Heroes,icons,and homonormativity: Exploring the complexities of queer collective biography

Abstract

LGBTQ+ life stories have been historically silenced, marginalized, and hidden. This paper uses the example of queer collective biographies – illustrated collections of short biographies of LGBTQ+ people from across the world, past and present, and the famous and the everyday – to draw attention to how LGBTQ+ life stories are told. Using a combination of textual and visual analysis and semi-structured interviews with creators, circulators, and readers, this paper attends to how genre-specific conventions of collective biography, celebratory narratives, and the labels of heroes and icons, perpetuate homonormative ideals of visibility, productivity, and respectability. In doing so, the queer collective biographies convey implicit messages of validity, acceptability, and responsibility for LGBTQ+ communities, and therefore undermines their radical queer potential.

Introduction

LGBTQ+ ¹ life stories have been historically silenced, marginalized, and hidden. Using a combination of textual and visual analysis and semi-structured interviews with creators, circulators, and readers, this paper uses eight queer collective biographies ² to draw attention to how LGBTQ+ life stories are told. Queer collective biographies refer to illustrated collections of short biographies of LGBTQ+ people. The eight books tell LGBTQ+ life stories from across the world, living in the past and present, the famous and the everyday, and representing a range of intersectional identities. Each biography is accompanied by an illustrated portrait, and most of the books are highly decorative, making queer collective biographies ‘coffee table’ style books. The eight books have different intended target audiences: two of the books are explicitly aimed at children (Rainbow Revolutionaries and Queer Heroes), two are aimed at teenagers or young adults (Queer Power! and Queer, There, and Everywhere), and the other four books do not specify an audience.

Literary texts ‘reflect, restore, and reimagine our relations to the world’ (Anderson, 2024: 2), both shaping and mirroring how LGBTQ+ lives, identities, cultures, and histories are understood, therefore biography is entangled with processes of knowing, understanding, and expressing the self (Hamilton, 2010; Johnson, 2011; Royster, 2011). Changing conventions of biography as a genre dictate the types of life stories that are told, reflected in the inclusion of more diverse voices and previously unheard voices (Lee, 2009); blurring boundaries of the public and the private (Baigent, 2004); and the emergence of stories of sex and sexuality (Evans, 1998; Plummer, 1995). Biography as a genre is individualistic, therefore there are tensions around prioritizing and celebrating an individual life (Lee, 2009; Smith and Watson, 2001), including anxieties around reading individual lives of LGBTQ+ people as representative of all LGBTQ+ communities (Minich, 2015). Collective biography complicates this, instead grouping notable individuals to forge collective identity (Thomas, 2009), bringing individual lives into dialogue with others. Collective biographies serve to present exemplary lives in a way that is 'lively and readable, entertaining as well as informative' (Fox, 2019: 8), presenting practical challenges to ensure that each biography is at once clear, concise, readable, factually reliable, and brings a person to life whilst situating them in their historical or cultural context (Thomas, 2009). This is further complicated by the format of the illustrated collective biographies in this research and the considerations taken to ensure they are commercially viable and suit a variety of potential target audiences. These considerations merge to shape how LGBTQ+ stories are told and their implications on the lives narrated and those encountering them.

In the face of continued political, media, and legislative attacks against LGBTQ+ communities, in particular transgender and other gender non-conforming people, in the UK today, queer storytelling is a valuable tool. Findings from the broader research project that this paper is taken from uncover the potential of the queer collective biographies to shape understandings of personal identity and queerness in the world; provide affirmative, inspirational, and empowering representation; create a sense of community and belonging; celebrate histories of resistance and resilience; and provide an educational resource. In this paper, I contend that the importance, power, and meaning of LGBTQ+ life stories is not solely associated with the presence or absence of LGBTQ+ lives in the media, attention should be paid to how LGBTQ+ people are depicted. The language, imagery, and narratives used to describe LGBTQ+ people matter. Whilst absence or a reliance on negative storylines of death or trauma are damaging to audiences, hyper-positivity that only celebrates a narrow selection of LGBTQ+ lives can be exclusionary too. This paper attends to the celebratory language that is used in the queer collective biographies, focusing on the use of the labels of heroes and icons, and how this is shaped by the genre-specific conventions of biography and the commercial considerations of the publishing industry.

