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dernichtraucherin's review against another edition
emotional
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
jany_wants_a_cracker's review
challenging
emotional
funny
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
relaxing
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
kathleen_in_oslo's review
challenging
emotional
funny
inspiring
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
5.0
I needed to sit with this book a bit before attempting to write a review. I'm still not sure I can articulate how I feel about it. It is beautiful and hard and sad and joyful and devastating and affirming, and absolutely worth sighing and sobbing over.
Since I normally read and review romance on here, I should first stress that this is NOT a romance. It is a love story (really, multiple love stories), but does not aspire or adhere to romance conventions and expectations. The story and the MCs' relationship is in some ways brutal, obscure, and painful, but it is also loving, overwhelming, and visceral. There is a happy ending, in the sense that the central relationship is loving, strong, and endures (though it is not sexually exclusive). But framing it as an HEA in the romance sense is trying to make it something it's not.
So what is it?
This book is a love story between two men, yes. It is about two men learning - one for the first time, one anew - how to love, how to be together, how to be. But it is equally about how this love affair affects/ animates/ inspires/ is gossiped about in the broader community in which it plays out. With the effect that the love story between O and Boy is both central and oddly peripheral.
More than a love story between two men, then, it is a love story about a specific community in a specific place and time (not that long ago): a community that is surviving, loving, and living in the shadow of AIDS and in a society that, when it's not actively rejecting, punishing, and abusing them, just wants them invisible and grateful for being allowed to exist. Bartlett in the preface refers to "the fierce tenderness with which all characters in the novel habitually - and without question - care for each other" -- and to me, THAT'S the main love story in this book: the fierceness, tenderness, care, acceptance, burden-sharing, and togetherness that bind this group of people, when all they have is each other.
It is a time capsule: a book published 32 years ago that in some ways feels utterly foreign, but in other ways feels timeless and utterly recognizable.
I don't usually like to center my identity as a cishet white woman in my reviews, because fuck knows that cishet white women are centered enough in this world. But it's relevant here because it's inescapably central to how I read and experienced this book. Obviously this book is not about people like me. And in some sense it's not for me. I felt very much a visitor in this space, sometimes in an uncomfortably voyeuristic way. But while it is a specific story, it's also a generous one. It says: "You, who are not in us or of us. You, who want to know what it was like, how we lived and loved. You, who wish to share this journey a while. Welcome." And while this is in part a function of intangible things like feel or tone, it is primarily a function of the way Barnett uses POV and language.
Because this is a love story narrated by an unnamed quasi-omniscient third party, a man who frequents The Bar, which is the focal point for the community and the stage in/upon which O and Boy's romance starts, develops, and deepens. And this means that our access to Boy and, especially, O is highly mediated and circumscribed. The first quarter of the book is all about Boy's arrival to The Bar and the shockwaves his beauty, naivete, and thirst for experience and connection creates for The Bar's denizens. O doesn't even arrive on page until around the 25 percent mark, and though he has long been a regular at The Bar, he is an opaque, mysterious presence - and remains so for much of the book. We learn much more about Mother, the owner of The Bar and a fierce protector/ den mother/ fixer who essentially orchestrates O and Boy's romance, than we do about O. And this means that our experience of O and Boy's romance is essentially the shared experience of outsiders: we are observing and reacting to their romance as if we were gossiping about it at The Bar, at least as much as we are experiencing and, for lack of a better word, living in it as one does in 3rd person single or dual (much less 1st person) POV. Where we are getting access or insight to things the narrator couldn't possibly know, this is often (though not always) framed as speculative - the narrator taking a step back to divine what might have happened, how it might have felt, what the motivations might have been. And this, of course, is why this story is as much about the community around O and Boy as it is about O and Boy - because the experience of the love story is mediated through and inextricable from the way it is perceived and understood and interpreted by others, and what it means to them:
"It would not have surprised me to have seen them at that time walk naked and hand in hand down the street, so proud they were of each other; or at least bare-chested and barefoot and sweeping the pavements with some extraordinary gowns, like saints, that was the way they walked when they were out together. They were so very much in love; I used to just stand and watch them. I had not seen so many men be that way, and I still could not quite believe that it could be that way. In fact these days I still cannot quite believe it, I cannot believe that an affair like that is either legal or possible.
