who desires a man must by definition be feminine” (20).

THE INVERTED HETEROSEXUAL COUPLE

As explored in chapter two, the theory of inversion has been used to “naturalize”
(Butler, 1990, 54-55, 60-61) queer relationships in ways that fit them within normative
ways of viewing sexuality and the world — heterosexuality is reinscribed within
homosexuality. This is a pattern that has appeared frequently in literature depicting gay
men. As Carole-Anne Tyler (1991) writes, “sexual inversion theory explains what looks
like a homosexual object choice as in effect a heterosexual object choice by labeling the
homosexual an ‘invert’ and, therefore, psychically (and perhaps to some degree
physically) the opposite sex” (34). Chapter two noted that despite an abundance of
criticism, this theory is still relied upon today. In his work on “Gay Machismo,” Martin
lHumphries asserts, “By creating amongst ourselves [gay men] apparently masculine men
who desire other men we are refuting the idea that we are really feminine souls in male
bodies” (84). Carole-Anne Tyler (1991) locates a playful extension of this idea in Rita
Mae Brown’s Rubyfruit jungle in which “it is heterosexuals, not homosexuals, who suffer
from gender confusion, as their sexual fantasies of ‘inversion’ reveal” (36).

The most serious treatment of inversion can be found in Jonathan Dollimore’s
(1991) analysis of Marguerite Radclyffe Hall’s (1928) The well of loneliness. Through
the character of Stephen, a “‘masculine’ lesbian” (48), the “scientific” theories of
inversion are given legitimacy when homosexuality is depicted as an “abnormal yet

natural” aberration (48). He argues that Hall’s novel is important because it allows

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lesbian characters to see themselves represented, but the depictions are ultimately
repressing. He writes that “the process of authenticating the inauthentic works by
merging, displacing, and replacing negative representations with more positive ones
appropriated from the dominant” (48-9). He writes that it can be argued that characters
who are “inverted” can be representations of “superiority” (49) as a result of their ability
to identify as “both” genders. However, the “blind acceptance of the division between
masculine and feminine as also an immutable law” (50); these depictions ultimately
reinforce heteronormativity as opposed to subverting it with queer characters.

Again, it could very well be that Sanchez is aware of the implications of these
depictions: perhaps these characters serve as an “in” for heterosexual readers; these may
be two “males,” but they are familiar and may help readers work against their own
homophobia in the ways that these characters feel “natural.” The quotes put forth in
chapter three may certainly support this notion: remember “J anell, a straight who could
relate to this” who wrote that “I know I'll never trully understand how I could kiss the
same sex as me, but I know that to some people, it feels all right” [sic] (2006). These
representations may work for readers who identify themselves as heterosexual, but in fact
they offer little in terms of an “authentic” glimpse at a queer identity: as opposed to
providing young readers an image of queer identity, they are instead given the same
stereotypically heterosexual constructions that serve to do little more than reinforce

heteronormativity.

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PERPETUATIN G THE TROPES

These tropes continue throughout the series: early in Rainbow High (2003), the
second novel in the trilogy, Kyle encourages T.C.J. Jason to come out of the closet
publicly because “if you come out now, you’d be, I don’t know, like, a role model —
someone people would look up to” (27). After talking with his coachii and the school
principal, Jason decides not to reveal his homosexuality because it might “screw up our
chances for the [state] championship” (101). However, upon rescuing Nelson from a
scuffle with one of his bully-teammates in the cafeteria, Jason accidentally alludes to his
own sexual identity and it is decided that the subject can no longer be avoided. Jason
comes out to his teammates, who are (to Sanchez’s credit) portrayed as generally
accepting and supportive, and this sets in motion a series of events in which Jason is
heteronormatively hailed as a hero and a role model by the media, his peers, and
superiors. He is, for example, flocked by freshmen girls who yearn to take him shopping
and want his opinion as to which boy band members are more attractive.

Most importantly, his status as “jock” trumps his identity as gay and his
popularity remains unquestioned: even the most homophobic students still embrace and
accept him. When it is eventually revealed that Kyle and Jason are in a relationship
together, “feminine” Kyle (and interestingly Jason’s ex-girlfriend) becomes the focus of
the verbal harassment of his peers, while Jason has positive interactions with those
around him. It isn’t long before Jason gets “notes shoved through the slats of my locker
from people telling me I’ve given them courage” (150, italics in original) and members of
the local media decide to interview him as an “excellent role model” (68) for young

people everywhere. Although he initially claims he is uncomfortable serving as a role

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model, Jason accepts this position after Kyle, his ex—girlfriend Debra, his coach, his
school principal, the local media, co-protagonist (and sometimes adversary) Nelson, the
faculty-head of the high school’s gay-straight alliance, and even complete strangers
applaud “his courage for coming out” (189). The “masculine” male is revered for his
sexual identity, while the “feminine” counterparts are exiled and ridiculed. This feels
familiar because it parallels the double standard for the sexual activity described by Lees
(1993) in which heterosexual males are labeled “real men” and females are named
“sluts”.

In Rainbow high (2003), Jason continues to exemplify stereotypes of the
“masculine” male by acting with little regard to those around him — particularly S.U.D.
Kyle. As an example, he denies having a boyfriend in a television interview filmed in
front of an audience of his peers. When Kyle (who was present at the interview) becomes
upset, Jason wonders “since when had they become ‘boyfriends.’ They’d never discussed
it. True, they’d had sex. But that just sort of happened...but did that make them
boyfriends?” (62, italics in original). In fact, “he’d never thought of Kyle and him as
‘dating”’ (65). Near the end of the second novel, Jason publicly acknowledges Kyle as
his boyfriend: brazenly putting his arm around him and kissing him in front of strangers
and in the presence of television reporters and their cameras. As it is written, however,
after winning the state basketball championship, the acknowledgement of Kyle comes not
because he recognizes the role Kyle plays in his life or the importance of acknowledging
his partner in meaningful, legitimizing ways, but because “high with excitement, Jason
didn’t think twice” (193) about answering the reporters when they ask if Kyle is his

boyfriend.

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It also seems the S.U.D. Kyle remains unchanged since he was first presented in
Rainbow boys (2001) as he spends the bulk of Rainbow high swooning “at the sound of
the low, husky voice” (52) of the T.C.J. Kyle remains unfailingly self-sacrificing —
buying Jason gifts and giving up his own material possessions (his gloves on page 59 and
his jacket on page 219) to ensure Jason is protected and comfortable. He compromises his
own emotional well-being while spending most of the book dreaming of “the image of
Jason in his satin uniform, arms pumping” (83).

Kyle recognizes that his devotion to the T.C.J. forces him to silence his own
voice, but resigns himself to the fact that must remain hidden even though “it was killing
him to sit by invisible” (144). The dedicated “feminine” counterpart to the “masculine”
jock, Kyle pines for his inattentive boyfriend:

Kyle hugged a cushion to his chest and for the millionth time watched
Jason appear on the screen. The lush curly hair, imploring brown eyes, and
breathtaking lips made him look like the star of some TV teen drama.
Even though Kyle wanted to hurl the remote at the tube each time Jason
told the reporter he didn’t have a boyfriend, he couldn’t stop watching and
rewatching. (...) He fell asleep on the couch, dreaming of the dark—eyed
boy on the TV screen. (174-5)
Harboring insecurity about dating a boy who used to like girls, the S.U.D. wonders if he
can really trust Jason to remain faithful if they don’t attend the same college. When Kyle
learns he’s been accepted to Princeton University’s math program, he quickly convinces
himself that he and Jason “absolutely had to go to Tech [the local public university].

Once away from home, there was no way his parents — or anyone — could keep Jason and

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him apart” (61, italics in original). While debating his options, S.U.D. Kyle hides his
acceptance letter to Princeton “between the pages of his yearbook, opposite his favorite
photo of Jason, at last year’s basketball championships” and at the height of his internal
conflict, he melodrarnatically removes the acceptance letter as “his gaze shifted back and
forth between the letter and Jason’s photo. How could he leave Jason? And how could he
pass up Princeton?” (120).

Readers who continue through the series will find the suggestion of growth in
these characters and their relationship in the final installment of the trilogy. However, in
Rainbow road (2005), Jason continues to be depicted as stereotypically “masculine”:
practical, immature, grumbling, vulgar, and insatiable. Jason’s “masculinity” actually
distances him from the other homosexuals in the book. On the road trip, he is happy to be
able to take a break from Kyle and Nelson and play basketball with a group of strangers
because, “it felt great to be around normal guys again, who played by clear, established
rules; guys who looked and acted like guys were supposed to look and act” (86, italics in
original) and heteronormativity is reinforced when homosexual characters who aren’t
“masculine” are cast as deviants and outcasts.

Jason vacillates between identifying himself as both “bisexual” and “gay” and it is
interesting to note Sedgwick’s (1991) argument around the claims revisionist
psychoanalysts who encourage “predominantly gay young men to ‘reassure’ their parents
they are ‘bisexual’” (24). One way of reading these fluctuations is to assume Jason has
been constructed as a character working to avoid normative labels, but its randomness
across the series ultimately suggests it is accidental. It is eventually written that Jason

“didn’t really like to label himself as ‘bi’ because it made him feel like he didn’t belong

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in either group, straight or gay” (130).

In Rainbow road (2005), another stereotype of the “masculine” male is reinforced
as Jason’s eye consistently wanders outside of his current relationship. In a nightclub, he
dances with a young woman he senses is attracted to him and flirts with her until “next
thing he knew, her moist lips were reaching up and resting on his” (131). After
attempting to hide the situation by lying about what happened, Jason eventually comes
clean and although he “regretted having let [the young woman] kiss him,” (distancing
himself from responsibility) he doesn’t understand why Kyle is upset: Jason is convinced
that “Kyle was being unfair for not giving him more credit for walking away” from the
situation (150, my italics). Shortly after kissing this young woman, Jason begins to
recognize that he is also sexually attracted to Kyle’s best friend. He watches Nelson as he
runs naked through an open field and realizes “he’d never really paid attention to
Nelson’s body before. Now, seeing him naked, he couldn’t help notice. The guy actually
had quite a nice little body” (153).

On the opening page of Rainbow road (2005), S.U.D. Kyle awakens from a
sexual dream about Jason, whose “musky athletic scent” (55) and “tanned skin” (57)
continue to intoxicate him throughout the novel. In this installment, “feminine” Kyle
embodies the stereotypical myth that females are more mature than males as he acts as
caregiver, protector, and the “responsible one” in the relationship (i.e. holding onto
Jason’s money for him, ironing his clothing, and setting his alarm), even though he
recognizes how it often negatively impacts him. As he tells Jason, “part of the risk of

being responsible [is that] sometimes you get hurt” (182).

