This memoir is shaped by the story of a poet who writes of his friendship with a man whose unhappiness was causing him great suffering. In it, the author felt he had to prove "that I was good, that I was kind, that I followed the rules" while growing up in England in the 1990s and 2000s, despite the fact that he "was brought up vaguely Catholic" and "had a secret to keep."

The mystery was that he came out as gay during a period when the Catholic Church was fighting a bill in Parliament that would have legalized equal marriage. That is only one of the numerous difficulties Hewitt writes about in this memorable memoir. Hewitt was reminded of Gerard Manley Hopkins, whose poem "The Lantern Out of Doors" serves as the title of this book, after his partner passed away while he was a student at the University of Cambridge. The memory of or experience of Hopkin's poetry permeates the narrative in a way that I have seldom encountered. That is a good thing.

I found this memoir to be a heartbreaking discourse on "ghosts" like Hopkins and the inability to achieve permanence. It is filled with beautiful scene after beautiful scene, from Hewitt's own father, who confided on his deathbed, "All I want is my boys," to a patient at the mental hospital who laments that his son never visits and remarks, "I knew you'd come." As long as I can continue to spend time with my boys and enjoy listening to the birds while I sit in the garden. I only want that. It is a deeply poignant reflection on mental illness, queer identity, and the transience of existence. ( )

Self-indulgent misey porn. ( )

A deeply personal, poetic and haunting memoir. When Seán meets Elias, they navigate their way tentatively into a love story that crosses countries and continents. But as Elias struggles with severe depression, Seán comes face-to-face with his own struggles and brings us back to the ghosts of his past.

This book feels like a ghost itself. From its beginnings in a Liverpudlian cemetery, to the cold and dark streets of Gothenburg in winter it reads like a gothic romance.

While it may not be in my top reads for the year, and it’s a difficult one to recommend due to the dark subject matter, parts of this book will stay with me for a long time. In particular the way Hewitt talks about how his queerness coloured his life, an experience that all queer people share. There were parts that made me step back at how raw it was to my own experiences. A heaviness from growing up in 80s and 90s Ireland where the majority of queer representation was presented in a pejorative light, presented with the ominous shadow of HIV/AIDs, a heaviness we hardly speak of now in an era when to be queer is to be out and proud and anyone who doesn’t agree is a bigot. But this was not the case growing up.

As Seán says himself, “I knew, from the earliest age I can remember, that one day I would have to tell my parents and my friends a secret about myself, a secret I could not escape, and they would leave me, or I would have to leave them, and then my happiness would be over.” ( )

In this beautifully written memoir, author Seán Hewitt (b. 1990) reflects upon his journey as a gay man, with a particular focus on his codependent relationship with his chronically depressed Swedish lover. There is not much of a plot, just a lot of introspection along with some discussion of the lives and works of poets Gerald Manley Hopkins and Karin Boye. This somber book won’t appeal to everyone, but those who can identify with Hewitt’s loneliness and anxieties will find it resonant. ( )