Blackouts feels all at once revelatory, but also stunted. It's clear this story is a labor of love to the past and present trailblazers of LGBTQ+ history. Torres impressively depicts something almost like lore: how the stories of queer people almost feel like folklore, not because of fiction, but because of the importance of why queer stories need to exist. While I appreciated Blackouts at this poignant level, on a structural level it couldn't completely captivate me as a story by the end of it all, in terms of appreciating it as a reading experience. Blackouts has a lot to say that's interesting, but it's execution could benefit from some tidying to rid itself of the feeling of studying its contents.

As I said in my stories immediately upon finishing, THIS BOOK. This one pairs so well with Study for Obedience, which I just finished and loved from the Booker longlist, in the fact that you are completely unmoored from a meaningful sense of history all while history plays such a meaningful role in the story.

The history piece itself is so important. Being knowingly reductive, it is important to point out how so many of the straight authored “literary” books that center Queer narratives are “taboo” historical romances, AIDS stories, or modern tales of assault on Queer characters. Meanwhile, Queer authors of “literary” books are truly interrogating and repurposing history, see also The New Life and After Sappho. Being able to have honest historical conversations is incredibly novel.

To that end, the repurposing of history really sticks out here in a way that reminds me of last year’s FSG title Devil House and this year’s Biography of X. What is history? What is reality? What parts of reality is an author allowed to play with to create real “Truth?”

Just a brilliant read. Cannot recommend enough.

“Right away, I felt the magnetism, the mystery of these books; a work of intense observation transformed into a work of erasure.”⁣
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From: 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴 by Justin Torres⁣
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𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴 is a fascinating, structurally innovative novel and Torres’ writing is phenomenal. He plays with language without ever losing focus. He immediately drew me in from the first paragraph and didn’t let me go until the end. It was so satisfying. In my opinion it got a very well deserved spot on the @nationalbookaward longlist for fiction last week and it makes me very excited that I still have 𝘞𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘴 to get to. ⁣
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The story is told in conversation, between two queer, non-white men. A young narrator travels across the desert to stay with Juan, a much older, dying man he knew for a short while, when they were both institutionalized years ago. They tell each other stories and their experiences.⁣
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The partially blacked out copies (producing “little poems of illumination” 🥰) of two books based on Jan Gay’s study on “Sex Variants: a Study in Homosexual Patterns” (in the end published by a committee led by psychiatrist George Henry who used Gay’s work to pathologize homosexuality) and several editions of the psychiatric DSM, provide a basis to show the erasure of queer lives, love and history. And Torres combines this with the oral histories of the narrators to make a most personal and intimate portrayal of queer history. It was incredible to read.⁣
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Recently reading 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘕𝘦𝘸 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦 - also about a scientific look into sexual inversion - and 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘌𝘥𝘦𝘯 - also brushing, among many other things, on eugenics - was an interesting sequence leading up to this gorgeous book. ⁣
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Thank you so much @fsg and @netgalley for letting me read this work of art early. It’s out October 10th!

A wholly inventive novel based on the premise that two people who have minimal contact have great influence on one another. Told through many formats and media, this is a fascinating read for the telling alone.

A wild, haunting, mesmerizing read. “We the Animals,” Justin Torres’s first novel, was formative for me. And even though I’m still processing “Blackouts,” I know it will be the same, and it currently lives rent-free in my mind.

The novel is an intricate and masterful collage of various factual and fictional texts – including the author’s previous work, redacted medical studies, the DSM, illustrations, photographs, and conversations between the narrator and his companion Juan Gay. The two met years ago when they were both institutionalized, and now, as Juan is dying in a place known as “The Palace,” the young narrator seeks him out. Throughout “Blackouts,” Juan and the narrator trade stories of their own lives, recounting their memories in formats as wide-ranging as a screenplay and a story told in reverse chronology, and Juan passes on his (fictionalized) remembrances of the real-life Jan Gay, whose 1941 study “Sex Variants: A Study in Homosexual Patterns” is central to the novel. This kind of oral storytelling, and the way that remembrances are filtered through multiple sources, including the narrator (who acknowledges the fallibility of his own “remembering of [Juan’s] remembrances”) is such a beautifully queer way to examine how queer history itself has survived, albeit incompletely, and despite erasure, exaggeration, distortion, oppression. Still, as porous as the line between fact and fiction is, the artifacts presented here have a deep, clear truth and resonance. This novel is so, so special.

OkAY, well, that wrecked me in ways I didn't know possible. What started as a queer love story evolved into the loss of such a union that I became so attached to, and I feel I need therapy to process it.

