I received a free proof copy of this in exchange for an honest review. I debated with myself for a while as to whether or not to give it a four or three stars, but unfortunately I had too many quibbles to err on the side of generosity. While the subject matter and stories are fascinating and show an impressive amount of research, I found the telling of the tales often left a lot to be desired. Case after case is detailed, but there is a distinct lack of analysis and I found myself getting frustrated. One of the difficulties in writing a history of queer London is the lack of balanced or impartial sources. Most of Ackroyd's stories come from court documents, so there is an inevitable bias of prejudicial belief, as well as actual criminal activity, such as rape and pedophilia. This can leave the narrative somewhat confused; Ackroyd is apparently trying to celebrate London as a place (for a surprisingly substantial part of its history) of unusual tolerance and even acceptance of gay men and women, but the succession of court cases and brutal punishments that are listed do not help this argument. Additionally, there are no examples from elsewhere in Britain which might allow the reader to see clearly how unusual, or not, London was in its attitude to its Queer citizens. The sections on queer women feel slim by comparison with the onslaught of discussion on men. While I appreciate the difficulties in gathering evidence one what, even by this book's standards, was often a liminal and sometime criminal lifestyle, the women's stories feel rushed and underdeveloped. I found that most of the stories in the book, about both men and women, lacked personality, being told with almost clinical detachment. It was only when Ackroyd tackled the AIDS crisis of the eighties that I felt a connection, and was genuinely moved by his description of the plight of the sick and dying, and those who nursed and mourned them among horrific prejudice. All that said, there were also some really fascinating details, especially about the strange beliefs surrounding homosexuality (for example, scratching one's head with a single finger was thought to be a sure sign of a sodomite), and there are also some astonishing accounts of couples who defied prejudice for love and lead quite amazing lives. Overall, I was left feeling confused and a little dissatisfied, which was not helped by Ackroyd's gloomy conclusion, which seemed to say that, although London has never been more gay-friendly, this has resulted in the lamentable death of queer counter-culture. This could have been a great book, I am sad that it misses the mark.

I have to say I did enjoy learning lots of different accounts of queer people from London's past. HOWEVER, that is the only bit I enjoyed. Much like someone who has gone over the word count of an essay, it seems Ackroyd possibly ran out of time to reflect on- the sometimes traumatising- accounts of queer people from the past. This unnerved me a lot especially since a lot of the accounts were recorded crimes of paedophilia or accounts of suicide or violent deaths. I know these are important accounts to learn from, but Ackroyd does not warn or acknowledge the impact of these statements. I also feel like the lack of acknowledgement of modern LGBTQ+ movement is insulting, with trans rights issues and gender being expressed more fluidly- there's plenty to discuss even if you don't understand it fully. But I do know that since his husband died he essentially made a statement saying he would take a step back from being more involved within the community. Although I fully understand grief takes many forms, I do believe that as a gay author who has published work about our history you do have to take responsibility for what message you're presenting. And dismissing the modern culture feels like a poor message. I wish this book was better so I could recommend it to others.