Punch Me Up To The Gods: A Memoir – A Raw Coming-of-Age Story of Black Boyhood and Queer Identity

by Brian Broome

WINNER OF THE KIRKUS PRIZE • WINNER OF A LAMBDA LITERARY AWARD • NEW YORK TIMES NOTABLE BOOK •   NEW YORK TIMES  EDITORS' PICK • STONEWALL HONOR BOOK • NAMED A BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR BY PUBLISHERS WEEKLY , KIRKUS REVIEWS , LIBRARY JOURNAL , AMAZON AND APPLE BOOKS •  TODAY  SUMMER READING LIST PICK •  ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY  BEST DEBUT OF SUMMER PICK • PEOPLE  BEST BOOK OF SUMMER PICK A raw, poetic, coming-of-age “masterwork” ( The New York Times ) Punch Me Up to the Gods introduces a powerful new talent in Brian Broome, whose early years growing up in Ohio as a dark-skinned Black boy harboring crushes on other boys propel forward this gorgeous, aching, and unforgettable debut. Brian’s recounting of his experiences—in all their cringe-worthy, hilarious, and heartbreaking glory—reveal a perpetual outsider awkwardly squirming to find his way in. Indiscriminate sex and escalating drug use help to soothe his hurt, young psyche, usually to uproarious and devastating effect. A no-nonsense mother and broken father play crucial roles in our misfit’s origin story. But it is Brian’s voice in the retelling that shows the true depth of vulnerability for young Black boys that is often quietly near to bursting at the seams. Cleverly framed around Gwendolyn Brooks’s poem “We Real Cool,” the iconic and loving ode to Black boyhood, Punch Me Up to the Gods is at once playful, poignant, and wholly original. Broome’s writing brims with swagger and sensitivity, bringing an exquisite and fresh voice to ongoing cultural conversations about Blackness in America.

Genres: Memoir, Nonfiction, LGBT, Audiobook, Queer, Race, Biography Memoir

272 pages, Paperback

First published May 18, 2021

About the author

Brian Broome, a poet and screenwriter, is K. Leroy Irvis Fellow and instructor in the Writing Program at the University of Pittsburgh. He has been a finalist in The Moth storytelling competition and won the grand prize in Carnegie Mellon University's Martin Luther King Writing Awards. He also won a VANN Award from the Pittsburgh Black Media Federation for journalism in 2019. He lives in Pittsburgh.

Reviews

[Raymond · Rating 4 out of 5]

Punch Me Up to the Gods is a powerful memoir written by Brian Broome a Black gay man who grew up in Ohio and moved to Pittsburgh, PA. Broome's story is told in an interesting way, he prefaces each chapter with vignettes titled "The Initiation of Tuan" which covers Broome's observations of a Black father and his young son Tuan on a city bus. Broome observes how the father interacts with Tuan, telling the young boy to be a man and to not cry. These observations lead into Broome's own story which focuses alot on colorism, Black masculinity, sexuality, race and internalized racism, drug addiction, etc. Tuan and his father remind Broome of his troubled relationship with his own father who would beat him viciously because Broome was not masculine enough. Brian's mom is another important character in this book; in fact there is one chapter where Brian writes in his mother's voice to tell her own traumatic story. 

This book is definitely brutal and raw, at times it reminded me of Kiese Laymon's Heavy and Sapphire's Precious. Broome's writing is beautiful. I love how he describes people and places. It was after I finished the book that I found out that Broome is a poet which explains why his writing was so good. He closes the book with a powerful letter to Tuan. At the end of the book I felt that he was not just writing to Tuan but he was also writing to me and every other Black man who has been told to bury their emotions, be tough, don't show them your weakness, etc. Hopefully the wisdom of this book can help others recovers from toxic Black masculinity and allow for Black men to be more open about themselves, their pasts, and their feelings. 

Thanks to NetGalley, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, and Brian Broome for a free ARC copy in exchange for an honest review. This book will be released on May 18, 2021.