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Frequently (and ultimately detrimentally) ignoring his protective instincts,
“feminine” Kyle is repeatedly depicted as insecure and “pretty foolish” (60) for having
concerns about his boyfriend’s drinking and harboring suspicions about Jason’s fidelity.
Even co-protagonist Nelson believes Jason’s indiscretions should be expected (and
accepted) as an inevitable result of his “masculinity.” He tells Kyle, “I think you’re
overreacting. You knew Jason liked girls when you met him. Just because he hit on some
blondie doesn’t mean he’s dumping you” (136).

Toward the end of Rainbow road (2005), there is a dramatic shift in these two
characters as Kyle begins rethinking his relationship with the T.C.J. He notes, “It felt like
Jason had changed. Every day he was revealing sides of himself that Kyle had never
realized were there. Although Kyle had known Jason was bi, impulsive, stubborn, and
had a trigger temper, he’d never been confronted with all of who Jason was on such a
daily basis” (193). Furthermore, he becomes aware of the fact that “I got caught up in this
image of you...I know it sounds dorky, but it’s like you were some sort of god...I felt like
the luckiest guy on earth...l guess I kind of put you on a pedestal” (200). For his part,
Jason begins to recognize that “he was a better person because of Kyle. If it weren’t for
Kyle, he might never have come out to his parents or worked up the courage to keep
going to the school’s Gay-Straight Alliance, or come out to his coach and his team. Most
importantly, he might never have accepted himself” (180).

Unfortunately, although these milestone recognitions indicate that these
characters have grown and have a new understanding of themselves and an appreciation
for one another, with fewer than fifty pages remaining in the final installment of the

series, they do little to counter the portrayals perpetuated across the more than 650

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previous pages of text (obviously, if one fails to read past the first novel, they have no
impact at all), especially when Kyle continues to “beam at [Jason] even more admiringly”
(224) and the novel ends with a line like, “every time Jason smiled at him, Kyle couldn’t
help seeing a lifetime ahead” (243). ‘

These two characters are intended to show readers what it “looks like” to be in a
gay relationship. But instead of being given “space” as characters, they are forced to
fulfill previously delineated and perpetuated gender roles for stereotypical “heterosexual”
coupling. They are reduced to “types” of gay men: either a “masculine” male who is
independent, unemotional, insensitive, and aggressive, or his “feminine” counterpart who
is passive, subservient, and self-sacrificing. If Kyle were biologically “female,” these
depictions would be immediately disregarded and identified as problematic — such
representations of heterosexual “male” and “female” characters have been readily
identified as inaccurate and patriarchal (see, e.g. Allen, 2003).

However, because Kyle has been gendered as a “gay male,” questions have not
been raised in any publications (or conversations) of which I am aware about their
implications. These tropes are taken as acceptable because the assumption is that any
representation of a gay male is good enough — regardless of its accuracy. However, these
depictions are as problematic for representing gay males as they are for representing
heterosexuals. Because these characters are inaccurately constructed within a
stereotypical, heterosexual gender binary as actively “masculine” or passively
“feminine,” these tropes work against their potential ability to “teach” readers about what

gay males are like: gay males are not sexual inverts who exist to fulfill previous

conceptions of binary “masculine/feminine” relationships.

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The story doesn’t only depict the S.U.D. and the T.C.J.: unlike many gay young
adult novels, there is a third young man depicted in Rainbow boys (2001) in the character
of Nelson. While both Jason and Kyle eventually proclaim they are proud of their sexual
identity, it is only the character of Nelson who is widely held up as a self-aware and (to
quote Michael Cart and Christine A. Jenkins [2006]) “queer and proud” (147)
homosexual. As troubling as Jason and Kyle may be, in exploring the third protagonist
Nelson, the series becomes even more problematic. Nelson not only reinforces the
stereotypes that define Jason and Kyle, he carries the burden of being the one character
who is presumably supposed to show gay young adult males what it means and. looks like

to be openly and comfortably gay.

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NOTES

 

‘ Somewhere between Rainbow high (2003) and Rainbow road (2005), Jason’s mother
comes to fully accept her son’s sexual identity, but it is never explained why or how this
comes about.

“ It should be noted that (after an initial misstep) Coach Cameron will eventually serve as
one of the few positive portrayals of a heterosexual character in the entire series. It is

clear he cares deeply for Jason and he does his best to advocate and provide support.

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CHAPTER FIVE

THE QUEER AND PROUD HOMOSEXUAL

Of the three protagonists in Rainbow boys, Nelson is the character that has proven
most difficult to categorize. When the texts of Rainbow boys function as romance novels,
Nelson can best be described as fitting the role of the “other woman.” He operates on a
couple of different levels as this trope: he is the character who foolishly gives away his
virginity and the character who tries to keep the hero (T.C.J.) and heroine (S.U.D.) apart
from one another. However, unlike Jason and Kyle (who, once the layer of their ’
“maleness” is peeled away more closely resemble the stereotypical gendered depictions
of “males” and “females” in literature) there are some aspects of Nelson that certainly
feel queer.

It should be re—emphasized from the start of this chapter that the argument
presented is not intended to deny the existence of homosexual males with characteristics
similar to Nelson and certainly shouldn’t be read as implicitly reinforcing the ideas of
revisionist pychoanalysts that “the healthy homosexual is one who...acts masculine”
(Sedgwick, 1991, 19). The purpose of this critique is simply to raise questions about the
implications inherent in hailing the depiction of Nelson as the sole embodiment of being
“queer and proud” because it seems that doing so implies for readers that this is the only

way one can be proudly and comfortably gay.

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THE SEXUAL INVERT

Fitting the pattern established with the S.U.D. Kyle, Nelson serves as a character
who is represented as a sexual invert. While he may initially seem to fit the Neo-
Gramscian notion of counterhegemOny, working against legitimized notions of the
“masculine” male, Nelson “puts on” a gender properly “belonging” to the “female” by
embodying what are traditionally thought of as “feminine” qualities. In doing so,
stereotypes of women are reinforced, alongside the misconception that in homosexual
relationships there is one participant who plays the role of a sexually inverted “female.”l
Nelson routinely bats his eyes, pouts, cajoles physical compliments from his friends, and
is overly-dramatic. For example, placing the back of his hand against his forehead or
screeching when he finds the roots of his hair are starting to show. In fact, in the Rainbow
boys series, to be “Queer and Proud” seems to mean being constructed as embodying the
worst stereotypes of both the “masculine” male and “feminine” female. It feels as if
Sanchez took the most problematic characteristics of these character types and combined
them to create the depiction of Nelson, the “queer and proud” homosexual male.

There is little about Nelson which reflects an image of being “proud” of who he
is: he is portrayed as someone with deep-rooted self-hatred, frequently saying things like,
“It’s not easy being me. Imagine what I have to put up with twenty-four/seven. At least
you can get away from me occasionally” (2001, 50). In the first chapter that is told from
his perspective, Nelson appears chain smoking cigarettes while he gets his hair restyled
and dyed. Throughout the story, his loathing for his body eventually leads him from
pinching his flesh to estimate body fat to bulimia and abusing diet pills in an attempt to

slim down even though those around him insist to him that he is slender.

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QUEERING THE ROMANCE: NELSON AS THE “OTHER WOMAN”

Kay Mussell (1984) writes that the “other woman” serves in some ways as a
villain in romance novels. This is a Character who is generally “a beautiful and passionate
character who may be sympathetic but rarely admirable” (105). These are characters who
serve as negative role models for readers: providing implicit instructions about how not
to “tame the stud.” Nelson operates as a foil for both Kyle and Nelson: in the first
installment of the trilogy, he is relentless in his pursuit to obtain the love of Kyle. In later
installments, he will attempt to seduce Jason.

As a romantic “other woman,” Nelson is “corrupted through lack of sexual
control” (Mussell, 1984, 106). Although Nelson’s sexual insatiability may simply be a
byproduct of his role within the genre of romance, it takes on larger implications as a
representation of queemess when placed within the larger picture of stereotypes of gay
men: in this case, a portrayal that Michael S. Kimmel (2004) describes simply as “gay
men as sexually insatiable” (1,05). Virtually every scene in which Nelson is involved
deals in some way with the fact that he is “horny...pretty much 24/7” (2001, 83).

In Rainbow boys (2001), Nelson attempts to have sex with Kyle and nearly has
sex at a party with a college-aged man named Blake. While the pair shares a bottle of rum
in his car, Blake is surprised to learn that Nelson is still in high school, but kisses him
and, acting in the tradition of John Boswell’s (1989) “irrumator” (a male who “presents”
his penis and forces oral sex), Blake “laid a hand behind Nelson’s neck, gently directing
his head down. A rich, musky smell wafted up” (117). Taking on the role traditionally

and stereotypically embodied by female characters, through the swirl of alcohol and lust,

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Nelson thinks they should use a condom, but doesn’t voice his concerns as he worries he
will insult “masculine” Blake. Nelson’s hesitation to perform oral sex leads Blake to ask
if he is a virgin — a fact Nelson tries to deny because “If he said yes, Blake might never
want to have sex with him” (117). Eventually, Nelson confesses (and apologizes) that he
is a virgin. Blake responds that “It’s not your fault” before being overcome with a sudden
wave of morality and deciding, “Look, we never should’ve done this. You’re not even
eighteen, are you?” (118). Despite Nelson’s protests, the pair does not engage in sexual
activity: Blake tells him that his first time should be with someone special.

The situation takes a dramatic turn when Blake rests “a brotherly hand on
Nelson’s shoulder” (118), but this sudden and complete repositioning of Blake feels
unrealistic. The scene clearly irrritates the seduction of the passive, helpless “female” at
the hands of an older, active “male.” Blake is clearly experienced in sexual activity — it is
even obvious that he’s well-versed in the perils inherent in discreetly “hooking up” in a
car (i.e. warning Nelson to avoid the horn so that it doesn’t sound and draw attention
from nearby partygoers) — and his knowledge that Nelson is a senior in high school does
not prevent him from sharing a bottle of rum and soliciting oral sex from someone he
strongly suspects is under the age of eighteen (until he discovers the young man is a

virgin).