Blackouts is a fictional tale with larger-than-life emotions and character narratives that depict the story of a dying man and his lover as they journey into the historically accurate synopsis of gender and sexuality throughout the years.

I have nothing further to say, but SHIIIIIT, I am distraught. I feel like our MC came away stronger and more emotionally sound after the passing of his soulmate, no longer weakened by insecurities and misplacement, even without his lover by his side.

Blackouts is set to publish on October 10, 2023, and I am so thankful to FSG Books, Netgalley, and Justin Torres for sending both digital and physical copies my way.

Thanks to Netgalley and FSG for the ebook. Two men are spending days together after they’ve been institutionalized. A young man and a much older man, trade stories of their parents, many love affairs and the older man owns a rare copy of the two part book, Sex Variants: A Study in Homosexual Patterns. The old man knew its original author, Jan Gay, and tells stories of her life and her forgotten work, hoping that the young man will one day write a book and tell the world about Jan.

This novel is brilliant in its premise and some of its execution. 

Premise-wise, it is interesting how the characters Juan Gay and the young male narrator have numerous conversations that are not only about them but also about other people in Juan’s life. It covers a whole range of characters who led a very colorful albeit ‘taboo’ lifestyle. This ensemble thus gives an opportunity to portray the unsung individuals left outside the white depiction of homosexuality and queerness, which I believe is one of the strong points of Blackouts.

Another thing is that the use of pictures and blacked-out pages from the research/paper done by one character was very effective in immersing the reader in the context of the past and present. Though it did sometimes take me out of the whole plot, it was still used to the book’s advantage since you notice how relevant this is in Juan and the narrator’s dialogues.

The final strength of this is Justin Torres’ writing, as it conveys emotions in such a way that it felt real to me. Some beautiful lines really caught not only my attention but my soul, especially when there is a mirroring of Ruth and Naomi and Juan and the narrator. It was just so effective in provoking emotions I didn’t know I had. It was like discovering finally what is the feeling at the tip of your tongue that you didn’t have a word for.

Honestly, Blackouts felt like a modern Dracula, with the style of having a story within a story. At times it was confusing since it is not something I’m used to and something I don’t really want to read. Because of this, my journey throughout the book was dreadful since for me, I didn’t actually know where the story was going. I know I wanted to be on that journey, but now that it is en route to the destination, there’s that sinking feeling of not knowing where the end line is, even though I felt like I was already halfway there. 

Overall, it had a great idea and premise, but somehow it got lost in some execution, mainly the main direction of the plot. 

I still recommend this to people who are interested in multi-faceted characters, told in varying degrees and in varying forms. It’s a strong novel, featuring tales from the shadows and I still believe it was worth my time.

Thank you, NetGalley for the ARC.

It's the 𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 /𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘵 for the queer experience, except it isn't romance, but more so faith in friendship between two queer men, one older one younger, one dying one trying to live.

It's everything. Covering class, race, gender through (what you would call) fictional biography of Jan Gay, someone who I am now interested in but can't seem to find. There are no Goodreads reviews for their book, 𝘖𝘯 𝘎𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘕𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥. Copies on Ebay are quite expensive, and more information needs to be found on them! I demand it! Not only does the book develop a thick flesh of themes, but it's also a collage of censored transcripts, photographs, and paintings.

It's a beautiful collage of the queer experience that almost feels biblical. That feels holy. That feels like sitting at the back bar stool of Aunt Charlie's, listening to the old days sing with pain and glory, trying and trying to recreate a thing called living to kin off to the next boy trying to find himself.

Deep down, I find difficulties in conveying my queer experience to all my hetero friends. Even with all the media over the past few years, the representation and awareness, it's still hard to relay the shame and fear, the guilt and envy, all of it. This book is a tapestry of that, done with great intricacy and detail.

Blackouts is so brilliant that it's occupied all my shower-thinking-time for a week, but whenever I try to tell people (everyone...I've been telling everyone) what it's about, I can't quite do it. Not wholly. And this fundamental failure at communication is perhaps the most honest representation of Justin Torres's new novel, which traces a queer history that is necessarily and purposefully incomplete, which tries to "undo erasure through more erasure." Blackout poetry is a useful reference point, both in terms of the novel’s structure and in terms of its content. Torres intersperses narrative with partially blacked-out pages from Sex Variants, a study of homosexuality published in 1941, and the novel itself makes an argument for the way that storytelling is always an act of focus, of emphasis and elision rather than faithful reproduction. (Side note: I want someone to put this book on a syllabus with After Sappho, and then I want to take that class.)