[Thomas · Rating 4 out of 5]

A well-written memoir about growing up as a gay Black boy in Ohio and then as a young gay Black man in Pennsylvania. I loved the visceral quality of Brian Broome’s writing especially in the first half of the book – his feelings of longing, shame, and confusion came alive through his use of descriptive yet tight prose. A lot of his story centers on the femmephobic and homophobic abuse and bullying he experienced by members of his family and his peer group. I’m not sure how anyone could read this memoir without walking away with the message that we need to destroy toxic masculinity and white supremacy and embrace our children and one another for who we are.

I wanted a couple elements of Broome’s internalized bigotry unpacked more. First, he writes quite a bit about how he found white men particularly attractive. He states this preference several times though I wish he had unpacked it more explicitly – what specific channels did he learn this from, so that we can target those and dismantle them? Later on in the memoir he writes a bit about unlearning this racialized preference, though I wanted to read more about that process, especially because he still comments on certain white men’s pale skin and blue eyes as particularly attractive which made me go uh??? This concern of mine relates to a later scene in which he shares some of his ageist views about older queer men he sees at a bar/club, where an older man calls him out on his ageism. While Broome writes the scene in a way that implies that he recognizes his ageism as problematic, I wanted a more thorough investigation of that internalized oppression. On a note unrelated to the internalized bigotry, I also found the part later in the memoir where he transitioned to writing from the perspective of his mother a bit jarring.

Despite some of my criticisms I would still recommend this memoir to those interested in its synopsis! I feel so happy that Broome continues to write and express himself in such poetic ways especially given all the messages he received growing up to be tough, stoic, and unfeeling.

[chantel nouseforaname · Rating 5 out of 5]

Yooo the transparencyyyy!

It takes guts to share this story and stand in it with your whole chest and Brian Broome did that!!!

"I have no method to persuade you that the act of shoving your most tender feelings way down deep or trying somehow to numb them will only result in someone else having to pick up your pieces later." - 98% in 'Punch Me Up to the Gods' by Brian Broome

...But you did tho! Brian Broome's written pieces let off several bells and I have so much gratitude for the effort that I'm sure it took to tell this story. That he allowed us to hold space for him, and took it upon himself to hold space for others, the future and the up and comers. The gay black boys who feel like there is no place for them. It's hard to read this story and not be changed, to not have your eyes opened to the complexities of growing up in households where manhood is transferred through brutality. It's so important to allow the space for kids to be who they are.

The savagery in households that seek to stifle the beauty of their children’s diversity is breathtaking and sad, it's even sadder when committed as an act of protection from white supremacy. This violence can be life-snatching for the kids who can't hold-on long enough to escape these places of violence and diminishment. Not to mention, it's difficult to not drown in spaces of minimal love and attention in the home and outright hate and discrimination in the classroom, on the campus, at work, etc. It's preposterous to side-eye unhealthy coping mechanisms, when you ain't seen health and wealth promoting activities around you. That's why when health and wealth gets made, you give folks their flowers, especially when they give back like this to their community.

This book was incredibly written. It was so vivid. Even the parts I wanted to be less vivid *cough* being chased down naked at a dick-swinging sex party *cough** were super vivid. My heart broke and then broke again and again and again and was restored as he found his way to the chosen home of James Baldwin.

This is a highly recommended read. More thoughts on it here.

[Provin Martin · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was a difficult read for me. Mostly because I cannot connect with the storyline due to me being a straight, white female. This did not discourage me from reading the book. I have compassion for the authors struggle and want nothing more to embrace the author in a long, loving hug. No one should have their future planned out for them. This author deserved a loving childhood in which he could bloom into his true self. Instead he struggled to find his place in this world because of those who were adamantly against what he wanted for his own life. For such a deep story it is elegantly written. I appreciate the authors struggle and I feel like it made him the man who he is today.

Brian Broome was a child of the 80s, and a gay black man struggling to find himself in the 90s. This lifestyle was unacceptable in the small Ohio town where he was raised, and only slightly more accepted in the larger cities he chose to move to. At times you will cry and maybe have a few laughs but mostly you will be rooting for Brian. The world is cruel but Brian is stronger than you can ever imagine. He also shares some great advice.