You just can't believe these things happen."
The language use is also incredible here. And there are definitely commonalities with Skin Lane, which is a very different book (I reviewed it here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...). In my review of Skin Lane, I noted that the narrator is constantly bringing the reader in, sharing observations ("you will not be surprised to hear") and asking questions ("have you noticed that?") in a way that (to me) makes us complicit in our own manipulation. In RTCHSHF, the same technique is used, but to opposite ends: it is an act of generosity, of sharing, of drawing the reader in to this little gossipy group, of helping us understand what it was like in that time and that place and with these people. It is making the reader an "us" to frame and support and laugh at and admire and be jealous of and love O and Boy. And the language itself is sharp, concise, precise, but also wry and empathetic, always seeking to explain and comfort and, in some cases, justify. Importantly, though, it very purposefully maintains the distinction between people in and of the community, and those of us invited in as guests. There is no erasure of the difference between queer and non-queer, and there is no pretense that this distinction doesn't matter. And while people like me are invited in, it is made very clear - in a way that is gutsy AF for a book written in the late 1980s - that the lives and loves of O and Boy and Mother and the other denizens of The Bar are in no way conditional on outsiders' acceptance:
"What else can I tell you about our nights there? Yes, you could have sex there, in the toilets, but only according to certain rules. I should say, really, that you could live just how you wanted there, according to certain rules. But the point was, they were our own rules."
This book is not perfect. There are some things I loved and some things I really didn't. The section on Father was really hard to read, although it showed us new sides of Boy and O and their relationship dynamics, particularly O as caregiver for Boy (while Boy devotes himself obsessively to Father). But even in the parts I didn't like, there was always some beautiful observation or incisive insight that kept me engaged, pulled me along. And fuck. What a ride.
A note about context. AIDS is the inescapable backdrop, not on page but also on every page. There is a lot of love and joy in this book, but it is also suffused with loss, grief, and absence:
"What I remember is seeing a grown man lean against a wall and cry. As I remember it the wall was in the hallway of O and Boy's new flat and the man was one of the guests at the wedding, a big handsome man of about sixty, and he went pale and put his hand up to his face as he started to cry and then quite unselfconsciously leant up against the wall, because he had to hold himself up. And he said, over and over again, as he was crying, Oh I miss him, oh I wish he was here, oh I miss him, oh, I wish he was here."
Also, for those sensitive to such things, the relationship dynamics between O and Boy can be characterized as BDSM. This is not just about the sex (which is not especially graphically described), but about how they relate to each other in general (informed also by a significant age and experience gap). This is particularly in play in the chapter called "Robing the Bride", which recounts what can almost be described as an initiation or hazing period that O puts Boy through before the wedding.
There are some serious CWs here. Chapters are bookended with short, non-graphic but chilling descriptions of homophobic violent assaults happening at the time (not against named characters). Generalized homophobic attitudes and actions described throughout. Attempted homophobic assault against the MCs. Ambigious relationship with mysterious Father figure with overtones/ suspicion of childhood abuse. Racist scene involving blackface/ body paint. Please read with care.
I end on this list of advice from Mother to Boy soon after his arrival on the scene. It can hardly be bettered.
"1. Accept all the advice you can get, courteously. After all, they've been doing this longer than you have.
2. REMEMBER, YOU HAVE LEFT HOME NOW.
3. Never make love badly.
4. Remember who you were this time last year.
5. Protect your body.
6. 'Money is everything, right?'
7. The moment after he's come, just after, that's when you really see his face how it is. Whip out your instamatic and take his picture and keep that in your wallet.
8. Mother speaking of a great gown: 'If you can't afford it, steal it; if you can't steal it, copy it; if you can't copy it, buy a postcard of it and dream about it; if you can't afford the postcard then get your fucking act together.'
9. Mother says: If someone does something, it is probably because she wants to.
10. Mother says: People only lose because they're not strong enough, not because they don't want to fight or aren't good at fighting."
Since I normally read and review romance on here, I should first stress that this is NOT a romance. It is a love story (really, multiple love stories), but does not aspire or adhere to romance conventions and expectations. The story and the MCs' relationship is in some ways brutal, obscure, and painful, but it is also loving, overwhelming, and visceral. There is a happy ending, in the sense that the central relationship is loving, strong, and endures (though it is not sexually exclusive). But framing it as an HEA in the romance sense is trying to make it something it's not.
