[net.motss] Where to get Amory's Loon trilogy

rob@ptsfa.UUCP (Rob Bernardo) (07/14/85)

Does anyone know where I can get a copy (or photocopy) of
the first and last books of Richard Amory's Loon trilogy novels?

"Song of the Loon" (1966), "Song of Aaron" (1967), and
"Listen the Loon Sings" (1969) are poignant love stories
about gay cowboys and Native Americans in the 1880's. 
I have a copy of "Song of Aaron" and long to read the other two.
I believe all three were published by Greenleaf Classics,
but are out of print.
-- 


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sdyer@bbnccv.UUCP (Steve Dyer) (07/15/85)

> Does anyone know where I can get a copy (or photocopy) of
> the first and last books of Richard Amory's Loon trilogy novels?

I was in a similar situation, having read all three several years ago
and dying to have my own copy.  It might be worth polling gay book stores
across the country (Walt Whitman, Glad Day, Giovanni's Room, etc.)
I was browsing in Boston's Glad Day last year and came across a complete
three-volume set for sale at a semi-exorbitant price ($35.)

I still think the best was the original, Song of the Loon.
-- 
/Steve Dyer
{decvax,linus,ima,ihnp4}!bbncca!sdyer
sdyer@bbnccv.ARPA

sdyer@bbnccv.UUCP (Steve Dyer) (07/15/85)

> I believe all three were published by Greenleaf Classics,
> but are out of print.

I believe that "Song of the Loon" is still in print, but the others
aren't.  I got this from a conversation with the owner of Glad Day/Boston.
In any event, the trilogy I purchased had a shiny new copy of SotL,
while the others were pretty old.  In case it's any use, the new SotL
has an address for Greenleaf Classics which is different from the older
books.  Maybe you could contact them:
	Greenleaf Classics, Inc.
	7525 Raytheon (!) Road
	San Diego, CA 92111

> "Song of the Loon" (1966), "Song of Aaron" (1967), and
> "Listen the Loon Sings" (1969) are poignant love stories
> about gay cowboys and Native Americans in the 1880's. 

Rob is right, but that's a bit like saying Moby Dick is about whaling.
Actually, these are erotic hyper-romances, quite funny and erudite, 
tongue-in-cheek, but still touching, concerning a group of gay cowboys,
trappers, and Native Americans who never could exist except in our fantasies.
All the men are handsome, strong, sensitive and hung, able to quote Latin and
Greek, and compose sonnets on the fly.  There aren't any women at all
in the stories, avoiding the question of where little Indians and cowboys
come from.

Amory himself has a brief note on the copyright page:

	   "The author wishes it clearly understood that he has,
	 unfortunately, never known or heard of a single Indian
	 even remotely resembling, for instance, Singing Heron
	 or Tlasohkah or Bear-who-dreams.  He has taken certain
	 very European characters from the novels of Jorge de
	 Montemayor and Gaspar Gil Polo, painted them a gay
	 aesthetic red, and transplanted them to the American
	 wilderness.  Anyone who wishes to read other intentions
	 into these characterizations is willfully misunderstanding 
	 the nature of the pastoral genre, and is fervently urged
	 not to do so.
	   "The same might be said for those who love to point out
	 anachronisms and factual improbabilities."

Guilty, as charged, I guess! :-)
-- 
/Steve Dyer
{decvax,linus,ima,ihnp4}!bbncca!sdyer
sdyer@bbnccv.ARPA

rrizzo@bbncca.ARPA (Ron Rizzo) (07/16/85)

The first book was made into a male porno flick with all the sex taken
out (paradoxical, isn't it?) around 1970 in (would you believe?) Utah.
In fact, the film bears the seal of approval of the Utah state censor!

The film is so bad it's hilarious, one of the funniest I've ever seen.
There are lengthy & earnest discussions on the banks of a river right
out of a Coors beer ad about the symbolism of arrows & arrowheads, with
the connotations thudding to the ground like a herd of buffalo on the
hoof.  Orgasm is visually euphemized into dreamlike segments of freefall
through pastel-colored space with suitable muzak as an accompaniment.

The climactic scene takes place in a cave where the two protagonists
have gone to obtain metaphysical advice about their relationship from
its resident medicine man, who bears a striking resemblance to Harvey
Milk in a war bonnet (I noted this out loud--in the Castro Theater a
few months after Milk's assassination--& immediately got a few score
of very dirty looks from other audience members).  At the height of
his invocation of whatever, the sage raises his arms to heaven and
in a measured & portentious voice intones:

	Nam, myoho, renge, kyo
	Nam, myoho, renge, kyo......

[For you yahoos, it's a Japanese buddhist chant much favored by Soka
 Gakkai, a neofascist movement in postwar Japan that recruited heavily
 in North America in the 1970s among exjunkies & hippie burnouts.]

At this, the audience shrieked in disbelief & exploded in laughter.

Great fun, but not like the book.


						Kawabunga!
						Ron Rizzo