Please take note: this book is very descriptive. There are detailed sex scenes and attack/beating scenes. Be warned and prepared.

[*TUDOR^QUEEN* · Rating 4 out of 5]

Four Stars

An email from the publisher put this book on my radar, since my reading preference is biographies. Another thing that drew me to the book is the invitation to learn about someone whose life experiences are very different from mine.

Brian writes of growing up in Ohio and suffering on several fronts. It might be easier to use a specific example from the book to illustrate just how heart wrenching it was. The only time his fellow students made him feel a sense of inclusion was when they noticed his talent for dancing and suggested he go to a dance club with them. It required a car ride and a little spending money, which was a large hurdle to climb in itself. His mother was working anyway, and she most likely wouldn't approve of him going there. But, Brian was so marginalized at school that he couldn't let this one gleaming opportunity pass him by to finally be accepted. So he managed a ride and the spending money, and found himself dancing away to acclaim at the club. However, when the place was closing down, it was a huge wake up call when his fellow students got picked up by their parents. Not one parent would allow Brian to get in their car for a ride home. There was a lot of silence, ignoring, and furtive glances as they pulled away. The club was now closed and it was very cold outside. Brian was so devastated by the total rejection that he sobbed uncontrollably as he constantly pulled his coat around him for warmth. Luckily a club worker was still around and he allowed Brian to use the phone. He had no choice but to call his mother to pick him up in the wee hours of the morning. She pulled up to the club and he could see she was wearing her pajamas, quiet in her rage as they drove home.

In addition to the racism he experienced being black, he was also gay. His father especially picked up on this and it couldn't be allowed. Thus the title of this book, the father in his rage and hate would threaten to punch Brian back up to the Gods. His father lost his job at the local mill, and since he had only gone to grammar school felt like he wasn't trained for doing anything else. Brian's mother got a job and eventually the marriage busted up and the father lived like a hobo in an abandoned shack not far away. He would come by the house when Mom was at work to take food out of the refrigerator and trash her to the kids.

A theme was employed intermittently throughout the book of describing a long bus ride in which Brian is sitting near a black father wth his cute little boy Tuan. Brian calls these chapters "The Initiation of Tuan". When Tuan falls and hurts himself he is admonished firmly by his father to stop crying. When he falls asleep on the bus with his legs crossed, his father pulls them apart in a more manly pose. Brian uses the last chapter to write a symbolic letter to Tuan in a caring fashion with hope that he will survive the challenges of racism and possibly his sexual preferences- and his ability to just be himself.

Brian is a talented writer. This drew you in emotionally. He made you understand his life experience enduring racism, ostracism for being gay- and even more so for being a black gay man. He recounted a really depressing home dynamic, while stressing the importance of women in his life. He walked you through his sexual experiences with both men and women, the gay club scene, and drug addiction. Around the last fifteen minutes of reading the book Brian pulled no punches about what he thought about Ohio (where he grew up as a child) and America as a whole, and possibly anywhere else in the world he might travel, in regards to racism. It was clever of him to leave this for the very last gasp of the book, because it might be off-putting to someone reading it at the start of the book who wasn't receptive.

Thank you to the publisher Houghton Mifflin Harcourt who provided an advance reader copy via NetGalley.

[Paris (parisperusing) · Rating 5 out of 5]

Brian Broome's Punch Me Up to the Gods is no gay anthem, it is a ballad to which every brokenhearted Black queer boy knows the word. It begins as all indelible sad songs do, with a confession to shame: "Any Black boy who did not signify how manly he was at all times deserved to be punched back up to God to be remade, reshaped." Black boys love sad songs too, we sing them all the time: in the safe dimension of our dreams, where we assume God is not listening.

“Homosexuality, as it so often does, attacked me in my bed in the middle of the night," Broome writes of his adolescent paramour Alex, whose "chocolate brown eyes and coal black hair" open a portal into a "television world" of whiteness and love. Us Black boys, we know this yearning.