NOT KNOWIN G WHEN TO SAY “NO”: NELSON AS CAUTIONARY TALE
After several failed attempts to have sex with men closer to his own age, Nelson
ultimately becomes seduced by an older online predator: the only portrayal of an adult

gay male beyond “traditional” high school and undergraduate college-age men that we

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see in the novel. This character provides YA readers the only glimpse into what their
lives as an adult gay male can be like. Nelson agrees to meet Brick, screen name
“HotLove69” (145) at a Starbucks after chatting with him online. The pair immediately
head to Brick’s quintessential predatory lair (think track lighting, glowing potted palms, a
fancy stereo system, and chrome-framed prints of men in underwear) where he gives
alcohol to Nelson who he thinks is eighteen (here is another adult gay male attempting to
intoxicate and seduce a minor) before the pair moves into Brick’s bedroom. The scene
deserve special attention for two reasons: (1) it reinforces the portrayal of Nelson as
stereotypically “feminine” and afraid to advocate for himself lest he ruin “the moment”
and (2) the character of Brick is the only portrayal of an adult gay male (beyond
“traditional” high school and undergraduate college—age men) that we see in the novel,
and therefore this character provides YA readers the only glimpse into what their lives as
an adult gay male can be like. Here’s how that interaction takes place:

Brick guided Nelson onto the bed and pressed him down onto the
satin comforter. His warm hands slipped beneath Nelson’s shirt, sliding
across his skin. Nelson shivered with excitement and closed his eyes. The
rush of blood made him dizzy. Nothing had ever thrilled him so much.

Brick slid on top of him, as if wanting more of him, like he was
somehow trying to get inside him. He kissed so hard that Nelson’s head
reeled back. He opened his eyes and found himself looking up at the
underwear poster.

“I want you,” Brick said, his hands rushing frantically across

Nelson’s naked chest.

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Nelson wasn’t sure exactly what Brick meant, though he had a
pretty good idea. He wanted to say that he hadn’t ever done that — or
anything else.

“Okay,” Nelson managed as Brick de-pantsed him. “I guess so.”

Then he remembered: Wait. A condom.’

But before he could say anything, Brick was on top of him, pressed
against him, touching every part of him, as though needing more, looking
for Nelson’s very core.

A voice screamed inside Nelson: Stop! Tell him. He needs to use a
condom.

But if he did say something, Brick might reject him, the same as
Blake, the same as Kyle. A wave of despair swept over Nelson, until it
seemed he was totally lost to himself. He no longer knew where he was or
what was happening, only that he wanted Brick. He clutched at him,
soaked with sweat. His heart thundered faster and harder, till it seemed to
burst.

Then just as quickly, it was over. Brick lay on top of him, head
cradled in Nelson’s shoulder, his breath puffing lightly across Nelson’s
chest. Nelson looked down at the soft blond hair and broad shoulders of
the man he’d let inside of him. He’d never felt anything so incredible in
his life. (148-9, italics in original)

Here again the “Queer and Proud” homosexual exemplifies the negative, stereotypically

“feminine” stance of wishing for the use of protection during sexual activity and the

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subsequent abandonment of that protective instinct in order not to risk the rejection (and
to satisfy the needs) of the “masculine” male: in this case, the motorcycle riding,
muscular “HotLove69” Brick.

There is a disproportionate amount of risk portrayed here: Brick is a character
who fills the role Boswell ( 1989) describes as the “predicator,” an experienced male who
has nothing to lose in casual sexual encounters while Nelson fits the role of the
“ceveatar” (the passive Virgina] recipient for the predicator who has everything to lose).
Sanchez has constructed for readers a cautionary tale in which the young innocent is
lured into the lair of the older predator and if his goal is to teach readers to be alert for
(and wary of) such situations, it feels all the more important that Nelson stick up for
himself. Instead Nelson is not only preyed upon by Brick, he finds satisfaction and feels
affection for this man who objectified and (according to the text) “de-pantsed” him (148).
He feels romantic as he holds Brick in his arms, lovingly noticing his broad shoulders and
soft blond hair as readers are told that Nelson “never felt anything so incredible in his
life” (149). After this depiction of first-time anal sex, the “passive recipient” Nelson
becomes fearful that he may have contracted the AIDS virus. This issue is never resolved
and at the end of Rainbow boys (2001), the reader is left with the impression that Nelson
probably does have AIDS, thus heightening the stakes in this cautionary example (this
construction is further explored in Chapter six: Gay inevitabilities). Like many who fill
the role of the “other woman” in romance novels, Nelson’s promiscuity and foolishness
lead him to “a predictable fate” (Mussell, 1984, 39) which in this case is the contraction
of the AIDS virus as punishment for what has been depicted as a foolish sexual

CUCOUI‘IICI’.

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SUBVERTING GENDER BINARIES: NELSON AS “QUEER”

Following the work of Foucault, in Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion
of identity, Judith Butler advocates “Subversive” performances such as drag shows as
they reveal the imitative structure and contingency of the (repeated) performances that
construct gender. She argues they “destabilize the very distinctions between the natural
and the artificial, depth and surface, inner and outer through which discourse about
genders almost always operates... gay and lesbian cultures often thematize ‘the natural’ in
parodic contexts which bring into relief the performative construction of an original and
true sex” (viii).

Throughout the series, Nelson seems to make moves toward destabilizing notions
of gender and in some ways he certainly appears to be “queer and proud.” He refers to

9, 66

male characters as “she, girl,” and “queen” and calls himself a “diva,” and at the end of
Rainbow high (2003), he tries on an evening gown at a post-prom party. In Rainbow road
(2005), he says that he “and the other femmy guys at youth group had often called each
other ‘girl’ or ‘girlfriend,’ as if to champion their queenyness to the world. But...Nelson
had never seriously desired to become a real gir ” (111, italics in original). In another
scene, he shaves his legs, dresses in drag, and his “image in the mirror, with a boy’s body
and a girl’s face, looked oddly strong and soft, vulnerable and confident” and he is
“enchanted by his evolving female self” (114). Once fully transformed, he opens his eyes
and “at first the girl in the mirror startled him. Then she mesmerized him. It was hard to

believe she was him. He slowly raised a hand and the image followed. He really was

her...if he’d been born female” (115, italics in original). In these moments, Sanchez blurs

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the line between “male” and “female” through Nelson’s evolving “gendered” state: he
puts (within this “male” body) stereotypical conceptions of gender. Nelson’s face
(covered in makeup) is described as a “girl’s” face (described as “soft” and “vulnerable”)
and Nelson’s body as a “boy’s” body (described as “strong” and “confident”). When he
has put on his gendered clothing (a dress), he sees himself as if “he’d been born female.”
There are still characteristics, appearances, and qualities that belong to being either
“male” or “female,” but by placing them all on Nelson, he queers normative
constructions of gender.

In her essay, “Imitation and Gender Insubordination,” Butler (2004) warns,
“Drag is not the putting on of a gender that belongs properly to some other group, i.e. an
act of expropriation or appropriation that assumes that gender is the rightful property of
sex, that ‘masculine’ belongs to ‘male’ and ‘feminine’ belongs to ‘female”’ (360, italics
in original). This complicates our reading of Nelson in drag: on the surface it may seem
as if Nelson is an agent of “resignification,” but Butler helps us realize that in actuality,
these depictions miss the ironic destabilization of gender toward which queer cultures
work — the “realistic” feel that readers get from the series comes from the familiar play
between “masculine” and “feminine” counterparts and reiterates rather than subverts

these gender stereotypes and misconceptions about sexuality.

THE NEGATIVE ROLE MODEL AS “QUEER AND PROUD”
If Nelson is supposed to operate as a reader’s only example of what it means (and
looks like) to be “Queer and Proud,” it is troubling that he remains virtually static

throughout most of the entire series: he never learns from his experiences or thinks before

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he acts. Of all the protagonists, it feels most important that we see him grow and it is
unfortunate that he changes little across the three books.

Although his bulimia is briefly mentioned in Rainbow road (2005), the bulk of the
text in the last two novels involving Nelson revolves solely around his depiction as
sexually insatiable. In Rainbow high (2003), he dates Jeremy, an HIV -positive young
man who serves as educator for Nelson (and readers) throughout the novel. Hi5 sexual
desire for Kyle re-emerges as a complication in the final installment of the trilogy: for
example, Nelson notes that “He’d seen Kyle in his underwear before, but had always
been curious to take things to the next level,” (36) and at one point, “Nelson gazed up
into Kyle’s eyes, wanting more than anything to kiss those cute thin lips,” (76).

New in Rainbow road (2005) is Nelson’s sexual interest in Jason. When he and
Jason end up in a campground shower room together and Nelson has to “fight the urge to
turn and gape” at Jason’s “tight pecs and ripped abs.” He watches as Jason steps into a
shower stall and eventually gets a quick look at his “glistening butt” before reprimanding
himself for checking out his best friend’s boyfriend (52). In another scene, Nelson lies in
the tent next to a sleeping Jason and it is revealed that “He’d always thought Jason’s thick
eyebrows were sexy, and he loved the olive color of his skin. His shoulders stuck out of
the sleeping bag, broad and muscled. His lips looked so tender and inviting” (135).

It isn’t only Kyle and Jason for whom Nelson harbors desire: from (as a few
examples) snapping photos of an “adorable” park ranger and referring him as “totally
lickable” (45-6) and calling the “beefy registration guy reading a college textbook” at a
campground “delicious” (123), to trying to hook up with a “total lust-magnet” (127) he

meets at a dance club, Nelson continues to live on the edge. When the “rainbow boys”

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visit the Civil Rights museum, Kyle tells Jason and Nelson (who [shockingly] are largely
unaware of the Civil Rights Movement) the story of Rosa Parks and Jason wonders why
the museum doesn’t mention the hatred toward GLBTQ people. Nelson suggests staging
a “kiss-in” in order to bring attention to the issue, implying he knows something of the
history of queer activism, but also re-emphasizing his preoccupation with sexual acts.
Eventually, Nelson does meet a young man named Manny whose similarly dyed
hair and “teeth so beautifully white against his cinnamon-colored skin that it made
Nelson wonder, Why are you torturing me like this?” (207, italics in original). Manny
serves as a deus ex machina, a character conveniently (often absurdly) introduced at “just
the right moment” to disentangle and resolve the plot of a story. In this tradition, Nelson
and Manny immediately fall for one another and quickly make love “as if discovering
places never before experienced...ebbing and flowing, their ardor peaked and waned, as
they kissed and touched, exploring nooks and crannies, tearing open condoms, entering
one another, feeling closer than ever, and then lying quietly together, hearing only their
heartbeats” (230-231). This connection is so powerful for Nelson that he decides to stay

in Los Angeles to see where this relationship with Manny may lead.

[NOT QUITE] A GLIMMER OF HOPE

It should be acknowledged that Nelson is constructed as the one character in the
series who questions Jason’s celebrity status upon coming out. In fact, starting in
Rainbow high (2003), Nelson takes issue with how Jason’s standing as school jock
privileges him, asking, “Why did everyone keep making such a big whoop about [Jason]?

As if he was the first high school student to ever come out? So what if he was a sports

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champ? Did that make him superior?” (194). Unfortunately for Nelson (and for readers),
no one examines this issue with him. In fact, when Nelson tells his mother that “Jason got
invited to give a speech at the ceremony, since he’s a jock,” she adds to the sense of
injustice by responding, “I should invite him to come speak to my PFLAG group” (18) —
an invitation that she hasn’t extended to her son.