This paper argues that on the whole, queer collective biographies ³ , and their use of heroes and icons with their connotations of the fictional, religious, and mythological, not only label LGBTQ+ people as special, superhuman, and extraordinary, but simultaneously celebrates homonormative ideals of visibility, productivity, and respectability. In doing so, implicit messages of value, worth, responsibility, and acceptance are placed onto certain identities, actions, and behaviours, and pressure is placed on LGBTQ+ people to conform to heteronormative expectations; thus, the radical queer potential of the queer collective biographies is undermined.

Theorizing homonormativity

The term homonormativity was popularized by Lisa Duggan (2002: 179) who described homonormativity as ‘a politics that does not contest dominant heteronormative assumptions and institutions but upholds and sustains them’. Homonormativity then can be seen as a political strategy that reinforces heteronormative institutions through aiming for ‘equality’ in the existing systems, in private through consumption practices, marriage, monogamy, domesticity, and reproduction, rather than collective public issues for example housing, employment, education, and healthcare (Robinson, 2016). This focus on consumption demonstrates how homonormativity is first and foremost a product of capitalism and neoliberal thinking, underpinned by the celebration of privatization, individualism, profitability, and productivity, in which neoliberalism increasingly appropriates certain practices and ways of thinking that support rather than challenge heteronormativity (Mowlabocus, 2021). Here, there is an incitement for LGBTQ+ people to become productive members of the neoliberal capitalist labour market (Lovelock, 2019) and the construction of an LGBTQ+ consumer demographic, known as the ‘pink pound’ (Bengry, 2018; Coombes and Singh, 2022), underpinned by homonormativity’s commercial imperative.

Homonormative ideals see some LGBTQ+ individuals and cultures become normalized, privileged, and further contribute to heteronormativity through assimilationist cultural change rather than transformative radical politics (Kenttamaa Squires, 2019). For example, homonormative politics advantage middle class, white, and otherwise ‘normative’ (monogamous, coupled) LGBTQ+ people (Browne and Brown, 2016; McCann and Monaghan, 2020). This leads to a ‘homonormative identity’ and creates new ‘others’ that do not fit the new normalizations (Browne et al., 2021) associated with whiteness and corporeal normativity (Lovelock, 2019). For example, LGBTQ+ migrants, LGBTQ+ people of colour, disabled LGBTQ+ people, and those who are poor, non-monogamous, and single are demonized and excluded (Browne and Brown, 2016). Homonormative ideals are tied into ideas of respectability, thus creating ‘good gays’ and ‘bad queers’ who cannot or will not fit into straight and cisgendered norms (Branfman, 2019). Homonormativity can also refer to the mainstreaming of LGBTQ + politics to distance itself from more radical organizing (McCann and Monaghan, 2020) for example popular claims of ‘love is love’ (Robinson, 2016).

Homonormativity does not reside in one specific act: ‘it infiltrates, shapes and frames practices in order that their meanings become fixed, their structures rigid, and their queer potential obfuscated’ (Mowlabocus, 2021: 226). Homonormativity intersects with LGBTQ+ representation: whether LGBTQ+ people, identities, and stories are included in the media; the types of narratives or descriptions used when they are depicted; the nature of these depictions (for example affirming, nuanced, or perpetuating harmful stereotypes); and how they make an audience feel (for example seen or (dis)connected). Homonormative ideals are perpetuated through stories about LGBTQ+ people which celebrate ideals such as domesticity, marriage, monogamy, reproduction, nuclear family structures, gender roles, traditional masculinity and femmephobia, and ideals of race and class, that perpetuate heteronormativity. Examples include children’s books (Burghardt, 2023; Crisp, 2009; Izienicki, 2024; Lester, 2014), film (Davies, 2023; Francis, 2021) and television shows (Avila-Saavedra, 2009; Branfman, 2019; Chambers, 2006; Rüß, 2024). This paper complements this work whilst presenting a novel contribution through its focus on language use and the genre of collective biography. Through focusing on how LGBTQ+ lives are talked about, this paper asserts that on the whole the queer collective biographies in this project set standards of validity, worth, and acceptability for readers through celebrating homonormative ideals of visibility, productivity, and respectability.