The novel is essentially a prolonged conversation between two queer men: one dying, one witnessing. The stories they take turns telling each other are from their lives and the lives of others, and they jump through time, space, and genre depending on the desire of the listener. The result is a kind of queer archive, with historical figures, literary references, and images woven together with personal narrative, including Torres's own previously published writing. Nothing feels quite finished, but that's the point: the collage is closer to truth than a resolution could be. Blackouts is queer history that queers history, and it's perfect.

Thank you to Farrar, Straus and Giroux and NetGalley for the ARC!

Blackouts by Justin Torres is remarkable and I thank #NetGalley for this treasured advance copy and the opportunity to review it. I cannot wait to get the actual book into my hands this Fall. Having no idea what the book was about (and defaulting to something alcohol-related), this novel blew me away from page one. It's a compilation of historical photos and documents -- a real and fictional interweaving of queer history and a cast of the most amazing characters to relate it. This novel was literally crafted from pieces of history and the central book -- a medical study conducted in the 1930s called "Sex Variants: A Study in Homosexual Patterns" is both fascinating and heartbreaking. It's a tribute to the queer community from the early 1900s to the present day.. Torres' main character Juan is one of the most charming and unforgettable people I've encountered and he has entered and re-entered my mind many times while reading the book. There are stories within stories--all under the umbrella of a younger man's (the narrator's) reunion with (and admiration for) Juan whiie Juan is in the process of dying.

There are so many layers to the novel; the use of creative writing incorporated throughout is clever, unique, and brilliantly utilized. It was obviously crafted by the author with his purest love and fullest attention to detail. I know that, at this time, I cannot reproduce anything in this review but am looking forward to examining every detail once I have a printed copy. Even the novel's central location - The Palace - has a tremendous origin story.

Juan and the young narrator share stories of their own histories - with each other, about their parents, people who have loved them - as Juan works against time to share the crucial history of heroes from his history (and the aforementioned 1930s book). Juan is a master storyteller, a revered mentor, and contains a wealth of lived history. This novel will become a classic - its messages, the creativity with which they are delivered.- the crucial history being carried. Justin Torres created an outstanding and totally unique piece of work. The source material, in and of itself, is entirely fascinating. Bravo to this writer. Loved this book

This book was incredible. A beautifully written meta textual grief dreamworld.

Even the end notes (especially the end notes) are incredibly poignant.

I love this so much I'm going to buy a copy when it comes out.

Justin Torres is a known great writer and his return in the form of Blackouts is as fascinating as he is.

His use of language is intoxicating here (as it is everywhere else) but what's most impressive about this ambitious work is the accomplishment of craft. Stitching together and finding commonality between previously published stories of varying lengths to create something larger than the sum of their parts and more expansive than a collected stories would have been is a grand achievement. Revisiting older works to make something new and different as an approach to writing a novel is a fulfilling project in his hands. Writing someone as beguiling yet basic as Liam: also a grand accomplishment.

Glad to have gotten to read it ahead of publication, thank you for the galley.

What a haunting read. Blackouts marks the anticipated return of Torres after his acclaimed first novel, We the Animals (2011), was widely reviewed and adopted as a foundational text of Latinx Literature and queer of color writing, more broadly.

Blackouts finds its narrator caring for an aging Juan Gay as they trade stories of institutionalization, sex, sex work, and sexology. Moreover, Juan Gay shares a work of stolen inheritance—the work of real-life sexologist Jan Gay (whose research was published without crediting her authorship in Sex Variants: A Study in Homosexual Patterns (1941)). The novel’s formal experimentation stitches together these narratives by combining the redacted and blacked-out pages of Gay’s field notes alongside the central characters' vignetted stories, which are excised from blacked-out memories (these vignettes are joined by photographs and excerpts from other writings that reveal the hidden yet imbricated discourses of science, sexology, ethnography and eugenics to emplot racial and queer difference) . In an era defined by US state sanctioned interventions on queer and Latinx peoples, Torres’ transhistorical novel is a timely intervention into understanding how discourses of medical science are used to justify domination of marginalized bodies and how Latinx identity emerges from- and in resistance to- such systems of control. Moreover, this work is a fabulous testament to the state of contemporary fiction and queer latinx authorship—expanding the ways we can think about what minoritarian literature can do and say.