In spite of his heightened awareness, it seems that in reality, Nelson too accepts
Jason’s conduct on account of his “masculine” status. As one example, he tells Kyle he’s
overreactin g to Jason’s infidelity because he knew Jason “liked girls when you met him”
(136). But more revealing is the moment where Jason (in a moment of panic) attempts to
convince Nelson to deliver his speech at the gay and lesbian high school on his behalf
because “you’re the one they should’ve invited” (222). Although thrilled to have
someone echo his own thinking, Nelson tells Jason, “Maybe you’ll make a huge fool of
yourself, but if that’s what it takes for you to accept that a lot of us look up to you — then
that’s what you’ve got to do” (222, my italics), suggesting that despite what he may say
to the contrary, he too looks up to the T.C.J., he sets him apart from (and above) other
GLBTQ young people: even in Nelson’s eyes, the T.C.J.’s “masculinity” makes him a
hero and a role model.

As with Kyle and Jason, the complexity of “gender” and “sexuality” through the
depiction (and interactions) of Nelson is reduced to a heteronormative binary in which a
“feminine” gay male is depicted as innocent and passive while being acted upon (and
satisfied) by older, “masculine” males. When Nelson dresses in drag, it could be argued
that he represents the coming together of “male” and “female” in a moment that serves as

a visualization of the instability of gender (his depiction as inverted could certainly

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confirm this), but these possibilities seem rejected when “All the way home Nelson
thought how much fun it had been to be a girl — at least for a little while. Then he was
sitting in front of the mirror, wiping his face with cold cream as he returned to being a
boy” (117). Newton (1972) argues, drag “is a double inversion” (103) in which
“masculine” and “feminine” are both implied and disrupted. As Vern and Bonnie
Bullough (1993) write, drag is a “confusion of costume whereby the illusion of assuming
the opposite sex is not intended to convince the viewer of authenticity but to suggest
ambiguity” (246). By writing Nelson as being so convincingly “female,” even the attempt
to destabilize gender actually reinscribes binary categories.

It ultimately seems that to be “queer and proud” in this series means to be vain,
self-loathing, recklessly impulsive, sexually insatiable, and self-sacrificing. If this is the
character who is supposed to provide readers with an image of an openly and comfortably

gay male young adult, it opens the question: “Who wants to be like Nelson?”

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NOTES

 

' This is reinforced in Rainbow high (2003) in scenes in which heterosexual girls ask
Kyle, “Which one of you is the girl?” (204) and these misconceptions go unchallenged. It
is also reinforced by Nelson’s boyfriend Jeremy. When he meets Nelson’s mother, he is
“flattering to Nelson’s mom (‘Those are cool earrings...’); and funny (‘Can I borrow them

sometime?’)” (106).

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CHAPTER SIX

GAY INEVIT ABILITIES

As troubling as the individual depictions of the Tragic Closet lock, the
Sympathetic, Understanding Doormat, and the “Queer and Proud” homosexual may be,1
in the end, the Rainbow boys series does more than just look at the story of these three
young men. It moves into larger issues of gay culture through the presentation of these

lives within the context of an American high school.

RESILIEN CE, NOT ACCEPTANCE:

In a series of novels that looks at three gay young men who have to navigate the
tricky terrain of high school culture, predictably, things aren’t easy for them. As
examples of gay adolescent “problem novels,” one may expect these books to
didactically work against homophobic discourse. Problem novels as a genre rely upon
intrusions that are clearly written to educate and inform readers. Roberta Seelinger Trites
suggests such authorial impositions tend to “manipulat[e] the adolescent reader” (2000, p.
x) toward particular ways of thinking. Kenneth Kidd (1998) notes, “homophobia [has]
replaced homosexuality as the designated social problem addressed” (p. 114); however,
in the Rainbow boys series it seems that homophobia is addressed in ways that
subsequently work to reinforce homophobia and heteronormativity as bad, but inevitable
behaviors. As Loykie L. Lomine (2006) found in his study of French youth literature,
these books “never go far in their condemnation of both homophobia and blatantly

homophobic people” (226).

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Beginning with Rainbow Boys (2001), readers are told that Nelson has been
bullied, mocked, and tormented since middle school and is routinely told by those in
positions of power that he has to learn to control his temper and put up with the abuse.
When on one occasion he answers the phone and is greeted with “Hey, fag...Want to suck
my dick?”, we read that, “Such calls were too commonplace to phase him” (144). Having
learned to be “tough” in the face of homophobic abuse, Nelson teaches Kyle that he must
be ready to defend himself (notably through physical violence) against intolerant
individuals. “What good would it do?” an unconvinced Kyle asks, “For every [bully like]
Jack Ransom, there’s ten more. He’s not the problem, homophobia’s the problem” (38).
On one level, this can be read as a rather contrived, predictable declaration against
homophobia, but on another, it’s a construction re-emphasizing that: (1) because it’s
physically dangerous to be gay (or perceived as gay), homosexual teens need to toughen
up and become resilient to intolerance and (2) homophobia is a problem too big to take
on. The theme that gay teens need to be resilient (as opposed to being accepted) is further
reinforced at the end of the first novel when the boys succeed in getting a gay-straight
alliance in their high school and the students who want to attend the meeting need to walk
past their whispering, jeering peers:

[Jason] watched Nelson walk down the hall toward the main
office. The group of boys outside the office door jeered him: “Hey,
faggot!” “Homo!” “Queer!”

Jason started after Nelson, not with any intention of going to the

meeting - just to help Nelson if the boys jumped him. But Mueller

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charged out of the office, yelling at the boys and spreading his arms,
stopping any scuffle.

One boy noticed Jason and whispered something to another boy.
Oh, shit, Jason thought. By Fifth period it would be all over school.

He hesitated a moment, then continued past the boys, into the
office, his heart beating wildly. He could always say he had an
appointment with his counselor. But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t lie. Not
anymore.

He walked down the corridor to the counselor’s conference room.
Through the glass window he saw Kyle moving extra chairs over to the
table. Some girls sat on one side, MacTraugh and a group of boys on the
other. Quite a crowd of people —- more than Jason had expected.

His hand hesitated on the doorknob. He could still turn around.

Then Kyle looked up at him and smiled. He motioned to the chair
beside him.

Jason took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside.

(233)

This can be read as a rite of passage: readers watch as Jason works through the

confrontation and walks through the door of queemess, but at that same time, this is

supposed to be the moment of triumph: the rainbow boys have gotten a gay/straight

alliance in their high school, and what’s more, Jason is brave enough to attend the first

meeting. It is important, however, to pay attention to what this triumph looks like. While

these constructions may serve a method of establishing empathy for the protagonists

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(convincing heterosexual readers that gay people are “normal” [6]), they simultaneously
imply that the harassment of queer youth is inevitable. Throughout the entire series, this
idea that gay youth must become resilient to homophobia and intolerance is clear. In
Rainbow high, Nelson tells Kyle, “If you can’t think up a good comeback, then just smile
and wave. But don’t let them get a rise out of you. That just eggs them on” (206).

“Queer and Proud” Nelson is regular fodder for bullying and maltreatment by
nearly all heterosexual characters throughout the series (i.e. Kyle’s father blames Nelson
- not Jason or Kyle himself — when Kyle insists that he doesn’t want to attend Princeton),
but the focus of much of the intolerance in Rainbow high falls on Kyle. When a young
man on his swim team expresses concern that Kyle is gay, the coach (Sanchez is careful
to give readers Jason’s intolerant basketball coach, who identifies as “male,” as well as
this intolerant swimming coach, who identifies as “female”) accepts Kyle’s offer to
shower at home as opposed to showering in the locker room with the rest of the players.
Later, when the team attends a meet requiring an overnight stay, none of the young men
want to share a hotel room with Kyle because, as one student puts it, “I’m not sleeping in
the same room with no fag” (177). The coach decides that homosexual Kyle should be
isolated: he will sleep by himself in her hotel room while she shares a room with some of
the girls. When this arrangement leads to increased derision, instead of confronting the
students who ridicule Kyle and call him a “fag” in her presence, the coach “turned to
Kyle, her eyes burning with anger. ‘I’ve had enough, Kyle. You brought this on yourself.
If you hadn’t started this whole coming out business, none of this would’ve happened’”

(178).

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Later, when Kyle and his father meet with the swim coach, for the first time in the
series (226 pages into the middle novel) it is suggested that heterosexuals in society
should adjust their misconceptions of gay people. Kyle’s father says, “You’re their coach.
It’s up to you to set the rules. But unless my son is doing something wrong, then maybe
those boys and their parents are the ones who need to alter their behavior” (227, italics in
original). While we can celebrate this affirmative moment, it is still overshadowed by the
predominant message across all three books that the world remains a dangerous and scary
place for homosexual teens.

When Jason decides to “come out” to his teammates as a gay male, the principal
tells him that if he cares about his team, he will keep the information to himself. “‘If you
feel the need to jeopardize your future with this, that’s one thing,’” he tells Jason, “‘but
for you to risk upsetting your team as we head toward the state title...’ He shook his head
as if genuinely mystified. ‘I can’t believe you’d do that, J ason’” (96). By the end of the
novel, Principal Mueller’s position becomes legitimized as Jason loses his college athletic
scholarship as a result of his sexuality. Although the college claims it comes as the result
of an altercation with another teammate, Coach Cameron makes it clear that he believes
Jason’s sexual identity is the true underlying cause.

As the boys embark on their road trip in Rainbow road (2005), the world becomes
an even more intolerant and frightening place as the protagonists are regularly confronted
with prejudice. At one stop, they encounter a bus marked “FIRST EVANGELICAL
CHURCH” (46, emphasis in original) where a woman tells Nelson she has a problem
with “people like you” and Jason suggests that if he didn’t “dress so weird,” Nelson

wouldn’t encounter such blatant homophobia (47). At a gas station, they encounter two

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men driving a pickup truck sporting a “TERRORIST HUNT ER’S PERMIT — WE
NEVER FORGET” (172, emphasis in original) bumper sticker on its rear. One man
wears a cowboy hat while the other wears a “wifebeater tank top, boots, and jeans” (171)
and spits chewing tobacco. After Nelson (who is sexually attracted to one of the men)
announces to the pair that the rainbow bumper sticker on his car indicates he (and by
association, Jason and Kyle) is gay, the men get in their truck and menacingly attempt to
force the boys’ car off the road by recklessly driving and throwing beer cans at their
windshield. A high speed chase ensues on narrow, winding mountain roads before the
men in the pickup truck lose control of their truck and crash.