On rare nights, I am in the second grade again. I am sitting behind pale-skinned Charlie, whose upper lip has already sprouted fuzz. In this reverie, I am swimming my fingers through the black waves of his hair. Like Broome, I have waded the sweet waters of dreams and unrequited love. But dreams are just dreams. By turns a gut-punch and a poem, Punch Me Up to the Gods is a tragic and disarming depiction of the inescapable headlock of self-hatred, colorism, and Black shame, and a painful but inspiring parable I hope will reach the hands of Black queer boys everywhere.

Like Brandon Taylor, Saeed Jones, and Danez Smith, Brian Broome will always have a friend in me.

[George Ilsley · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is definitely one of the best memoirs I've read in ages!

There is much to admire here. The book is cleverly constructed, framed around a Gwendolyn Brooks poem, and watching a father and a young son on the bus—the father telling the toddler not to cry, to be a man. This framing device very subtly and effectively introduces and reinforces the material from Broome's own story, and how his father and other males policed and sought to enforce concepts of masculinity.

There is one chapter that is supposed to be in the voice of Broome's mother; I appreciated the information provided here more than the manner in which it was presented.

I've still not read the introduction to this book, because I have long since learned to avoid introductions for fear of spoilers. And now that I've finished reading the book myself, why do I need an introduction?

A splendid book, brave and evocative. I found myself remembering things from my own childhood. The takeaway is this: that we all have to give ourselves permission to exist in our skin, permission to take up space in the world, to be ourselves. Finding that sweet simplicity is a journey, and Broome very generously has shown us his. Thanks!

[Richard Derus · Rating 4 out of 5]

WINNER OF THE 34th LAMMY AWARD—BEST GAY MEMOIR/BIOGRAPHY! Winners announced 11 June 2022.

A NEW YORK TIMES NOTABLE BOOK FOR 2021!

You won't get a whisper of a whine from me about Author Broome's beautiful phrase-making. He is up there in the poetic-prose rankings. He could, and most likely will, give James Baldwin a run for his epoch-making money in the poetic eloquence on the Essence of Blackness derby.

Yes, I said that and I meant it. Moreso than other writers on Blackness, Author Broome's dual Othering of being a Black gay man adds the ingredient so often missing in manifestoes like Heavy or Between the World and Me. Worthy reads, even necessary ones. Tears We Cannot Stop offers a more religious, sentimental slant on the subject of Black maleness, and is an equally necessary voice to attend to. But James Baldwin, in his significant for its being so overlooked essay Nothing Personal , brings his religious past and his queer present and his uncertainty about the future into focus in much the same way that Author Broome does: as fact, as solid ground, as new, everlasting source of Otherness among the Othered. There being fifty-plus years between the two books, there are differences of tone made possible by the progress that has happened. There is not, however, a difference of kind in the subject of these books: The authors are Othered Others and are not allowed to make a life that doesn't center their Othered Otherness in this, our glorious country.

Author Broome uses the framing device of a young Black boy being psychologically shredded by the father who, I do not doubt for an instant, loves him and wants him to become a superstar in this world. To that father, as he browbeats and abuses his probably-queer young son, that means beating the gay out of him. That's also what it meant to Author Broome's father, emasculated by the same round of deindustrialization that created so many billionaires, and to Baldwin's religious-nut stepfather. The truth is these men, these fathers, aren't alone in thinking that they as well as their sons would be happier if the boys were either straight or dead. A quick flick of one's eyes over the statistics on adolescent suicide and teen drug use...this last plays quite a role in Author Broome's life...teaches us the toxic price paid by father, son, acquiescent or indifferent mother in death and destroyed personhood and family.

I think the power of reading the author's memories of growing up the Othered Other really rests in this: However easy it might have been for him to give in and let his addiction to drugs drag him into death, he does not. He stands on the rocks of his father's failed life, his mother's rage at...well, everything, and the cruel bonds of racist hatefulness (the dance party scene broke me), and he creates beautiful phrases and uses them to limn horrifying images onto my grotesquely privileged brain.