Methodology

This research project aimed to uncover whose queer lives are written about and by whom, how queer lives are written about, and the impact and meaning reading about queer lives has on other queer lives, to explore the representational, educational, and wellbeing possibilities of queer collective biographies. The choice of research methods for this project was shaped by the conceptual frameworks of the ‘text-as-spatial-event’ (Hones, 2008) and ‘book-as-assemblage’ (Anderson, 2015). Here, a book is far more than an individual material object but rather the outcome of the relationships between an author-text-reader nexus which is situated amongst a network of interactions as part of a wider assemblage of agents, spaces, places, and contexts. To study this assemblage, this research combined two frameworks for textual and visual analysis: the critical analysis of literary texts (Sharp, 2000) and a critical visual methodology (Rose, 2020), to separate the book into four spaces: creation, the text and illustration itself, circulation, and reading. These spaces were studied through a combination of close critical reading, visual discourse analysis, and two stages of semi-structured interviews.

Eight queer collective biographies were analysed. The book selection is far from exhaustive ⁴ and the books in this research are only written in the English language and published by UK, US, and Australian publishing houses, to ensure they were accessible to a UK reader, where this research was carried out. This project sought to capture a particular moment in the Western publishing industry and in societal LGBTQ+ discourse and politics in the UK. The first stage of the research was a close critical reading of the eight collective biographies to uncover which LGBTQ+ people are written about and how, considering the authors’ use of language and labels, intended target audience, and noting the geographical and temporal diversity of the biographical subjects. In attending to who was written about, the LGBTQ+ identity of each biographical figure was purposefully excluded both due to practicalities based on how authors approached labelling subject identities in the books, and because assigning biographical subjects into discreet sexuality and gender identity categories undermines the ontological underpinnings of this project which sees identity as fluid, unstable, and changing (Browne and Nash, 2010). Visual discourse analysis was also carried out, looking at the use of colour, portrait style, illustrations, and the front covers.

Textual and visual analysis was combined with interview data from two stages of interviews. Nine semi-structured interviews were carried out between January and March 2024, with creators of the eight queer collective biographies (e.g. authors, illustrators, publishers, and editors) and circulators of queer books more broadly (e.g. queer bookshop owners). Creators were asked about their motivations, intended impacts, use of language and labels, and inclusions, as well as their experiences in the publishing industry. Queer bookshop owners were asked about the importance and value of queer books and their role in their circulation. Purposive sampling was used to access a clear, specific set of relevant participants for this project; the authors and illustrators of each of the eight books were contacted alongside editors and publishers where contact information was available, and LGBTQ+ bookshop owners from across the UK were contacted. All interviews were carried out on Zoom and recorded with permission. Participants consented to their real names being used in this paper. ⁵

The third part of the project consisted of 15 semi-structured reader interviews carried out between June and September 2024, with LGBTQ+ participants living in or with connections to the Southwest of England, where this research was carried out, using selected pages of the queer collective biographies to prompt critical reflection on the biographies and the illustrations; initiate personal reflections on LGBTQ+ representation, education, and experiences of queerness. Voluntary participation was used to recruit participants through a participant recruitment flyer that was circulated amongst LGBTQ+ networks which also resulted in snowball sampling. Reflecting the class demographics of the university city in which this research was carried out, there is a dominance of middle-class, well-educated participants which undoubtedly shaped the data collected. The recruitment flyer referred to LGBTQ+ books, representation, and education, and these topics structured the interviews. The themes of visibility, productivity, respectability, and homonormativity that structure this paper were developed from thematic analysis in combination with data collected from creator interviews, and textual and visual analysis. Interviews were predominantly carried out in person, but Zoom was also used where necessary. Interviews were recorded with consent, and participants have been pseudonymized using a pseudonym of their choice (Allen and Wiles, 2016; Heaton, 2022; Lahman et al., 2023). ⁶ The introduction of each book; qualitative data collected from close critical reading and visual discourse analysis; and transcripts from all 24 interviews were coded using NVivo with a combination of descriptive and analytical codes, to develop themes across different research methods (Cope, 2021). My positionality as a queer researcher and how this influenced the relationship between the researcher, the participants, and the texts, was considered. My queer identity was shared with interview participants as I felt this may have had benefits through creating feelings of community, comfort, trustworthiness, and mutual understanding, but this was not presumed. The complexities of the insider/outsider dualism that shapes research relationships (Gorman-Murray et al., 2010; Nash, 2010; Valentine, 2002) were recognized to account for the diversity of lived experiences of LGBTQ+ communities despite commonalities. Ethical approval was received for this research, and all participants gave written informed consent before participation.