While camping at the “Fam-E-Lee Values Campground” (154), an obvious
attempt by Sanchez to immediately invoke images of the troubling things done in the
name of “family values,” the protagonists meet a very young boy with a pronounced lisp
named Esau. In addition to scoffing that Esau is, “Sweet like a girl! He’d better start
acting like a man or he’s going to get his ass kicked” (155), Esau’s father is overhead
further deriding his son: “Oh, stop sounding like a girl...In fact, I think you are a girl.
They must’ve made a mistake at the hospital. Now shut up and say your prayers. I don’t
want to look at you anymore” ( 159, italics in original). Nelson declares that, regardless of
how the boy will identify sexually, “with that lisp and those curls, he’s going to get called
queer anyway. That’s what’s wrong with our society — if you’re in any way different, you
get clobbered” (156). Nelson and Esau eventually do a facial mask together as Nelson
tells him, “life’s going to get rough sometimes...people will call you names and try to
hurt you, they’ll tell you what to feel, what to think. They’ll say you’re a mistake. But

you’re not” (162). He says, “It’s okay to be you — exactly who you are, no matter what

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anyone says. Believe in yourself. Trust your heart. Be true to who you are” (162-3). A
rather didactic moment, this sudden compassion is so uncharacteristic of Nelson that one
cannot help but imagine author Sanchez stepping into the story and speaking directly to
his reader.

Dramatically, Esau’s father catches the pair together and refers to Nelson as a
“faggot” (163). Although Nelson tries to reason with the father, it is only threats of
physical violence from Jason (who mostly avoids the abuse of intolerant heterosexuals)
that convinces the man to back down. Perpetuating the idea that gays must often show
resilience to injustice through physical violence, Jason (who probably sees parallels
between the paternal “ferninizing” of this young boy and his personal experience) tells
Esau “You grow up big and strong...when your day comes, you smack your dad, good
and solid” (164). “Masculine” Jason teaches young Esau that “feminine” attempts to
educate with reason, rationality, and words are futile: the only way to try to end the abuse

of intolerant heterosexuals is by demonstrating dominance through physical violence.

SAFETY IN “ARCADIA”

In these novels, it seems gay people can only find solace from intolerance by
isolating themselves from heterosexuals. Building on the work of Byme R.S. Fone, Allan
A. Cuseo (1992) refers to novels employing such sanctuaries as “Arcadian.” He suggests,
“the roots of Arcadia lie in pastoral settings, but today the homosexual community has
embraced the Arcadian ideal to mean any setting which serves as a hermitage or

sanctuary away from a disapproving heterosexual world...Arcadia represents the special

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place needed for the homosexual character(s) to be apart from a homophobic
mainstream” (86-7).

In Rainbow road (2005), the boys stay at a “sanctuary for gay and lesbian people”
(65) where “no one hassled you for being crazily queer, a place where you could totally
be yourself” (70). People dress in outlandish outfits (or nothing at all) and eat “roasted
tofu, apple squash, apple-raisin salad, and grapes” (72) and speak about “what’s in your
heart” (73); content to be an isolated assemblage of deviant outcasts.

The only other place we see gay people “being allowed” to be themselves in self-
identifying ways is at the Los An geles high school for gay and lesbian students. After
Jason’s speech, he is bombarded by students “with green hair and purple hair, with
earrings and nose rings, kids he wasn’t sure were boys or girls — all excited and hyper and
giggling, as kids were meant to be, in a school where they could be themselves without
being called names or fearing they’d get pounded” (226). The fact that Jason (himself
only a couple of months out of high school) takes on this adult perspective and refers to
these students as “kids” as he looks at their situation with such insightfulness suggests
this is another statement directly from the author directly to his imagined readers, with
implicit messages not only about where it is safe to be homosexual, but who can be (and

what it means and how it looks to be) gay.

AIDS: “WHEN I GET IT”
In his essay “Reading and writing ‘immunity’: Children and the anti-body,”
Robert McRuer (1998) argues that “The liberal reinscription of AIDS from the late 19805

on, as ‘everyone’s disease’ ironically functions within the text of children’s literature — as

100

it has elsewhere — to make gay men living with AIDS invisible...The discursive shift to
understanding AIDS as everyone’s disease justifies, or rationalizes, the proscription of
gay male representation in children’s literature” (134). As if in response to this
assessment, much of the Rainbow Boys series has been devoted to providing for its
readers a source of education about AIDS (as constructed as a disease for gay males).

After Nelson’s cautionary example in the first novel, his HIV-test in Rainbow
high provides an opportunity to make explicit the process of HIV-testing as well as to
clarify how the virus is spread (this information is provided through a doctor’s lecture on
the importance of advocating for safe sex or abstaining if your partner refuses to use
protection). Later, next to his dinner plate, Nelson’s mother leaves a newspaper clipping
that reads: “HALF OF ALL NEW AMERICAN HIV INFECTIONS OCCUR IN
YOUNG PEOPLE AGES 13-24” (134, emphasis in original) and when he meets many of
Jeremy’s HIV-positive friends, Nelson’s surprised that “none of the guys looked
positive” (166).

In his book, Policing desire: Pornography, AIDS, and the media, Simon Watney
(1988) claims, “From very early on in the history of the epidemic, Aids [sic] has been
mobilised to a prior agenda of issues concerning the kind of society we wish to
inhabit...Aids [sic] is effectively being used as a pretext throughout the West to ‘justify’
calls for increasing legislation and regulation of those who are considered to be socially
unacceptable” (3). He identifies the media’s homophobic construction of AIDS as a gay
disease (and subsequently those with AIDS as “the polluting person”) as being implicitly
suggestive of a highly problematic depiction of a “pollutive homosexual.” Although

Sanchez undoubtedly has the best intentions in attempting to educate young adult readers

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about the virus, it feels as if gay men are reduced to a stereotype through the equating of
being gay with being at risk for contracting AIDS. While there are examples of this
throughout the series, this is particularly evident in the first novel: including the moment
when Kyle comes out to his parents and his father immediately says, “There’s one other
question I need to ask, son. Since you brought all this up. Is there anything else we should
know? About your health?” (106) and Kyle instinctively recognizes that his father is
referring to HIV, but also believes that he had no reason “to worry about that yet” (106,
my italics).

Although Kyle briefly worries about the fact that Jason and his ex-girlfriend
Debra engaged in unprotected sex after Debra began taking birth control pills, the issue
of AIDS remains a gay disease in Rainbow high. Jason’s ex-girlfriend tells him she’s
“afraid something’s going to happen to you” ( 153) now that he’s self-identified as
homosexual and she identifies that “something” as being the contraction of the AIDS
virus. When the second novel begins, Nelson awaits the results of his HIV test and views
the contraction of the virus as inevitable, not only accepting that “he was probably going
to test positive” (15), but when he doesn’t, he indicates he actually wants to contract the
virus from his HIV-positive boyfriend Jeremy so he “wouldn’t worry all the time about
when I’m going to get it” (168, my italics). While readers might expect Jeremy (the
character constructed as teacher) to educate Nelson that not all gay men contract HIV, he
instead reminisces about when he learned he had contracted the virus: “I felt this
awesome sense of relief. At least I didn’t have to worry anymore if I was going to get it.
(...) But take my word for it, the worrying doesn’t stop. You just trade the old worries for

the new ones” ( 168).

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In contrast, with the exception of a few tangential statements, the third novel
Rainbow road contains virtually no reference to AIDS. Early in the novel, Nelson notes
that “he was dating an HIV-positive guy” (17) and later Jeremy makes a cameo
appearance and it is written that “Jeremy was HIV positive and Nelson was HIV
negative. They’d both decided the difference in status was too big an issue between
them” (35). Later, the issue of safe sex comes up when Kyle tells Nelson “Even with a
condom, he might’ve had some disease besides HIV. Every day the news reports some
new drug-resistant STD” (83) and at the end of the book, he asks Nelson, “Did you
discuss HIV status, like you promised me?” (234). In spite of the fact that these are the
only mentions of HIV/AIDS, the book has been stamped with an HIV/AIDS awareness
logo on its cover, something problematic (and heterosexist) unless every book dealing
depicting teen sexual activity with any mention of HIV/AIDS is stamped with such a
logo.

Although on their surface the Rainbow boys series may appear to give voice to
this marginalized population, this is a trilogy that has be given a didactic mission — on
their surface, the books are all about what it “means” and “looks like” to be gay and how
to prevent the contraction of AIDS. Although nearly all children’s literature serves as
cautionary tales, what gets perpetuated in the set-up Sanchez has established is that
instead of advocating for safe sexual practice, all gay characters look like potential
carriers: no one can be trusted. Sanchez is trying to create what Alexander Garcia
Duttmann (1996) calls the “responsible subject” who practices the “[h]ygienic care and
self-control, the ‘desacralization,’ reflected in a ‘ritualization of safer sex’” (37). When

Debra starts taking birth control, there is no concern between she and Jason that they

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might contract AIDS, but the issue is always present surrounding gay males. As an
example, at the end of Rainbow road when Nelson finds potential love with Manny, Kyle
lectures him at length about the importance of safe sexual activity. Although the three
protagonists escape the disease (they haven’t gotten it “yet”), they still wait for the day
(seemingly with anticipation) “when” they learn they’ve gotten it. Finally, the HIV/AIDS
awareness logo stamped on the covers of the novels and prominently featured in lists of
resources and hotline ads following the narratives further perpetuate the notion of the gay
carrier — a badge of warning for readers.

Although Sanchez is working to address AIDS and issues like homophobia more
generally, he does so in ways which reinforce the idea that being a gay male is dangerous.
Gay males must be prepared to either defend themselves through physical violence or
find isolation and live as deviant outcasts hidden from the heterosexual “mainstream”
society. But even within isolation, there is fear: the threat of contamination ominously

looms in the distance. No possibilities exist without the potential of danger.

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NOTES

 

' Also included in the second installment is some explicit exposition about the cultural
background of the “rainbow boys,” which seems to reflect an awareness that in the field
of young adult literature, there is a clear need for “more GLBTQ books featuring
characters of color” (Cart & Jenkins, 2006, 165). Although it is implied in Rainbow boys
that Jason is Latino (his last name is “Carillo”), in Rainbow high, Jason uses token
Spanish terms such as “maricon” (5) and “loco” (6). Additionally, Nelson is established
as a Jewish character — at one moment, Kyle points out, “Nelson, you’re Jewish” (42) and
later, Nelson uses the Yiddish term “Chutzpah” (90). Nelson’s identity as Jewish never
reappears in the series and, although in Rainbow road Nelson notes that “I’ve never done
it with a Latino guy” to which Jason proudly responds: “Dude, we’re the best!” (213),
Jason never again uses Spanish terms and his identity as Latino is all but forgotten. This

is troubling because it seems to reduce these characters to ethnic stereotypes.

