Dan Savage, editor of Seattle’s independent newspaper The Stranger and author of “Savage Love,” a popular syndicated sex advice column, makes further spectacle of his personal life in his two memoirs, “The Kid” and “The Commitment.” Although much of Savage’s material is explicit, he makes broad efforts to mock heteronormative American society and further the public image of gay men. Memorably, in 2003, Savage created a competition to define the made-up word “santorum” (referring to “that frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex”) in homage of U.S. Senator Rick Santorum’s classification of homosexuality as sexual deviance.
Savage is also outspoken concerning local and nation-wide political issues, having strongly supported the Iraq war at its outset. Such conservatism can also be found in his domestic life, in which his partner Terry stays at home and raises their child. Savage also actively works against legislation limiting sexual freedoms. At one point, he publicly fought against Mississippi reporter Kandiss Crone over controversy surrounding sex toys.
Savage’s two memoirs indicate the settling of his more radical views into a more stable household environment. “The Kid” chronicles the adoption process he and partner Terry underwent while “The Commitment” describes Dan and Terry’s attempt to marry despite the wishes of their son, DJ. Savage does not claim to view monogamy as a simple commitment. In both works, these scenarios could produce amusing results if the prose were less limpid.
Instead, Savage writes like a mediocre American journalist who happened to become a star. In “The Kid,” plot lines include Savage overcoming his relationship troubles (unfortunately, Terry plays Bjork in the car) and his first penetration (by a handsome doctor during a bout of anal bleeding at the age of fourteen). No degree of perceptive and precise comic timing could lift these situations above low comedy. It’s not the discussion of anal ontology (which I anticipated) but the lack of levity in the framing of these situations that disappoints. The substance of these books is Dan and Terry’s relationship. The book fails because the description’s depth rarely reaches beyond comparing Terry to Kate Moss with a dick.
Although many readers enjoy Savage’s work, these memoirs primarily discuss relationships between gay men. It’s a pity that these issues could not have been tackled with the same tenderness and transcendence as the relationships in a Baldwin novel or a Kushner play. Savage fails to convince the reader of anything beyond love’s superfluity. In “The Kid,” he admits to enjoying the advance he received for the book for some time before realizing he had to produce publishable material. The result is not the last-minute chaos his admission would suggest; indeed, it is often dull. If there is a shock, it comes from Savage’s uninteresting day-to-day activities. The book’s overt attempt to make an alternative lifestyle appear simple is admirable, but the simplicity that results does not emphasize emotional aspects of human relationships.
Savage’s sassy tone often works in the column form. He has enough general knowledge to boss his readers around and the printed charisma with which to execute such a weekly task. However, his one-liners are not aphorisms; rather, they are pop culture references only a niche market finds amusing. His books present a similar tone and lag between bright moments in which amusing situations happen upon Terry and Dan.
To recommend these books is not to say they are high art or even participatory in a serious discourse concerning gay rights. I, for example, stopped trying to read dense fiction in airplanes at the age of twelve after Jean-Paul Sartre’s “Nausea” was the only book I took on a trip to Chicago. I now reach for the silliest book possible and hope I am moved“Dan Savage regrettably made me both laugh and cry.
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