Bringing into dialogue quotes from across the queer collective biographies, and reflections from creators, circulators, and readers, the following discussion pivots on three homonormative ideals: visibility, productivity, and respectability. I first address the entanglement of visibility with the commercialization of LGBTQ+ lives, and a critique of visibility politics. Next, extending discussions of visibility, I assert that it is only ‘productive’ and ‘respectable’ LGBTQ+ people who are celebrated for being visible. Here, productivity refers to achievements or actions that are seen as beneficial or valuable (financially or otherwise) for wider society, whilst respectability refers to behaviours that are socially acceptable according to the norms of heteronormativity society. The paper concludes with comments on the radical potential of queer collective biography.

Visibility

I think it's really funny that they just want to have this hyper visibility of colours and glitter and life is full of rainbows and sunshine and pink and yass…I think it reduces queerness to a certain lifestyle and aesthetic, which is often thought to be colourful and glamorous and glittery. (Lail, reader)

The queer collective biographies in this project use bright, eye-catching colours and illustrations, with many using rainbow or pride flag imagery. Lail noted how queerness is often associated to a certain aesthetic, reflecting how visibility is entangled with the commercialization and commodification of LGBTQ+ identities, lives, and culture. The rainbow pride flag is a globalized, contested, and fragile symbol of LGBTQ+ visibility (Hauksson-Tersch, 2021; Klapeer and Laskar, 2018). Whilst it can denote pride, commonality, liberation, hope, desire, and belonging, it has become increasingly commercialized (Klapeer and Laskar, 2018). Isaac and Sage noted how LGBTQ+ identities have therefore been commodified as a sellable ‘queer aesthetic’ that can be appropriated without being a part of the LGBTQ+ community:

You can really see in some of these books where the queer aesthetic or the drag aesthetic is maybe something that you can buy into without necessarily being part of the community. (Isaac, reader)

I do think that these books do kind of feel tokenistic. (Sage, reader)

The symbol of the rainbow, and associated imagery or a ‘queer aesthetic’ becomes a ‘globalised cultural commodity that can be purchased on the capitalist market and as a signifier of (neoliberal) tolerance aimed at inviting and producing as many consumer-subjectivities as possible’ (Klapeer and Laskar, 2018: 528). Hauksson-Tersch (2021) notes that it is the collective LGBTQ+ identity itself, not just the rainbow symbolism that is subject to commodification. Here, LGBTQ+ people, lives, and culture as well as the ‘queer aesthetic’ become commercialized under rainbow capitalism for profit. This ‘rainbow-washing’ is a form of performative temporary allyship, appearing supportive of LGBTQ+ communities without translating into genuine, meaningful action (Diwanji et al., 2025). This aims to tap into the commercial potential of LGBTQ+ people, which is often conceptualized using the ‘pink pound’ or the ‘pink economy’ to refer to the spending power of LGBTQ+ people (Bengry, 2018; Coombes and Singh, 2022). Therefore, LGBTQ+ lives and culture are commodified as ‘sellable’, and LGBTQ+ people are seen as an increasingly lucrative target market. Similarly, the rainbow has been rejected by radical groups that consider it a symbol of a collective, commodified identity with minimal consideration to diversity and is thus exclusionary (Hauksson-Tersch, 2021; Klapeer and Laskar, 2018), demonstrating another way in which homonormativity is perpetuated.

It is important to address the potential inaccessibility of the hypervisibility that is created by the visuals used in the books. For some LGBTQ+ people the rainbow symbol connotes safety and support, a sense of community and inclusion, and opportunities for affiliation (Wolowic et al., 2017). However, this is not universal. In discussing their experience of their younger self and the reasons why they might have shied away from picking up a book like the queer collective biographies, Avery recalled:

To be honest I never would have read a book like this as a teenager…I would have seen it and been like “shit if I even touch that they’re going to know”. (Avery, reader)

Due to their identity being a secret and the fear of being found out, Avery would not have picked up a brightly coloured, obviously ‘queer’ book as this would have potentially caused them discomfort. Safety is also a concern; whilst the presence of LGBTQ+ books in a library, classroom, or home could create an open and comforting environment for one LGBTQ+ person, the hypervisibility of the book could create an unsafe space for another.