So what is it?
This book is a love story between two men, yes. It is about two men learning - one for the first time, one anew - how to love, how to be together, how to be. But it is equally about how this love affair affects/ animates/ inspires/ is gossiped about in the broader community in which it plays out. With the effect that the love story between O and Boy is both central and oddly peripheral.
More than a love story between two men, then, it is a love story about a specific community in a specific place and time (not that long ago): a community that is surviving, loving, and living in the shadow of AIDS and in a society that, when it's not actively rejecting, punishing, and abusing them, just wants them invisible and grateful for being allowed to exist. Bartlett in the preface refers to "the fierce tenderness with which all characters in the novel habitually - and without question - care for each other" -- and to me, THAT'S the main love story in this book: the fierceness, tenderness, care, acceptance, burden-sharing, and togetherness that bind this group of people, when all they have is each other.
It is a time capsule: a book published 32 years ago that in some ways feels utterly foreign, but in other ways feels timeless and utterly recognizable.
I don't usually like to center my identity as a cishet white woman in my reviews, because fuck knows that cishet white women are centered enough in this world. But it's relevant here because it's inescapably central to how I read and experienced this book. Obviously this book is not about people like me. And in some sense it's not for me. I felt very much a visitor in this space, sometimes in an uncomfortably voyeuristic way. But while it is a specific story, it's also a generous one. It says: "You, who are not in us or of us. You, who want to know what it was like, how we lived and loved. You, who wish to share this journey a while. Welcome." And while this is in part a function of intangible things like feel or tone, it is primarily a function of the way Barnett uses POV and language.
Because this is a love story narrated by an unnamed quasi-omniscient third party, a man who frequents The Bar, which is the focal point for the community and the stage in/upon which O and Boy's romance starts, develops, and deepens. And this means that our access to Boy and, especially, O is highly mediated and circumscribed. The first quarter of the book is all about Boy's arrival to The Bar and the shockwaves his beauty, naivete, and thirst for experience and connection creates for The Bar's denizens. O doesn't even arrive on page until around the 25 percent mark, and though he has long been a regular at The Bar, he is an opaque, mysterious presence - and remains so for much of the book. We learn much more about Mother, the owner of The Bar and a fierce protector/ den mother/ fixer who essentially orchestrates O and Boy's romance, than we do about O. And this means that our experience of O and Boy's romance is essentially the shared experience of outsiders: we are observing and reacting to their romance as if we were gossiping about it at The Bar, at least as much as we are experiencing and, for lack of a better word, living in it as one does in 3rd person single or dual (much less 1st person) POV. Where we are getting access or insight to things the narrator couldn't possibly know, this is often (though not always) framed as speculative - the narrator taking a step back to divine what might have happened, how it might have felt, what the motivations might have been. And this, of course, is why this story is as much about the community around O and Boy as it is about O and Boy - because the experience of the love story is mediated through and inextricable from the way it is perceived and understood and interpreted by others, and what it means to them:
"It would not have surprised me to have seen them at that time walk naked and hand in hand down the street, so proud they were of each other; or at least bare-chested and barefoot and sweeping the pavements with some extraordinary gowns, like saints, that was the way they walked when they were out together. They were so very much in love; I used to just stand and watch them. I had not seen so many men be that way, and I still could not quite believe that it could be that way. In fact these days I still cannot quite believe it, I cannot believe that an affair like that is either legal or possible.
You just can't believe these things happen."
The language use is also incredible here. And there are definitely commonalities with Skin Lane, which is a very different book (I reviewed it here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...). In my review of Skin Lane, I noted that the narrator is constantly bringing the reader in, sharing observations ("you will not be surprised to hear") and asking questions ("have you noticed that?") in a way that (to me) makes us complicit in our own manipulation. In RTCHSHF, the same technique is used, but to opposite ends: it is an act of generosity, of sharing, of drawing the reader in to this little gossipy group, of helping us understand what it was like in that time and that place and with these people. It is making the reader an "us" to frame and support and laugh at and admire and be jealous of and love O and Boy. And the language itself is sharp, concise, precise, but also wry and empathetic, always seeking to explain and comfort and, in some cases, justify. Importantly, though, it very purposefully maintains the distinction between people in and of the community, and those of us invited in as guests. There is no erasure of the difference between queer and non-queer, and there is no pretense that this distinction doesn't matter. And while people like me are invited in, it is made very clear - in a way that is gutsy AF for a book written in the late 1980s - that the lives and loves of O and Boy and Mother and the other denizens of The Bar are in no way conditional on outsiders' acceptance:
"What else can I tell you about our nights there? Yes, you could have sex there, in the toilets, but only according to certain rules. I should say, really, that you could live just how you wanted there, according to certain rules. But the point was, they were our own rules."