I have no method to persuade you that the act of shoving your most tender feelings way down deep or trying somehow to numb them will only result in someone else having to pick up your pieces later.

That, I feel, pretty much sums up the value in reading this book.

[Kelli · Rating 5 out of 5]

Black boys don't get a long boyhood; it ends where white fear begins.

People will tell you that times are different now but I think we all know that only some love is granted public access.*

Poetic, structurally unique, and stylistically beautiful, while simultaneously gut wrenching, painful, and brutally honest. Besides being human and American, I have nothing in common with Brian Broome, but through his writing I felt his confusion/desperation/agony as he detailed the reality of being Black and gay in rural Ohio, and then into his adult life. I don't want to say more because his story speaks for itself.

There could be no better cover for this evocative memoir than the grainy school photo of the author as a little boy. As I listened to the author read, I could only and always picture that precious, adorable, innocent child. Though the author and I are essentially the same age, I had the unending desire to pull him close through every story, at every stage of his life, and just hold on tightly, telling him that he is perfect just as he is. This memoir gutted me. 5 stars


*I listened to the audio read by the author, so quotes may not be properly punctuated.

[Traci Thomas · Rating 3 out of 5]

This memoir is really heavy. Broome is examining his childhood and the ways he was abused because he was Black and gay. It starts off incredibly strong but gets repetitive by the end. The structure is more like memoir in essays vs traditional memoir. Strong writing but not enough range to carry a full 250 pages.

[Lisa O · Rating 4 out of 5]

A stellar and powerful debut memoir from Brian Broome. This man can write. The book is a coming-of-age story where Broome very candidly shares his explorations of Black manhood and queerness during his early years in Ohio and his later adulthood in Pittsburgh. The title refers to the use of violence to enforce the rigid definitions of manhood where "[a]ny Black boy who did not signify how manly he was at all times deserved to be punched back up to God to be remade, reshaped." Broome's father subscribed wholeheartedly to this tactic.

Of course this is not an easy read, but it is undoubtedly eye-opening and thought-provoking. And Broome's vivid writing is filled with unflinching honesty and heart-wrenching detail. I loved the use of the interconnecting parallel stories. The main content is Broome re-telling the experiences of his life, but then he uses an experience from a bus stop where he is observing the interactions between a Black father and his toddler son to reinforce his messages throughout the book and to articulate his hopes for the future.

On side note, the introduction by Yona Harvey just didn't work for me. She speaks of what a wonderful experience she had while reading Broome's book and compares him to a number of other prominent writers. I agree with her sentiments, but I thought the section went on a little too long. I would have preferred to just jump into the book since Broome's writing really speaks for itself. I think this section would have worked better as a postscript, so my advice to readers is to dive in to page 1 and circle back the introduction once you've finished the book.

This is an emotional and important read, and I'm hoping to see more in the future of Broome's exceptional writing.

[Erik · Rating 4 out of 5]

Brian Broome's Punch Me Up to the Gods is a deep dive into growing Black and gay in the U.S.

Brian was born in steel mill town in Ohio to a father, laid off when the mill closed, and a mother who works to pay the bills. As Brian gets older he realizes he is the one thing Black men are not supposed to be: gay. But as he learns to accept his gayness he also struggles with the ways in which white supremacy have shaped his perspectives: longing for the love of white men who only see him as fetish for the night, longing for the friendship of white women, who only want sexualized, masculine Black men. The trauma and self-hatred that comes from being a child with intersectional marginalized identities leads Brian down a dark road into substance abuse and loneliness that only coming to terms with himself will ever heal him from.

Admittedly I am often very critical of memoirs: they can often be lazy ways of telling stories that would be better told in more nuanced or literary ways. And in some ways Punch Me Up to the Gods is not immune from this genred weakness. But Broome's story is compelling and this book will really have you reflecting on race, sexuality, and the ways in which whiteness traumatizes Black people. If you're going to read a memoir, make it this one.

[Reggie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Brian Broome laid it all out there and should be commended for that. This is honest storytelling and the best kind of memoir since the subject himself wasn't above critique.