Acknowledging the potential unsafety that comes with increased visibility underpins a key critique of visibility politics. Many of the queer collective biographies celebrate the bravery of the biographical subjects in being visible. The Little Book of Queer Icons, for example, reads:

Invisibility does not inspire change, but visibility demands it. We have to be visible as the people we are. (The Little Book of Queer Icons, Alexander, 2019: 5)

The process of ‘coming out’ and visibly expressing your sexuality or gender identity is seen as normatively desirable and an unquestioned assumption (Edenborg, 2019). Thomsen (2021) challenges the too-simple linking of visibility to rights, liberation, and social progress, and critiques the desire for visibility by asking how becoming visible dismantles those systems that create and perpetuate homophobia in the first place. Similarly, Edenborg (2019) outlines critiques of the visibility paradigm problematizing the notion that visibility is inherently beneficial. Instead, visibility can be seen as a form of control. Thomsen (2021) draws attention to how Sedgwick (1990) argues that visibility and invisibility should not be treated as a binary; visibility must also be examined in relation to regulation and surveillance. Drawing on Foucault’s (1977) theories of the panopticon, discipline, and social regulation, visibility can be a form of control, and heightened discussion and categorization of LGBTQ+ identities can lead to increased governance (Edenborg, 2019; Thomsen, 2021). As homonormative visibility is privileged, notably white, gender conforming, middle-class, able-bodied people, these identities become normalized leading to increased control over other identities.

Increased visibility is also linked to increased violence and backlash. For many LGBTQ + people, particular transgender or gender non-conforming people, passing (to be read as belonging to the dominant category) is desired as a form of protection, security, and survival because recognition, and therefore visibility, may increase risk of violence (Edenborg, 2019). Brice (2023) labels this ‘the paradox of visibility’ for trans people, as with increased visibility and societal awareness comes rapidly escalating political, media, and legislative attacks. The hypervisibility that makes a queer collective biography appealing and engaging to consumers, may be a barrier to engagement for others.

The politics of visibility also contains biases related to race, class, gender, and (dis)ability with popular notions and understandings of visibility disregarding racialized and disabled LGBTQ+ people, amongst others. Visibility also rests on Eurocentric and Western assumptions and does not always effectively capture the nuanced experience of LGBTQ+ people in different contexts (Edenborg, 2019). In thinking about the homonormative ideal of visibility, it is vital that we question what type of visibility, and which types of visible identities are celebrated. In the remainder of this paper, I contend that it is only ‘productive’ and ‘respectable’ LGBTQ+ people who are celebrated for being visible, and these ideals underpin the language of heroes and icons used throughout the queer collective biographies in this project.

Productivity

Read up on fearless activists, key players of the Stonewall Riots, Olympic gold medallists, giants of the music industry, directors and stars of feature films, legends of literature, offbeat comedians, lively drag queens, and those in the public eye who use their platforms to champion visibility. (Queer Icons from Gay to Z, Boyle, 2019: 6)

Visibility is not universally accepted and celebrated for all LGBTQ+ people. The above quote from Queer Icons from Gay to Z illustrates the achievements and legacies of the LGBTQ+ community documented throughout the book. Similarly, across the eight queer collective biographies, the LGBTQ+ subjects are described as heroes, icons, trailblazers, revolutionaries, superheroes, ground breakers, risk-takers, legends, goddesses, and game-changers. Whilst inspiring and empowering to some, the focus of the queer collective biographies on celebratory narratives of heroes, icons, and people who changed the world creates an unattainable, unreasonable standard of excellence for LGBTQ+ readers. Frankie and Amelia discussed the pressure felt in response to these labels:

I think it's the sort of queer excellence that needs to be achieved to be a celebrated or validated figure. (Frankie, reader)

It feeds that impulse to try and prove our worthiness to society. (Amelia, reader)

This language juxtaposes excellence, validity, and worth with ordinary existence. The Little Book of Queer Icons, for example, describes the subjects in the book as superheroes with superpowers. Rachel and Abigail emphasized that being LGBTQ+ is not a superpower, it is an ordinary, everyday part of human existence and not something that needs to be celebrated:

I think the most important thing about queer lives is that they are super ordinary. (Rachel Sonis, editor of Queer Power!)