This book is not perfect. There are some things I loved and some things I really didn't. The section on Father was really hard to read, although it showed us new sides of Boy and O and their relationship dynamics, particularly O as caregiver for Boy (while Boy devotes himself obsessively to Father). But even in the parts I didn't like, there was always some beautiful observation or incisive insight that kept me engaged, pulled me along. And fuck. What a ride.
A note about context. AIDS is the inescapable backdrop, not on page but also on every page. There is a lot of love and joy in this book, but it is also suffused with loss, grief, and absence:
"What I remember is seeing a grown man lean against a wall and cry. As I remember it the wall was in the hallway of O and Boy's new flat and the man was one of the guests at the wedding, a big handsome man of about sixty, and he went pale and put his hand up to his face as he started to cry and then quite unselfconsciously leant up against the wall, because he had to hold himself up. And he said, over and over again, as he was crying, Oh I miss him, oh I wish he was here, oh I miss him, oh, I wish he was here."
Also, for those sensitive to such things, the relationship dynamics between O and Boy can be characterized as BDSM. This is not just about the sex (which is not especially graphically described), but about how they relate to each other in general (informed also by a significant age and experience gap). This is particularly in play in the chapter called "Robing the Bride", which recounts what can almost be described as an initiation or hazing period that O puts Boy through before the wedding.
There are some serious CWs here. Chapters are bookended with short, non-graphic but chilling descriptions of homophobic violent assaults happening at the time (not against named characters). Generalized homophobic attitudes and actions described throughout. Attempted homophobic assault against the MCs. Ambigious relationship with mysterious Father figure with overtones/ suspicion of childhood abuse. Racist scene involving blackface/ body paint. Please read with care.
I end on this list of advice from Mother to Boy soon after his arrival on the scene. It can hardly be bettered.
"1. Accept all the advice you can get, courteously. After all, they've been doing this longer than you have.
2. REMEMBER, YOU HAVE LEFT HOME NOW.
3. Never make love badly.
4. Remember who you were this time last year.
5. Protect your body.
6. 'Money is everything, right?'
7. The moment after he's come, just after, that's when you really see his face how it is. Whip out your instamatic and take his picture and keep that in your wallet.
8. Mother speaking of a great gown: 'If you can't afford it, steal it; if you can't steal it, copy it; if you can't copy it, buy a postcard of it and dream about it; if you can't afford the postcard then get your fucking act together.'
9. Mother says: If someone does something, it is probably because she wants to.
10. Mother says: People only lose because they're not strong enough, not because they don't want to fight or aren't good at fighting."
nina_wintermeyer's review against another edition
5.0
I wish I knew where to start! This novel is so carefully crafted that, though interspersed with omissions, it seems to lack nothing. It’s filled with opposites; silence is met with giving oneself fully, loneliness is countered by a community and a sense of belonging. Often times what is told is so raw and intimate that reading the scenes almost seems to be intrusive. I could go on for pages but I’ll leave it at a wholehearted recommendation to read it.
ninac's review
5.0
Looking at some of the less than flattering reviews, it's clear that some readers are searching for realism in a work that is not only idealistic, but tells a fairy tale of mythical proportions.
It seems futile to scour the pages for "truth" in a work that quotes Herman Melville's reflection on the verity of writing, "I never used to believe what I read, but only thought it very strange, and a good deal too strange to be altogether true; though I never thought the man who wrote the book meant to tell lies". It also seems exhausting to cling to a world built around the periphery of one's own "truth". Sadly, the fact that some readers engage in these activities means that they end up overlooking the meaty substance buried within Bartlett's prose.