105

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE [LIMITED] POSSIBILITIES OF RAINBOW BOYS

The Rainbow boys books are probably the most successful and canonically
accepted pieces of GLBTQ literature written for young adults. In many cases, these
books are the only titles to find their way into homes, libraries, bookstores, and
classrooms. In a time when issues of diversity are paramount, these books have been
written to give voice to gay adolescent males. With a dramatically increasing number
books classified as “GLBTQ” being published each year, GLBTQ young adult literature
“has begun to move -— as have many of the individual titles that comprise it — toward
assimilation; moving, that is, from being an isolated or ‘ghettoized’ subgenre to
becoming a more integrated part of the total body of young adult literature” (Cart &
Jenkins, 2006, 128). In looking at the problems inherent in the Rainbow boys series, it
may be tempting to call for the revocation of the awards, honors, and accolades they have
received. Although the Rainbow boys series is problematic, it is important to consider the
contexts in which they appeared, the potential Rainbow boys offers readers, and what

alternatives to these depictions may be available.

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RAINBOW BOYS AND QUEER AMERICAN CULTURE

When Rainbow boys was released in 2001, it built on the already growing
popularity of watching gayness being performed: that same year, “Will and Grace,” 3
television show applauded for its two gay male leading characters, was seeing the highest
ratings of its run (USA Today) and by the time Rainbow high was released two years
later, much of the country was captivated by five gay guys who helped popularize the
“metrosexual” on Bravo Television’s hit “Queer eye for the straight guy.” In his book No
respect: Intellectuals and popular culture, Andrew Ross (1989) points to the roots of the
popularity of “queer” style as emerging early in the post-Stonewall era. He writes, “the
gay male became a model consumer, in the vanguard of the business of shaping and
defining taste, choice, and style for mainstream markets” (144). The popularity of gay
culture, argues J app Kooijman (2005) has continued to morph and grow, becoming most
striking within the last decade. Suddenly, more than ever before, “queer is hip, queer is
fashionable, and thus queer is just another gay male sense of style” (107). The
announcement of “Boy meets boy” (the first gay dating show) prompted Frank Rich
(2003) to write in The New York times that gay and lesbian people were more visible than
ever — and heterosexual viewers seemed to be accepting of this shift.

While it may be appealing to suggest that the popularity of these shows is
indicative of queer identities being accepted and celebrated in mainstream society, it is
worth noting that often these shows are similar to the Rainbow boys books in that they
serve as representations of queemess on their surface but are often fitted into a
heteronormative fi'ame. Robert Westerfelhaus and Celeste Lacroix (2006) write “While

Queers are now permitted access to the media mainstream, they are welcome there only

107

so long as they observe certain limits imposed upon them by the conventions of the
mainstrearn’s heterosexist sociosexual order” (427). Gay people are allowed as long as
they are available to laugh at or serve to advance heterosexual love while having no
romantic lives of their own. Following the work of Gluckrnan (1963), Westerfelhaus and
Lacroix (2006) write that the popularity of queer culture in mainstream media outlets is
an example of a “ritual of rebellion” in which participants are granted “temporary license
to violate selected sociocultural rules; in doing so, they provide much-needed outlets for
expressing and relieving social tensions” (430). As opposed to disrupting the social order,
however, these rituals actually promote social stability by “reaffirming the values and
reasserting the social structure of the dominant order” (430).

Take as an example the January 23, 2004 episode of “Op ” in which the cast of
“Will and Grace” was interviewed and Winfiey managed to conduct the entire hour-long
interview without even mentioning homosexuality. Ultimately, these shows are popular
because “straight” America can “feel good” about their “progressive” acceptance of gay
characters, while at the same time, gay males are positioned at the service of
heterosexuals: the character of Will on “Will and Grace” is the gay best friend who
consoles and cuddles Grace alter a bad date and when no heterosexual man is available;
on “Queer eye for the straight guy,” the five gay males work to ensure that heterosexual
men can attract (or maintain a relationship with) a heterosexual female before retreating
to the isolation of their loft, watching the impact of their intervention via a television
feed. Some of these media depictions —- and the Rainbow boys series as well — allow for
gay people...as long as they are not gay (and are not “queer” representations) and the

heteronormative social order is be re-instated and reinforced.

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THE POPULARITY AND POSSIBILITIES OF THE RAINBOW BOYS SERIES

While it may be appealing to conclude that the Rainbow boys series is popular in
spite of its flaws, the purpose of this analysis is to suggest the opposite: they are popular
because they reduce gay males to a familiar formula that supports the normative way of
viewing the world. As H.A. Schugart (2003) writes, such representations serve to merely
“enrich and strengthen specifically heteronormative social and political sensibilities”
(70). It does not seem to matter that the formulas utilized are inaccurate; because it has
been seen over and over, readers are led to conclude the series feels “true.”

With statistics indicating that more than a third of high school students experience
physical harassment and two-thirds experience verbal harassment on the basis of their
sexual identity (Kosciw & Diaz, 2006, 5), it is disheartening that 81.7% of students
indicate they have never been taught about GLBTQ people in their school curriculum
(Kosciw & Diaz, 2006, 9). This makes the depictions in literature all the more important:
gay young adults “look to literature hoping to find answers and positive role models”
(Wilson, 2006, 60) and quality literature can provide much needed “validation for their
feelings and hope for a bright future that involves self-affirmation” (Goodman, 1983, 15)
while simultaneously teaching about what they are like.

Alex Sanchez (2005) himself has said that:

Gay boys and girls, like any others, need positive images and affirming
stories to help guide them through the often painful and confusing terrain
of childhood and adolescence, to glimpse a world in which they're not bad

or shameful but in which they're part of the good world. Books can

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provide a moral compass, a system of values, a way to understand

feelings. (49)
It is utterly clear that Sanchez wants nothing more than to instill hope and inspire
acceptance for future generations of gay youth and is doing his best to give voice to a
population traditionally underrepresented in literature and misrepresented across popular
culture and media. However, Roberta Seelinger Trites (1998) notes, “all too often, gay
YA literature parallels the cultural traditions of repression that have long stigmatized
homosexuality” (149) and Rainbow boys exemplifies this tradition by presenting gay
characters who are acceptable because they are constructed within a heteronormative
binary as opposed to being depicted as “queer.”

In these novels, gay readers have three options in terms of who they can hope to

be as young people:
1. A heteronormatively “masculine” male (such as the unemotional,
inconsiderate, confused, self-consumed Tragic Closet Jock)
2. A “feminine” counterpart (who silences his own voice in order to

satisfy the needs of the “masculine” male)
3. A sexually insatiable, self-loathing “Queer and Prou ” target of
abuse
As adults, the options are equally bleak: it seems that adult gay males can either be
predators who attempt to intoxicate and seduce minors or deviants who live isolated fiom
an intolerant “mainstream” society.
Again, the question of audience arises. If the series also serves to “teach”

heterosexual readers about what gay people are “like,” the books are equally troubling.

110

The misconception that in gay relationships, one person is the “male” while the other is
the inverted “feminine” counterpart is reiterated throughout the series. Further, readers
are taught that it is acceptable to verbally harass and physically abuse people who are

queer.

“DIFFICULT” CONVERSIONS AND “DEEP” READING

In some ways, the Rainbow boys books are reminiscent of what Deborah
Britzman (1998) calls “difficult pedagogy.” Writing specifically of the popular use of The
diary of Anne Frank to teach about the Holocaust, she argues that the inclination of
teachers (and society more generally) is to protect young readers from what may seem
“startling” or “traumatic” (125). Thus, the appeal of a book like Anne Frank is simply
that it allows for a discussion of the Holocaust without confronting anything “difficult”:
young people are provided Frank’s diary and learn about life in the Secret Annex and
read small pieces about what she hears is happening outside the attic without having to
deal explicitly with the realities and images of persecution. On their surface, the Rainbow
boys books appear “affirmative” of gay males and seem as if they should give voice to
(and representation of) gay males, but because they so heavily rely on heteronormative
constructions of gender, sexuality, and the world more broadly, they actually work to
make gay men invisible. Using these books may allow educators to bring literature into
the classroom that looks “progressive” without really providing anything that challenges
the heteronormative status quo. These books may appear “gay,” but as has been shown

across this dissertation, there is very little that is “queer” within the pages.

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In looking at these books from another theoretical approach, it is important to
remember that readers don’t have to accept what they are presented: the fact that the
Rainbow boys books are so problematic also makes them powerful tools for teaching.
Because readers can choose to resist what is read (Fetterley, 1978), we as educators can
guide students toward questioning these texts and subverting their messages. Through the
identification of familiar misconceptions and stereotypical representations, readers can
recognize what it is that contemporary adults want young people to believe and become
through reading these books. As Rudine Sims Bishop (1997) suggests, books with
problematic constructions can often “[lend themselves] to a critical discussion of
stereotyping and its consequences” (10). Vivian Yenika-Agbaw (2003) agrees, “the
ability to question signs and meanings embedded in texts empowers readers with skills
that enable them to construct new knowledge by subverting these signs and the dominant
messages they are expected to retrieve” (244). With appropriate scaffolding, a close,
critical study of the Rainbow boys series could help students begin to identify how these
pieces of contemporary realistic romance fiction depict homosexual and heterosexual
people (and the context and content of their lives) in ways that rely upon and reinforce
heteronormative and stereotypical constructions of gender and sexuality.

In his essay “Making boys appear: The masculinity of children’s fiction,” Perry
Nodelman (2002) writes that by changing the character of Max in Where the wild things
are to “Maxine,” his students were able to recognize the ways in which Max was
“gende ” male. Following this lead, teachers and students reading Rainbow boys could
identify similarities between characters Kyle and Debra to begin to see the ways in which

Kyle is gendered “female” and subsequently begin to analyze how Jason is a character

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who is depicted as stereotypically “masculine.” After exploring the ways in which
“masculinity” and “femininity” are constructed, asking readers to identify Nelson’s
characteristics may bring about discussion of how Sanchez has depicted what it looks like
to be “queer and proud,” leading readers to deconstruct why the novels feel “familiar”
and “true” and helping raise questions about the representational accuracy of the series.

Beyond looking at the three protagonists, conversations could also be had about
the ways in which the larger world of the novel is constructed. Guiding readers to pay
attention to the HIV /AIDS logos on the covers of the books and the advertisements and
resources listed in the back could help heighten their awareness of the ways in which
AIDS is used as simultaneously educative and ominous for gay males. Beyond the use of
the AIDS virus, questions like “Where do gay males find acceptance?” or “Where are gay
people safe?” can move readers to reflect on how Sanchez’s “realistic” fiction portrays
the world and attempts to elicit sympathy for the protagonists.