This was one of those books that once you pick it up you don’t want to put it down. Blackouts is largely written as a series of conversations and anecdotes shared between two characters; it is also told through imagery and modified text and is part personal drama and part historical fiction. As I was reading, I found myself continually thinking about the history of homosexuality in the modern world and the shared experience of LGBTQIA+ individuals across time. This book—albeit in microcosm—explores these larger themes and the ways in which we can reappropriate a past that can be full of pain . Even though it is a shorter book, it is one of those rare books that has an ambitious reach of a much longer novel. It is written in short “flashes” of dialogue and memory, making is a breezy but impactful novel that sticks with you. I look forward to reading Torres’ earlier novel!

Blackouts is Justin Torres's latest novel, more than a decade in the making. It is extraordinary. Formally, the book is reminiscent of the Argentine novel, El beso de la mujer araña (Kiss of the Spider Woman), a conversation between two queer men - both non-white, from different generations - which reorients the novel into a storytelling form steeped in an oral tradition, saturated with a queer sensibility. Substantively, this can be read as a retelling of queer history itself, part of which includes a deconstruction of historical understandings of identity and sexuality, including an exploration of the way those concepts were constructed in the first place. There are several instances of intertextuality, touching on the 1941 study "Sex Variants: A Study in Homosexual Patterns" and several iterations of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM). We see the boundary between normal and abnormal defined historically with a colonialist agenda, pathologizing bodies and experiences that are non-white, non-masculine, non-cis, etc. Sexuality, race, class, masculinity, and other themes are examined. It is also a story about love, friendship, aging, and family. The dialogue is so witty and yet so personal. There is a generosity and tenderness to this story that is exquisite. Many thanks to the US publisher, FSG, for making a digital ARC available via Netgalley.

Okay, wow that hurt. There was a portion of this book that I had to put down and rub my face for a moment because it was such an intensely emotional portrayal of a breakup and emotional damage that I just needed a moment to process it.

Justin Torres is a new favorite author.

How does one manage to write a 300+ page book that's entirely composed of the conversations between two gay men, loop in queer theory and discussions about race and medical discrimination, and write tenderly and erotically, and maintain my attention and my emotional investment?

This book was the kind of densely poetic writing that Garth Greenwell does so well. Writing that feels like it has a pulse, characters that are such beautiful avatars of queer loneliness and the intense desire for queer intimacy and connection. I saw myself in both Juan and the unnamed narrator at his bed side in my own experiences as a queer person. This is one of those books were the phrase, *It made me feel less alone" really comes to mind because this book did that. It made me feel like I have a place in this world - both in the literary sense as well as the real life sense.

A spectacular, ambitious book that I devoured over the course of two days. Definitely in awe of Justin Torres' talent and sheer writing capabilities.

Thank you endlessly to FSG and Netgalley for the opportunity to read this book early!

A fascinating break from the fine-chiseled structure of Torres's famous debut, "We the Animals," "Blackouts" is a kind of wild experiment, a mixture with elements of auto- and metafiction, incorporating blackout poetry and blurring the line between fact and fiction (I'm reminded of Benjamín Labatut's "When We Cease to Understand the World") as it takes on the lives of real, but mostly unknown, people, shaping them into a larger narrative. The story at its core involves a nameless narrator, a young gay Puerto Rican man, and Juan, a kind of life mentor he met many years ago in a mental institution. Now dying in an old building called The Palace, the narrator seeks to understand the project Juan has been working on for many years so that he can take it over on Juan's death; it's a kind of documentation of "Sex Variants: A Study of Homosexual Patterns," a real book by George W. Henry, and the study's participants, some of whom seem to be close to Juan and his history. Blackout poems formed from the text are interspersed throughout. Most of the 'action' is stories told from Juan to the narrator or vice versa; there's an absolutely wonderful section where the narrator turns elements from his life into a 'film' and 'tells' the film to Jean, complete with descriptions of the shots. I enjoyed reading a lot, but I found it hard to follow; this is a book that for me will require a reread before I can really organize my thoughts. Needless to say I think there's a lot here.

Fascinating and utterly compelling. Multiple lives and histories, individual and groups, scientists or quasi-scientists and laypeople, mix and meld in this hybrid novel that includes historical documents with much erasure, memories told in varying ways- as stories, as movies - set in an unnamed dusty town perhaps in another country, in a single room in a place called the Palace, where Juan is dying, and the narrator has come to be with him. Voices of the past and present, the linking together of stories, of people, of sexuality, identity, and more.

i feel a little bummed because i thought i’d love this one, but i felt as though it simply tried too hard to be original. i feel as though the influence of “house of leaves” is more than visible (although i could be totally wrong here) and i don’t really think it was properly delivered, honestly.