‘The Inverts’ is a novel about a pair of best friends, one a gay man and the other, a lesbian, who lived their youth in the 1920s. It’s an interesting book, with a very raw writing style: it told things as they were, as they happened, with little to no romanticization. Both Bart and Bettina, the main characters, are shown as deeply flawed, in a way that felt human. While it ached to read some things, it felt real.
I disliked (I’d even go as far as to say that I hated) some things, that I’m not sure whether they were intentional or not. I despised Jean, one of Bettina’s lovers, finding no redeeming traits in her character since the moment she appeared and her sole existence made me want to give up on this book, which I only changed my mind about when I thought about this review. And I thanked heavens when she stopped being a constant in the narrative, because boy, was I tired. She wasn’t funny, or caring, or sweet, or… even interesting! No redeeming traits whatsoever. Besides, the first time Jean and Bettina had sex, it felt deeply uncomfortable, since it didn’t seem like Bettina wanted anything more than a few kisses.
One thing I rather enjoyed was the use of LGBTQ+ artists as a way of mentioning you’re queer, as well as trying to figure out if the person you’re interested in is as well. Bettina mentioned Sappho several times to several of her love interests, and Étienne, Bart’s partner, read him poems by Rimbaud. There was also Bart using Polaris, a secret subculture code used by gay people during early 20th century.
It’s a very straightforward reading, which is refreshing at times, but it also affected the book negatively to me, as there were many time skips that didn’t allow the reader to actually see the drama, which were the consequences of their actions and more details on how they dealt with them. It’s a book about the roaring ‘20s, followed by the Great Depression in 1929, then the World War II. There was a brutal change in their lifestyles, but I couldn’t see that much of a difference. I’d say it’s one of those cases where the author tells instead of showing.
There are also several lines about fat people and overweightness in general that made me uncomfortable, as a fat person and a lot of focus on genitals, almost portraying them as something that equals sexuality (liking dick doesn’t necessary means liking men), which, as a trans person, made me uncomfortable. Yeah, transgender people weren’t as mainstream as they, we, are today, which already isn’t a lot, but I’m sure that within the queer community, at least, there was some knowledge about it. But then again, the protagonists are rich, selfish and egocentrical, privileged people who don’t realise their privilege, and the characters being… well, not exemplary people, that was a point that made me find the book enjoyable. They’re deeply flawed and I don’t think Crystal Jeans tries to prove otherwise.
Overall, it’s an entertaining book, with a few good lines and some positive characteristics, but it’s no must-read masterpiece. The idea of it is wonderful, but could’ve been developed way better. I do think it’s a good start for works about platonic queer relationships, which is what I was seeking with this book (I’m a lesbian and my best friend is achillean, so I was looking for a representation of that. Needless to say I didn’t find it, but it can inspire other queer authors to write something with a similar concept).
To be fair, I was really looking forward to youthful, over the top queer best friends, with all the glamour of the jazz age, a fun book, turning into dramatic in 1930, with their financially stable families entering into poverty, a decrease in their comfortable life conditions, and all the losses brought by war. It did have some of these aspects, of course, but it wasn’t what I expected it to be. So, if you’re looking for a book with a fast rhythm, with a simple writing style and with a lot of sarcastic comments and flawed characters you can relate to but also hate and feel angry towards, then it’ll be a good reading to spend some time with.
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