Although many of the difficulties explored in this dissertation may actually
supply ways to facilitate a discussion that challenges readers to reconsider previously
unquestioned assumptions about how the world looks and operates, it may be difficult to
imagine what literature for queer adolescents may look like in a genre focused almost
exclusively on the discovery of sexuality and sexual identity. There are books, however,
that may help facilitate the same conversations offered through the most “positive”

discussions of Rainbow boys (in equally rich ways), while at the same time presenting

more nuanced, “authentic,” and wide-ranging depictions of GLBTQ people.

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RE-IMAGINING POSSIBILITY: GAY ADOLESCENT LITERATURE BEYOND
RAINBOW BOYS

I have argued that authors are the creators of worlds they ask their readers to
accept and trust. But because the “realities” constructed in young adult literature rely
upon ideological assumptions of how the world looks and operates, careful consideration
must be given to the possibilities imagined and offered within those worlds. Because
heterosexuality is often assumed to be a “natural” or “normal” way of “being” in Western
society (Rich 1980, Warner 1991), other experiences and identities are often
marginalized and made invisible, and at times GLBTQ fiction for young adults attempts
to subvert this heteronormativity. In an attempt to identify gay adolescent literature
“outside” of heteronormativity, two young adult novels will be examined — chosen
specifically because of their reliance on the genre of “magical realism” to disrupt
heteronormativity for young readers.

Zamora and F aris (1995) write that understanding magical realism is “a simple
matter of the most complicated sort” (3) because a range of tangentially related and
sometimes divergent theories of the genre have been established. In this analysis,
“magical realism” is used to describe texts that re-imagine “normal” by re-envisioning
“reality” in ways that challenge readers to deconstruct the novel and the contexts in
which they live. Bruce Holland Rogers (2002) writes that a book classified as magical
realism “tells its stories from the perspective of people who live in our world and
experience a different reality from the one we call objective” (n.p.). Luis Lea] (1995)
writes that “in magical realism the writer confronts reality and tries to untangle it, to

discover what is mysterious in things, in life, in human acts” (121). Lois Parkinson

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Zamora (1995) writes that magical realism repositions readers and “obliges us to
recognize our responsibility for the constitution of all meanings in the world, to recall our
fundamental and necessary implication in the definition of reality as such” (500; italics in
original). The authors of the texts examined in this section hope to use the construction of
their worlds to make explicit the heteronormativity that hides behind (and within)
Western society — these texts may feel like “magic” for readers from the ways in which
privileged discourses are de-centered and what may have previously been taken as
“logical” or “normal” is disrupted.

Don Sakers’s (1986) Act well your part, the first novel examined, is seems to be
self-published and it would be easy to attack its two-dimensional characters, groaningly
predictable dialogue and plot conventions, and editorial negligence. While it may be
tempting to dismiss the novel, it feels important to treat this book seriously because it
reads as if there is a great deal of “back story” to which readers are (unfortunately) not
provided access: it feels as if Sakers “knows” these characters on a level that does not
translate to the text itself. Care should be used with this book because in some ways, the
analysis is unfair: first published in 1986, Sakers’s novel comes from a different time in
US. history and it may be that I am asking it to speak in a context in which it never
imagined itself.

However, the book has recently been re-released in a Twentieth Anniversary
Edition and on its back cover, this self-proclaimed “classic” and “timeless tale” is
brought “back into print for its adult fans as well as a new generation of teens” (my
italics). If the book is going to be presented for contemporary young readers, it seems

important to consider what possibilities it has to offer. The book is also generally well-

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reviewed by readers on websites like amazon.com and is discussed in Michael Cart and
Christine A. Jenkins’s (2006) study, The heart has its reasons. Cart and Jenkins (2006)
refer to the book as “gracelessly written and didactic,” but seem to support the
classification of the book as “magical realism” when they note some of the situations
within the text may be “more wish fulfillment than reality” (58).
Sakers makes his authorial intentions in writing this book explicit in an author’s

note that prefaces the text. He writes:

Act well your part does not take place in our world. Oak Grove High

School exists only in that misty, far-off place called “The Best of All

Possible Worlds.” It is a parallel universe just a few steps away, a world in

which sexual orientation matters only as much as eye color or left-

handedness, and young love is a sweet and beautiful thing for all young

lovers.

This is an unabashed romance story, set a few decades ago, not in the
world as it was, but in the world as, perhaps, it should have been.

Act well your part is a piece of fiction. But I know that my readers will

join with me in the fervent hope that one day we may live in a world in

which high school students, teachers, parents, and the general public will

be just as accepting as the characters in this book.” (5; italics in original)
On its surface, this is an invitation for readers to enter the world Sakers has created, but it
simultaneously operates as a warning, giving readers an opportunity to refuse
engagement with this world and giving permission to outright reject its possibilities in the
“real” world: resistant readers are given an immediate “out.”

The second novel explored, David Levithan’s (2003) Boy meets boy, does not

provide this opportunity to readers: it does not offer an explicit statement as to its genre
or the author’s intentions — in fact, the book has proven difficult to classify. In this essay,

I will be arguing that it is “magical realism,” but Boy meets boy has also been called

“fantasy” and Cart & Jenkins (2006) call it “utopian” and “the first feel-good gay novel

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for teens” (p. 144). In an article in the most recent edition of the Children’s literature
association quarterly, Amy Pattee (2008) writes that the book is “utopian” in the sense
that it “encourages active critique of the ‘real’ world outside its own literary boundaries”
(157). Levithan himself (or at least: his publishers) makes his opinion on the novel’s lack
of realism clear by including his statement that “a story doesn’t have to always reflect
reality; it can create reality as well” (2006, up.) in promotional materials for the book. In
Levithan’s view, this may not be a world that looks like “our own,” but he hopes his
novel will show what this world can become.

These are two texts whose authors actively work to subvert heteronormative
constructions by showing readers the “best of all possible worlds.” However, both the
focus on monogamous coupling and reliance on identity categories in many ways
reinforce normativity as opposed to subverting it. As Foucault (1978) argues, acts of
repression and regulation serve to proliferate (and not eliminate) sexuality and therefore
acts of resistance to heteronormativity often prove ineffective. Foucault argues that in
order to truly disrupt normative constructions of sexualities, we must move outside
identity categories into the realm of “bodies and pleasures” (159) beyond named
practices. This analysis is limited because these books remain on the path of identity
categories, but these novels are resistances and as Foucault argues, resistances are not
always futile.

The opening page of Sakers’s novel sets the scene for our experience as readers:
“Outside it was a glorious October day. The sky was abroil with fast-moving clouds in
every shade of grey and white, and a crisp wind darted through the schoolground carrying

odd bits of trash as it went. (...) This was a time of year for possibilities...” (7). Act well

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your part is the story of Keith Graff, a sixteen-year-old junior who recently transferred to
Oak Grove High School. He quickly develops a crush on senior drama star Bran
Davenport whose “dark eyebrows gave him a somewhat satanic look” (9). Bran fits the
role of the tempting romance hero as described by Stella Cameron (1992): “a dark force,
vaguely satanic, perhaps. He may be aloof, introspective, and sardonic” (p. 143).

Reminiscent of the John Donovan (1969)/U rsula Nordstrom (quoted in Marcus,
1998) “buddy-love” era (257-258) of gay adolescent literature, Keith struggles
throughout the novel to work through his feelings and eventually acknowledges that “A
person had to have fiiends, sure. But more than that, you needed someone to be a special
fiiend” (46). For Keith, his attraction to Bran is a marker of sexual identity and he pushes
against his developing feelings (and queemess), worrying that Bran was “becoming too
close a fiiend too quickly” (22). Eventually the chills and shivers he gets when Bran
touches him or calls him on the phone lead Keith to confess to himself that he loves Bran,
but these moments of insight are often disrupted as Keith continues to self-police what he
sees as deviant desires. Keith is tormented as he pines for Bran — holding (and eventually
sleeping with) a borrowed shirt close to his face to “feel” Bran near him. He is
consistently left unsure where he stands with his “friend” and routinely reprimands
himself for his confusion while spending the bulk of the book miserable and isolated: he
cannot tell Bran how he feels and (outside of his former “special fiiend” i.e. lover, Frank)
he has no one in whom he can confide.

For much of the book, readers are left unsure of how Bran self-identifies: there
are a number of scenes that suggest a romantic connection (and queer identity); moments

where “Bran’s manic personality had parted like a curtain to allow [Keith] a brief glimpse

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of the young man who lay benea ” (39). It is only when Bran is intoxicated that he can
confront (and, as Sakers writes, “confess” [120]) his desire. He drags Keith deep into the
woods to share secrets and admits to being in love with another young man, but knows he
cannot reveal his feelings because “If he knew how I feel, he’d treat it as a personal
attack. Things could get pretty ugly” (115).

It seems that these fears are warranted, for in Sakers’s “Best of All Possible
Worlds” (5), gay characters are not only internally tormented, conflicted, and self-
loathing; the larger world of the novel positions them as outcasts as well. Readers are told
that “there were plenty of boys at Oak Grove who were in love with other boys. Nobody
minded...it was a concern of only the two boys involved” (46), but we don’t see these
boys except in passing. In the world we are offered in Sakers’s novel, heteronormativity
reigns.

As Bran and Keith “come out” in their relationship, their fiiends are polarized
(divided as to whether or not they should accept this homosexual couple) and their drama
clique begins to fall apart. After student-director Debbie refuses to cast Bran and Keith in
the spring play, Bran (ever the sensitive actor) melodrarnatically falls ill and when Keith
attempts to console him, Bran reacts by rejecting him — he feels he must choose between
his love and being accepted by his peers and society, and he chooses societal acceptance.
Keith isolates himself both from Bran and the drama group so that the original clique can
remain intact. The pair eventually reunites to spend a weekend alone and readers are
given scenes of domestic bliss in which Keith and Bran do homework together, cook
together, and have sex with one another. Keith wishes it could “be this way all the time”

and Sakers seems to step directly into the novel to didactically tell readers, “It could. In

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the future” (174, italics in original). But once they step out of isolation, Bran and Keith
are again confronted with the homophobia of their circle of fiiends and their peers before
they eventually decide to go to the school dance together and have a “showdown with all
the people who disapprove of us” (185).

After the first page of the novel in which readers are told it is the “time of year for
possibilities,” the word “possibility” never reappears in Sakers’s text. This is for good
reason: despite being told that the novel shows us the “best of all possible worlds,”
Sakers’s world is one in which gay characters are shown living with the fear that being
“out” will lead to unhappiness, ridicule, and exile. Butler helps us see that the way Bran
and Keith have been gendered as “male” stands as an oppositional force that results in
this inner turmoil. Gender in this novel is something fixed, stable, and “natural” and
queer characters fall outside of what is “normal.” Beyond this, thinking back to the work
of Deborah Britzman, it becomes clear that this novel (like Rainbow boys) allows for talk
about gay people as long as the characters are kept at a safe distance from readers — thus,
this “best of all possible worlds” reinforces the marginalized subject position of those
who are queer.

