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Easy E.
Passion Marks by Lee Hayes
A novelist by the name of Dominick Dunne is the
author of such blockbusters as People Like Us, An
Inconvenient Woman, and A Season in Purgatory.
Some labeled the work of this author, today a
Special Correspondent for Vanity Fair magazine,
good trash. Some agreed, some didn't. Dunne’s
works, as scandalous as they were in plot, were
unerringly insightful into the traps and foibles of
high society and the rich and famous.
That term has also been affixed to the books of E.
Lynn Harris, who, with over a decade of work under
his belt, has become the most commercially
successful gay writer of this or any time. It is
needless to say that the gravity of his impression is
being felt most notably in the mimicking by
subsequent writers: from his stylish book covers to
the affluent African-American characters that angst
between them.
Among this group of impressionable scribes comes
handsome Texan writer Lee Hayes with his
inaugural effort Passion Marks, notable singularly
because it is perhaps among the first to tackle the
topic of domestic abuse between coupled gay
African-American men.
Marks protagonist Kevin Davis, also
impressionable, lives with lover CEO James
Lancaster. They share, to Davis’ friends, a perfect
world filled with luxury afforded by Lancaster: a
mansion, cars, jewelry, fancy clothes, etc. They
also share a tumultuous relationship, often made
difficult by the interference and demands of
Lancaster’s hellish job, provoking Kevin’s lover into
hysterical rages of physical violence, with Davis as
the recipient.
Miserable as our hero is, Kevin stays and suffers,
feeling bound to his lover by a guilt involving his ill-
named twin brother, Keevan. Kevin also finds time
to laugh and celebrate life with his circle of friends,
a motley’s crew of characters that rounds out this
cast and provides the setting for the “drama” of
this book.
To say Passion Marks misrepresents itself is an
understatement. And an embarrassment. What
could have been an intriguing and insightful
novel—as well as groundbreaking—devolves into
less than schlock, thwarting its denouement into a
horridly preposterous, and wholly unrealistic and
unsatisfying conclusion. The book itself is filled
with words so dull and a plot so annoyingly coated
in saccharine that they offer the reader nothing.
The blame for the misfiring of this novel lies
primarily with its author, who serves up characters
aimless and tiresome, and whose intelligence
belies their established academic backgrounds.
Also, there is the referencing of songs and singers
long enough to fill any Billboard chart, an
elongated list of product name dropping (Rolex,
Nike, Polo Sport cologne, etc.), a predictable and
pointless pregnancy, and pornographic sex scenes
so explicit the reader can hardly grasp this is
abuse at all by the manner in which they are
written.
The remainder of the blame must go to the editor,
who lacks in belt-tightening, and who lets slide
scenes that drag on too long, and are serve no
purpose.
Not only is all of this a damning distraction, but also
a disservice to the topic at hand—domestic abuse,
a subject clearly not on the author’s mind, since
only minimal research seems reflected in the text.
To where do gays (and lesbians) retreat after
being involved in an abusive relationship? Where
are the long term after-effects of the abuse? What
are actual conversations like with a therapist? How
is abuse within African-American relationships
different than any other? The opportunity to
address these matters is squandered, and what
the reader is left with is what the writer believes the
reader wishes to read. Dismissed is an original
narrative voice, engaging dialogue, and truly deep
characters. Hayes never takes the time to say
something truly original. Only occasionally is
something heavy pondered, and then even that is
dismissed.
Which returns me to E. Lynn Harris, who has made
his own success with his own original voice, plots,
and character types. A machine that arguably has
improved with age. Why is it then the need for
authors to attempt to mimic that success, and not
develop one of their own? Could you imagine a
world without the distinctive narrations of Baldwin,
Maupin, Morrison, Hemingway, King, Kushner, Poe,
Tan, or countless others? Voices that could only
ever be associated with good. But never trash.
P&A
author of such blockbusters as People Like Us, An
Inconvenient Woman, and A Season in Purgatory.
Some labeled the work of this author, today a
Special Correspondent for Vanity Fair magazine,
good trash. Some agreed, some didn't. Dunne’s
works, as scandalous as they were in plot, were
unerringly insightful into the traps and foibles of
high society and the rich and famous.
That term has also been affixed to the books of E.
Lynn Harris, who, with over a decade of work under
his belt, has become the most commercially
successful gay writer of this or any time. It is
needless to say that the gravity of his impression is
being felt most notably in the mimicking by
subsequent writers: from his stylish book covers to
the affluent African-American characters that angst
between them.
Among this group of impressionable scribes comes
handsome Texan writer Lee Hayes with his
inaugural effort Passion Marks, notable singularly
because it is perhaps among the first to tackle the
topic of domestic abuse between coupled gay
African-American men.
Marks protagonist Kevin Davis, also
impressionable, lives with lover CEO James
Lancaster. They share, to Davis’ friends, a perfect
world filled with luxury afforded by Lancaster: a
mansion, cars, jewelry, fancy clothes, etc. They
also share a tumultuous relationship, often made
difficult by the interference and demands of
Lancaster’s hellish job, provoking Kevin’s lover into
hysterical rages of physical violence, with Davis as
the recipient.
Miserable as our hero is, Kevin stays and suffers,
feeling bound to his lover by a guilt involving his ill-
named twin brother, Keevan. Kevin also finds time
to laugh and celebrate life with his circle of friends,
a motley’s crew of characters that rounds out this
cast and provides the setting for the “drama” of
this book.
To say Passion Marks misrepresents itself is an
understatement. And an embarrassment. What
could have been an intriguing and insightful
novel—as well as groundbreaking—devolves into
less than schlock, thwarting its denouement into a
horridly preposterous, and wholly unrealistic and
unsatisfying conclusion. The book itself is filled
with words so dull and a plot so annoyingly coated
in saccharine that they offer the reader nothing.
The blame for the misfiring of this novel lies
primarily with its author, who serves up characters
aimless and tiresome, and whose intelligence
belies their established academic backgrounds.
Also, there is the referencing of songs and singers
long enough to fill any Billboard chart, an
elongated list of product name dropping (Rolex,
Nike, Polo Sport cologne, etc.), a predictable and
pointless pregnancy, and pornographic sex scenes
so explicit the reader can hardly grasp this is
abuse at all by the manner in which they are
written.
The remainder of the blame must go to the editor,
who lacks in belt-tightening, and who lets slide
scenes that drag on too long, and are serve no
purpose.
Not only is all of this a damning distraction, but also
a disservice to the topic at hand—domestic abuse,
a subject clearly not on the author’s mind, since
only minimal research seems reflected in the text.
To where do gays (and lesbians) retreat after
being involved in an abusive relationship? Where
are the long term after-effects of the abuse? What
are actual conversations like with a therapist? How
is abuse within African-American relationships
different than any other? The opportunity to
address these matters is squandered, and what
the reader is left with is what the writer believes the
reader wishes to read. Dismissed is an original
narrative voice, engaging dialogue, and truly deep
characters. Hayes never takes the time to say
something truly original. Only occasionally is
something heavy pondered, and then even that is
dismissed.
Which returns me to E. Lynn Harris, who has made
his own success with his own original voice, plots,
and character types. A machine that arguably has
improved with age. Why is it then the need for
authors to attempt to mimic that success, and not
develop one of their own? Could you imagine a
world without the distinctive narrations of Baldwin,
Maupin, Morrison, Hemingway, King, Kushner, Poe,
Tan, or countless others? Voices that could only
ever be associated with good. But never trash.
P&A
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