It’s not a superpower, it’s just existence. (Abigail, reader)

Celebrating being LGBTQ+ as a superpower is not the only example of how positive portrayals of marginalized and oppressed groups and individuals contributes to their marginalization and oppression (Grue, 2016). Parallels can be drawn here to work in disability studies on ‘inspiration porn’ in which ‘inspirational’ narratives put disabled people, who are celebrated for being exceptional or awe-inspiring for navigating ordinary life, on a pedestal to ‘inspire’ non-disabled people (Cameron et al., 2021; Grue, 2016; Young, 2012). Taking care not to conflate the lives of disabled people with LGBTQ+ people but acknowledging the shared experiences of marginalization and oppression, this reflects Grue’s (2016) assertation that this focus on individuals obscures structures, as it is institutional, structural, or societal ableism and the inaccessible physical environment that create barriers that need to be overcome, rather than a disabled person’s actions being inherently ‘inspirational’. Similarly, LGBTQ+ people are praised for overcoming the barriers put in place by societal homophobia and transphobia, rather than queerness itself being ‘inspirational'.

Productivity is also emphasized through the lens of queer temporalities. Queer theorists have drawn attention to how the lived experience of being LGBTQ+ is often connected to timelines, milestones, productivity, and what counts as a ‘good life', underpinned by heteronormative ideals and conventions (Freeman, 2010; Halberstam, 2005). Similarly, critiquing the tendency for queer history to be defined by notions of progress and positivity, some call for queer theory to embrace negativity, non-productivity, and failure (Halberstam, 2005; Love, 2007). Esme discussed the feelings of acceptance, value, and worth entangled in narratives of productive LGBTQ+ lives:

I think that’s what I mean about someone being palatable…that people can justify, “oh it’s okay because they are doing this really amazing thing”, and it sort of cancels out the bit that they don’t really like, that something else kind of overrides it…you have to make up for it. (Esme, reader)

Esme highlighted how she feels that LGBTQ+ lives are only accepted and valued if their identity is cancelled out by something that is beneficial for society. Here, being LGBTQ+ is something that needs ‘making up for’. Readers also noted how the pressure to have achieved something to make your identity accepted is more specific than ‘changing the world’ and instead they highlight a focus on the need for LGBTQ+ people to speak on or act in the fight for liberation, either for themselves or on behalf of the LGBTQ+ community. This presents the neoliberal idea that individual LGBTQ+ people are responsible for all LGBTQ+ people, or that the community are responsible for themselves in the fight for rights or equality. Here we can see how individuals are held responsible for structural and societal issues that should be the responsibility of institutions for example the government, and therefore there is the implication here that LGBTQ+ people are blamed for their own marginalisation instead of the blame rightfully being placed on government and societal failings. Whilst this is shaped by biography’s individualistic style, the collective nature of the queer collective biographies attempts to combat this; however, the language of heroes and icons perpetuates the celebration of individual action, undermining collective action by creating distance between individuals and the social, cultural, and political contexts in which they lived, as well as their peers who worked alongside them to ‘change the world’. This was highlighted by Sage who noted:

Where are all the people around Sylvia [Rivera] who probably supported her to become the person that she did? I guess what I was trying to get to with the kind of neoliberalization of identities is the privileging of the individual subjects, and then you don't see all the relations around that person that made them who they are. So they're quite individualistic. (Sage, reader)

Sage used the example of Sylvia Rivera and the Stonewall Riots to demonstrate how individuals come to be seen as representatives of historic events and separated from the wider community that also contributed to change. Sage pointed to the ‘neoliberalization of identities’ which parallels Harris’ (2024) reflections on personal storytelling, noting that personal storytelling mirrors neoliberalism’s emphasis on hyper-individualism which comes at the expense of community.

