Relationships between queer men and men who are straight - or at least who present as such - can be difficult to depict, when our culture is so rigid in its portrayal of sexuality and masculinity, but the ambiguity Taylor creates on the page between Wallace and Miller is devastatingly effective. Their dynamic, as it unfolds, is both confusing and volatile. As Taylor writes, “There will always be good white people who love him and want the best for him but who are more afraid of other white people than of letting him down.”įor Wallace, it’s a budding relationship with Miller - an ostensibly straight, white man in his friend group, with demons of his own - that helps him begin to recognize that he longs for affection as much as anyone. These so-called friends, after all, are guilty of shades of aggression from micro to macro, and none ever come to his defense. He could make more of an effort to hang, he knows, but given his peers’ casual displays of prejudice, projection and general lack of awareness, it’s easy to understand why he’s wary. But as the only black person among this clique of academics, he maintains an uneasiness around the group, keeping largely to himself. Still, he chooses to celebrate the last weekend of summer with friends from his program. Wallace finds himself stressed by the discovery that his experiment, breeding nematode worms, has been ruined by mold we wonder, perhaps, if it was the work of a saboteur. The novel unfolds over three long days spent in and out of the lab, diving into the daily indignities Wallace faces in a quietly toxic environment.

In Brandon Taylor’s highly-anticipated novel Real Life, protagonist Wallace - Southern, black and gay - has left behind his family and their fraught shared history to pursue graduate studies in biochemistry at a predominantly white Midwestern university.

Real Life by Brandon Taylor