Through its restless need to provoke, seduce, baffle and embolden, Bartlett's strong writing gives hope to the oppressed. This includes both the gay men within the story, who fear the symbolism of the knife poised to slash their faces open in the night, and those moving about the "real" world, filled with similar acts of loathing and violence.
In this respect, the novel possesses a remarkably positive tone, taking on the resonance of a near-deafening battle cry. This is incredibly rare for books that fall in the "gay literature" category. To be able to transcend the margins of the victim narrative, Bartlett employs numerous tropes. These serve to achieve a few things at once: thicken the structure of the central fairy tale, appeal to a collective consciousness and communicate with those, who are familiar with the inner-workings of the discussed scene. In doing so, these symbols manage not to stray far from the "real" gay world, which is often reduced to a realm of walking clichés by those, who aim to undercut its unique struggles and attributes.
Bartlett's work operates as a myth, and this key quality might make it a somewhat challenging read for those, who are used to the logic that rules novelisations, for example. This is also the crucial difference between fiction and literature. Those used to the subversive tools of the latter appreciate writing for its artistic value, and can spot the devices used to carve lyrical landscapes. It's along these planes that readers' perceptions are challenged.
The novel toys with our understanding of what is real and what must remain indefinite. It takes pleasure in storing its morals beneath images, hiding thick emotions between grappling hands and tear-stained cheeks. For all its surreal plot points and political endeavours, the story is incredibly tender and relatable, as evidenced by the characters' struggle to articulate the depths of their love.
Overall, "Ready to Catch Him Should He Fall" is a stupendous, thought-provoking novel that celebrates not only the elasticity of the mind, but the beauty of transitory feelings.
It seems futile to scour the pages for "truth" in a work that quotes Herman Melville's reflection on the verity of writing, "I never used to believe what I read, but only thought it very strange, and a good deal too strange to be altogether true; though I never thought the man who wrote the book meant to tell lies". It also seems exhausting to cling to a world built around the periphery of one's own "truth". Sadly, the fact that some readers engage in these activities means that they end up overlooking the meaty substance buried within Bartlett's prose.
Through its restless need to provoke, seduce, baffle and embolden, Bartlett's strong writing gives hope to the oppressed. This includes both the gay men within the story, who fear the symbolism of the knife poised to slash their faces open in the night, and those moving about the "real" world, filled with similar acts of loathing and violence.
In this respect, the novel possesses a remarkably positive tone, taking on the resonance of a near-deafening battle cry. This is incredibly rare for books that fall in the "gay literature" category. To be able to transcend the margins of the victim narrative, Bartlett employs numerous tropes. These serve to achieve a few things at once: thicken the structure of the central fairy tale, appeal to a collective consciousness and communicate with those, who are familiar with the inner-workings of the discussed scene. In doing so, these symbols manage not to stray far from the "real" gay world, which is often reduced to a realm of walking clichés by those, who aim to undercut its unique struggles and attributes.
Bartlett's work operates as a myth, and this key quality might make it a somewhat challenging read for those, who are used to the logic that rules novelisations, for example. This is also the crucial difference between fiction and literature. Those used to the subversive tools of the latter appreciate writing for its artistic value, and can spot the devices used to carve lyrical landscapes. It's along these planes that readers' perceptions are challenged.
The novel toys with our understanding of what is real and what must remain indefinite. It takes pleasure in storing its morals beneath images, hiding thick emotions between grappling hands and tear-stained cheeks. For all its surreal plot points and political endeavours, the story is incredibly tender and relatable, as evidenced by the characters' struggle to articulate the depths of their love.
Overall, "Ready to Catch Him Should He Fall" is a stupendous, thought-provoking novel that celebrates not only the elasticity of the mind, but the beauty of transitory feelings.
61dccain's review
5.0
One of the finest novels I've yet read. Exquisite prose and full of feeling. I'm stunned by the magnificence.
sergio's review
3.0
Un libro strano, con una scrittura a tratti di difficile comprensione. Da un lato una storia d’amore intensa e violenta. Dall’altro la descrizione del periodo storico in cui andare in un locale gay era pericoloso. Nel testo sono tanti i cliché usati. Forse un segno del tempo. Ma per certi versi diventano quasi eccessivi e rendono il testo a tratti grottesco. Proverò a rileggerlo in futuro.
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