Respectability

So, it's like a matter of pick and choose, of what is queer but least queer, or what is queer and respectable, what is queer and worthy of being received as an acceptable thing in society. (Lail, reader)

Lail demonstrated how we can understand the homonormative ideals that are perpetuated in the queer collective biographies through the lens of respectability politics. Respectability politics uncovers who is and who is not respectable and comes to define notions of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ and ‘acceptable’ and ‘unacceptable’ (Kuzmochka, 2019), therefore leading to some LGBTQ+ identities (and associated behaviours, actions, or desires) deemed respectable and acceptable while others are not:

This does give me a good sense about the type of bad that's in there...there are many other things that are not bad, but in the perception of a normative society, not necessarily heteronormative, could be perceived as that. (Lail, reader)

Lail alluded to how we can distinguish between different types of ‘bad’ behaviour – that which is anti-normative and does not fit society’s expectations (those that fall outside of (hetero)normative expectations of the heterosexed nuclear family and monogamous partnership [Wilkinson, 2020]), and that which is morally wrong, hurtful, or damaging. The collective biography Bad Gays (Lemmey and Miller, 2022: 5) is perhaps the antithesis of the queer collective biographies in this project, introducing ‘the gay people in history who do not flatter us, and whom we cannot make into heroes: the liars, the powerful, the criminal, and the successful’. This raises questions of whose stories we choose to remember or forget, mirroring the assertation that we assume that positive actions and attitudes shaped LGBTQ+ history better than ‘bad’ ones and are thus remembered whilst the darker aspects of queer history remain hidden (Lemmey and Miller, 2022; Love, 2007). Asking why there is a tendency to privilege certain ‘positive’ or ‘good’ feelings and actions reflects queer studies’ anti-social turn, a critique that advocates embracing negativity whilst decentring narratives of productivity, positivity, progress, pride, and hope for an imagined future (Bersani, 1987; Edelman, 2004; Halberstam, 2008). This critique takes problem with the overall positive orientation queer theory has to the past, present, and future, which is exemplified in how ‘heroes’ and ‘icons’ from across history are celebrated and held on a pedestal for us to learn from today and into the future.

Lail and El Redman both pointed to the reluctance to associate LGBTQ+ people with being bad. Here El discusses how people get uncomfortable with acknowledging that someone can be queer and bad, and that often queerness is associated with only positive or good attitudes and behaviours. You can criticize a person and their actions without being homophobic, transphobic or queerphobic:

Not all queer and trans people and activists are good inherently and it's okay to be a bad gay…I just feel like by considering them heroes, icons, all of these different parts, we are kind of eliminating them from society as it is and elevating them onto pedestals and also kind of turning a blind eye to all the things that could have been done better. (Lail, reader)

These guys are still queer, and they were still absolutely shitty people, and you know the amount of people that won’t acknowledge that they were queer because of it. (El Redman, queer bookshop owner)

The queer collective biographies take different approaches to the inclusion of ‘bad’ subjects, and the more problematic elements of a subject’s story do not often feature in the celebratory narratives. 365 Gays of the Year is the only one out of the eight books whose title does not label LGBTQ+ people as heroic, iconic, revolutionary, or who changed the world and takes a more complete and inclusive approach:

Some people are undoubtedly problematic, some have said controversial things (and often regretted them and apologised), while others are victims of their time, having expressed old-fashioned opinions from which we have now moved on. Despite this, every person in the book has an important place in LGBTQ+ history, and whether we agree with everything they have done and said, or not, their contribution has to be recognised. (365 Gays of the Year, Laney, 2023: 3)

This approach is not taken consistently. Paul McNally, publisher of Queer Icons from Gay to Z, explained how the commercial imperative of the publishing industry means that there is not space for problematic people in the eye-catching, entertaining products that his publishing house strives for:

I guess we’re not trying to tell the whole story of queer history. I would I guess make that point that what we’re trying to do is publish positive stories and publish positive narratives... I think if you were picking up a book and there was a problematic person in there, I think that would be very off putting. (Paul McNally, publisher of Queer Icons from Gay to Z)

This exemplifies how understandings of what behaviours are deemed respectable, acceptable, and moral are also intertwined with what kinds of LGBTQ+ people are palatable, marketable or sellable to audiences, and this can lead to accounts of history that are sanitized or romanticized. This is also entangled in the norms of collective biography as a genre which has tended to highlight those notable individuals who are seen to be ‘successful’ according to the social norms of a particular time, rather than a conscious effort to tell the life stories of more diverse individuals (Thomas, 2009). Weaving together the homonormative ideals of productivity and respectability with visibility demonstrates that visibility is not universally accepted and celebrated for all LGBTQ+ people and therefore it is vital that we question what type of visibility, and which types of visible identities are celebrated.

