Of Primroses and Pain: a small bouquet of LGBT reads

"... leaving no trace of his presence except a little pile of the petals of the evening primrose, which mourned from the ground like an expiring fire." - Maurice

The light is glinting off of the diamond in my ring as I type, catching my eye and making me think of how much connotation a chip of pale stone can bear, how such a small symbol can mean respectability and law -- meanings and privileges which I never had to fight for. I'm thinking such thoughts in the post reading haze of finishing E.M. Forster's Maurice. [There ought to be a symbol for the post reading haze, as cigarettes symbolize the peaceful aftermath of sex. Just saying.]

Forster's slender novel wasn't an easy read for me. I felt like there were crowds of unseen words pulsing behind those on the actual page and I kept straining after them, trying to make them out. Maurice has been on my shelf for ages, waiting behind other classics that I never made friends with as an undergraduate or in graduate school. [Is it a terrible sin to admit I'm trying hard to read War and Peace even now?] The greater part of the book seemed drawn out - honey suspended between the spoon and the jar - and then everything suddenly accelerated with the death of Maurice's grandfather and his brilliant words about what we should be and must be... and rarely are until the evening of our lives. After that, I couldn't turn the pages fast enough. I was horribly angry with Alec at first, but forgave him for his bravery at the ship and in the museum. I wish there had been more about the museum... but most of all I must praise a happy ending, so rare for that time!

I became acquainted with the works of Moises Kaufman when I saw an amateur performance of The Laramie Project at West Liberty College (university, now). I was amazed that so much could be done with such a small handful of actors and so few props (a few chairs, a hat, a pair of glasses) and I hurried to Amazon (so primitive, then!) to find this play. It wowed me as much as the live performance in my first reading. I love collage and pastiche, so the idea that already written or said words could be molded together to mean new things - wonderful!!

This reading affected me less than the first reading did, but I still find in Kaufman a wonderful voice that deserves to be heard, even as he showcases Wilde's voice and the voices of those who loved him, condemned him, and rejoiced in his fall.