Like many gay young adult novels, David Levithan’s (2003) Boy meets boy is
essentially a love story. Also like many gay young adult novels, the protagonist Paul has
had a relationship with a closeted young man who rejects him; declaring he had been
“tricked” (18) into being gay. However, unlike many other novels published to this point,
that relationship is not the focus of Boy meets boy and readers are instead presented with
Paul’s relationship with Noah, a young man who recently transferred to his school.

Refreshingly, Paul and Noah do not discover their sexual identity by leaping into bed

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with one another. Although for Paul, it is a note written on his kindergarten report card
that categorizes his identity and puts it into words, he makes clear that he has known he is
attracted to boys for as long as he can remember — without questioning it.

Levithan periodically implies for readers that this world is different from the “real
world.” Within the first page of the novel, in a chapter titled, “Now away we go,”
protagonist Paul tells readers that “There isn’t really a gay scene or a straight scene in our
town. They got all mixed up a while back, which I think is for the best” (1). In many
ways, the book has some elements that feel fantastical: in Paul’s town, the Boy Scouts
have been replaced by the Joy Scouts and P-Flag has a bigger draw than the PTA.

To his credit, Levithan is in many ways actively working against identity
categories: there are characters in the novel who identify as gay, lesbian, bisexual,
transgender, questioning. When Paul is asked if Noah is “on the bride’s side or on the
groom’s side,” he replies that “I think people can sit wherever they want nowadays” (5).
There are male characters who are attracted to those who identify as female as well as
those who are transgender. When Paul’s ex-boyfriend Kyle reveals he is attracted to both
men and women, Paul identifies him as bisexual. “I hate that word,” Kyle says, “It makes
it sound like I’m divided” (85). Paul suggests calling him “ambisexual,” “duosexual”
before Kyle interrupts: “Do I really have to find a word for it? (...) Can’t it just be what it
is?” and Paul laments that “The world loves stupid labels” (85). Butler would celebrate
this moment as both Kyle and Paul work to push themselves beyond normative labels
toward Foucault’s (1978) realm of “bodies and pleasure” (159) outside of named

practices.

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At the same time, even in the “best of all possible worlds” of Levithan’s novel,
there is still homophobia and intolerance. This is viewed most explicitly through the
character of Tony, a young man living outside Paul’s town who identifies as gay and
whose parents are dogmatic in their belief that homosexuality is a sin. Paul says that, “I
want a fair world. And in a fair world, Tony would shine” (p. 5) — indicating to readers
that, unfortunately, this is still not a fair world.

What’s more, Levithan’s world isn’t nearly as “utopian” as has been suggested.
Even within Paul’s town, we see that there is still homophobia. Paul notes that it took his
parents “a couple of years” to accept his sexual identity (10) — implying that for a couple
of years, they didn’t accept it — and yet, we are regularly reminded that he is one of the
lucky ones — characters tell him how easy he has things because “you know who you are”
(147, italics in original). And Paul recognizes that “In this space, in this moment, we are
who we want to be. I am lucky, because for me that doesn’t take that much courage. But
for others, it takes a world of bravery to make it to the clearing” (184).

When Paul runs for the position of third-grade class president, his opponent
resorts to a number of anti-gay attacks, eventually resorting to the slogan “DONT VOTE
FOR THE FAG” [sic] (11, emphases in originals). When he is in eighth grade, Paul is
attacked by two high school wrestlers: they tackle him, call him insults — “queer, faggot,
the us ” (13) and he realizes that even in this “best of all possible worlds,” “1 had to be
careful” (13).

Although queemess is not always constructed as something bad, it is still
constructed as something dijferent and therefore in relationship to some “norm” (there

cannot be a “different” subject position unless there is some “natural” position

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somewhere: arguably, heterosexuality). Following Britzrnan’s (1992) work, it seems that
this moment is another example of the safe distancing of queer people; actually
reinforcing heteronormative thinking and construction while attempting to disrupt it.
Further, there are moments where being identified as queer is bad and being identified as
gay (when you’re not) is an insult.

It feels problematic (and heteronormative) that, when one book (of two-hundred
plus gay young adult novels) does not center on acts of abuse and provides images of
queer characters who are generally well-adjusted and belong as full members of society,
it routinely gets called a “fantasy” (something that can only exist in a make-believe world
where reality is suspended). In spite of Levithan’s attempt to disrupt heteronormativity by
showing the world through a different pair of eyes, heteronormativity is reinforced when
the contents are uniformly dismissed through a classification as “fantasy.” As Rogers
(2002) reminds us, “It's possible to read magical realism as fantasy, just as it's possible to
dismiss people who believe in witches as primitives or fools. But [magical realism]
literature at its best invites the reader to compassionately experience the world as many of
our fellow human beings see it” (n.p.). Renowned author of GLBTQ fiction Nancy
Garden (2004) writes that Boy meets boy treats readers “to a glimpse of what life can and
should be for GLBT kids, and what, in some enlightened parts of the country, it to a large
extent already is” (33). Levithan clarifies that within the world offered in Boy meets boy,
this town is not the “norm,” yet the novel is not generally classified as “realistic fiction”
(taking place in “our world” today). It is not even called “science fiction” (something that

could possibly happen, but hasn’t). It is too frequently called a “fantasy.”

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In spite of the above critiques, the novel does give a feeling of hope
uncharacteristic of GLBTQ adolescent literature. When Tony stands up to his parents and
refuses to isolate himself fiom his queer fiiends, we read that:

This is what a small victory feels like: It feels like a little surprise and a lot
of relief. It makes the past feel lighter and the future seem even lighter
than that, if only for a moment. It feels like rightness winning. It feels like
possibility. (158)
Unlike Act well your part, a novel that opens speaking of possibility and then fails to
bring what is offered to fi'uition, it is not until the end of Boy meets boy — after readers
have seen firsthand the world Levithan has constructed — that “possibility” is explicitly
offered. Despite this town’s shortcomings, Paul’s is still a world in which he (as an
openly gay young adult) can say, “I’m not used to being hated” (18).

Act well your part and Boy meets boy are novels with a clear mission: they hope
to be interventions and serve (in some way) as tools for activism. Butler’s and Britzrnan’s
theories help us see that Sakers’s novel ultimately reinforces normative constructions of
the world, and that Levithan’s book is more effective at disrupting categories of “male,”
“female,” “gay,” “straight,” and “queer.” Unlike Sakers, Levithan effectively intervenes
to offer readers of a range of identities and a number of “possibilities.” These books may
provide images of what the world can become in the future, but it feels important to
remind ourselves that these are depictions that show young readers the “possibilities” of
who they are already.

Unlike the Rainbow boys series, Boy meets boy is a novel that, through its very

construction, forces readers who identify as heterosexual to step outside of the “world as

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we know it” in ways that reposition them as outsiders, providing extraordinary
opportunities to explore why this may feel uncomfortable or unjust - and subsequently
raise questions as to what it may suggest about how the “real world” positions GLBTQ
people. At the same time, for insiders, the novel shows a world in which GLBTQ people
belong as full members of society. This, coupled with the book’s range of depictions of
GLBTQ young adult characters from various backgrounds and identities (without the
implication that the pages contain “one GLBTQ person of every flavor”), suggests for
readers that there is no one way (or even three ways) to be “queer and proud.” Future
work will need to be done to illuminate what conversations are being had around the
content of these novels (and the larger genre of GLBTQ young adult literature) — “ba ”

examples can be powerful tools for teaching.

EXPANDING POSSIBILITY: LIMITATIONS AND FUTURE RESEARCH

The work in this dissertation is done with the hope that it will begin to raise
questions about how all GLBTQ literature is used in classrooms at the elementary,
secondary, and university levels; looking at both what books are being used as well as
exploring how they are used — what conversations are happening around these books?
The work being done in this dissertation is founded on the belief that we as teachers,
critics, and scholars need to understand children’s literature as literature and that books
need to be used carefully and thoughtfully in classrooms. McGillis (1996) argues that as
teachers and critics, we must “raise to consciousness our own presuppositions when we
interpret literature. What is our theoretical position? Why do we read texts the way we

do? At the very least, we should be aware of the possibilities for reading texts and of the

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implications of choosing a particular methodology” (21). This is what young readers,
teachers, and scholars can do as they read Rainbow boys — and all GLBTQ literature.
By using theories of gender and sexuality, we can begin to more thoroughly investigate
the content of the increasing body of young adult literature about gay males.

It will be important for the questions raised in this study to be explored across the
larger genre of GLBTQ fiction as well. Do these presentations continue in much of the
available gay adolescent literature or is this unique to the Rainbow boys series? In the
reading I’ve done, my inclination is that these tropes and constructions are not unique to
Rainbow boys, but a full analysis of available titles would help create a more vivid
picture of the possibilities offered to young readers.

Ultimately, it is the Rainbow boys series’ unrivaled popularity among homosexual
and heterosexual teen and adult readers, critics, and scholars that makes it most
problematic, but also the most promising. The Rainbow boys books are lauded because
the content appears to be new, but as Kay Mussell (1984) argues of the structure of
romance novels: “the shape of the narrative is predictable, even when the outline of a
specific plot seems to represent an innovation” (3 7). It seems that readers refer to the
novels as “honest” and “true” because these are stories with some heart, but they rely
upon familiar tropes that have become recognizable as a result of their repeated portrayal
across literature and media. This feels “realistic” because these are motifs we’ve seen
again and again.

Regardless of what educators end up “doing” with these novels, the intent of this
study is not to vilify Alex Sanchez or the Rainbow boys series because these books have

provided many gay young adults with a representation when few others (if any) were

126

readily available to them. It’s important to remember, however, that these aren’t just
depictions, these are possibilities. When these canonical texts are the only books
depicting gay men used in classrooms and curriculum (or when only Rainbow boys
[2001] is used), they imply for readers that the only ways to “be” a gay male are to be a
S.U.D., a T.C.J., or a “Queer and Proud” target. This is troublesome when heterosexual
readers may be looking to these texts to help build understanding. Further, Michael Cart
and Christine A. Jenkins (2006) write that GLBTQ literature “must continue to come of
age as literature” (166, italics in original) and the ultimate goal of this analysis is merely
to second that call by suggesting that the time has come to move beyond accepting any
representation and begin looking for depictions that reflect for gay adolescent readers the

possibilities of who they can become — and who they are already.

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