Conclusion

Queer collective biographies are important for sharing the stories of LGBTQ+ people and are valuable tools for readers through shaping understandings of personal identity and queerness in the world; providing affirmative, inspirational, and empowering representation; creating a sense of community and belonging; celebrating histories of resistance and resilience; and providing an educational resource. However, the complexities of these narratives are uncovered when attention is paid to how LGBTQ+ people are depicted. We must think beyond simply the presence or absence of LGBTQ+ lives to the specific language, imagery, and narratives used to describe LGBTQ+ people. This paper asserts that the use of individualistic language of heroes and icons celebrates homonormative ideals of visibility, productivity, and respectability, and uncovers the implicit messages of validity, acceptability, pressure, and responsibility, placed both on the biographical subjects and the LGBTQ+ audiences that read them, in which there is a ‘good’ or ‘bad’, or ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way of being LGBTQ+ that pivots on heteronormativity.

Acknowledging this encourages us to distinguish between using ‘queer’ as an alternative umbrella term to refer to non-cisgender or non-heterosexual identities or ‘queer’ as a politics, theory, and practice which challenges, resists, interrogates, subverts, and disrupts expectations, norms, categories, and boundaries in relation to sexuality and gender (McCann and Monaghan, 2020). This is illuminated through the inconsistent use of both terms in the titles of the eight queer collective biographies as some use queer, others use a version of the acronym LGBTQ+, and others use them both interchangeably. This inconsistency demonstrates the complexities of language and labels of queerness and points to how umbrella terms can flatten the nuances of identity. As noted by Brown (2012), critiques of homonormativity are often at odds with the lives, aspirations, and everyday practices of many LGBTQ+ people who find importance and value in homonormative ideals meaning that stories celebrating homonormative ideals reflect their everyday lives. Others, however, call for a more diverse, inclusive, anti-assimilationist, or radical queer approach from the ‘queer’ content that they consume.

This paper calls for moving beyond homonormative assumptions to encompass a more radical understanding of queerness beyond what has become deemed respectable, acceptable, and palatable in the eyes of a heteronormative society. Reflecting wider conversations within queer studies on the negative or anti-social turn in queer theory, this paper asserts how narratives of queer history should not only be shaped by positive stories and progress and instead should include LGBTQ+ people who are imperfect, have made mistakes, or have said and done bad things to create more accurate, complete accounts of LGBTQ+ history. This is entangled with questions of what (educational, representational, entertaining, or something else) and who a queer collective biography is for, and this is undoubtably shaped by the constraints of the publishing industry and commercial considerations. Queer collective biographies are versatile as a genre; in considering the target audience, different audiences, whether that be LGBTQ+ people, cis-heterosexual people, or queer theory or LGBTQ+ history enthusiasts, have different levels of knowledge and understanding, and therefore a variety of expectations from a queer collective biography. The age and maturity of potential audiences is also a consideration here as this shapes the type of narratives and language used to ensure that the books are age appropriate and accessible, and this may lead to more sanitized or romanticized accounts of LGBTQ+ lives.

Critically engaging with the language of heroes and icons does not diminish the important and valuable role these books play, or the positivity, inspiration, and empowerment that they convey. Instead, this paper calls for care to be taken to continue telling LGBTQ+ stories whilst avoiding reproducing heteronormative tropes. The question remains as to whether it is the genre-specific conventions of collective biography that restricts the possibilities of nuanced, complex accounts of LGBTQ+ life or whether a shift is needed in the types of LGBTQ+ life stories that are valued, ideologically and commercially. It is important to acknowledge the implausibility for a single book to attend to the multiplicity of LGBTQ+ lives, and there are examples of collections of LGBTQ+ stories that do not conform to the ‘celebratory’ political paradigm outlined in this paper, instead telling the stories of everyday or mundane lives. ⁷ In fact, the book 365 Gays of the Year, the most recently published of the books studied in this project, demonstrates how we can begin to balance the demands of commercial appeal with the nuance and complexity necessary in queer life writing. The critiques in this paper emerge from the intersection of the societal value of LGBTQ+ lives, the genre-specific conventions of collective biography, and the commercial considerations of the publishing industry. Perhaps then the utopia is not found in pushing the limits of what a single book or genre can achieve but instead creating the possibility of a more expansive inclusion of LGBTQ+ stories on our bookshelves, to include the bad, the messy, and the mundane, through shifting publishers’ and readers’ ideals of what makes a book worth writing, selling, and reading.