Punch Me Up to the Gods, There Will Be No Miracles Here and Survival Math are forming something like a Holy Trinity for me when it comes to modern day memoirs written by Black men.

YouTube
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35mw-...

Spotify
https://open.spotify.com/episode/6oHa...

[Mallory · Rating 5 out of 5]

This memoir was painful to read at times (most of the times if I am going to be completely honest), but it was beautiful. The subject was not particularly full of beauty but the voice that told the story is beautiful. I loved the unique structure to this memoir. It is a serious of essays broken up with observations Brian made of a young boy and his father on the bus which caused him to reflect on his own upbringing. Brian is brutally honest and this memoir tells the story of how he failed to conform to the training on how to best be a Black man, and how he painfully came to accept who he was as a Black, gay, man. The impacts of racism on his life were hard to read, but the good kind that helps the reader accept what is real. And only with acceptance can we work to change. This was a limited scope of Brian’s life and I would certainly be interested in reading more. Brian Broome is a name I will be looking out for in the literary world.

[Andrea Jo DeWerd · Rating 5 out of 5]

Remember Brian Broome’s name: he is going to be a major literary force. This debut memoir will break your heart, make you laugh and cry, and you’ll be rooting for Brian on every page. For readers of Saeed Jones’s excellent memoir and Augusten Burroughs.

[Crystal (Melanatedreader) Forte' · Rating 5 out of 5]

Whew! Some people will say it's not written like a traditional memoir and I couldn't agree more. I loved the way the author experimented with form and structure. The story is one that I will sit with for a long time. The memories he went through and his struggle with being a black gay man in America are intertwined into a story that should be read by everyone. After reading this I just want to protect him and my students who can identify with his struggles forever.

I also commend him for sharing his life no hold bars with us all. I can only imagine how hard it was to put this on paper.

[Brett Benner · Rating 5 out of 5]

There have been a number of engaging memoirs centered on Black Queer men, among them Sayeed Jones, Darnell Moore, and George M Johnson, but this one is particularly special. Brian Broome writes with such raw unflinching honesty and simply gorgeous storytelling, it effectively raised an already rather high bar. I started this on audio and was immediately drawn into the timbre of his voice, but what really captivated me was the way he recounted each particular memory. Starting in McKeesport Pennsylvania Broome boards a bus with a father and his young son who he quickly learns is named Antuan, or Tuan. This child becomes the tentpole he returns to as,
“ I’m drawn back to my boyhood lessons in disaffectedness, nonchalance, and hollow strength. It was a never ending performance that I could not keep up to save my life. And when I failed consistently, there was never any shortage of people around to punish me for it.”
Broome writes about his own boyhood growing up in Ohio facing a dual reality of being both black and gay in America, and his yearning to escape the closing walls constructed by his sexuality and the blossoming awareness of white supremacy and vile racism. “Black boys don’t have a long boyhood. It ends where white fear begins, brought on by deepening voices, broadening backs, and coarsening hair in new places beneath our clothing”.
⠀
His exit leads him to Pittsburgh where he stumbles, and fumbles with his queerness in a series of stories I found exceptionally stand out including one set in a seedy sex club that takes a surprising, and heartbreaking turn, and another with him dating a European man who he has led to believe he’s a talented basketball player.
⠀
And although I obviously am not the person to speak to his experiences as a black man aside from once again praising his writing, his naked vulnerability journeying through his queerness I found highly and immediately relatable. (Sometimes making me cringe in recognition I might add).
Yet it’s this vulnerability coupled with a braveness to present himself, warts and all that truly makes the book shine and one of my favorites I’ve read this year.
⠀

[Veronica Foster · Rating 3 out of 5]

In Punch My Up to the Gods, Brian Broome explores the pressures that Black men face to perform a certain kind of masculinity—one that he found particularly damaging as a Black, gay boy growing up in rural Ohio. In a series of stories organized by theme around Gwendolyn Brooks' poem "We Real Cool," Broome reflects on the way these requirements to "be a man" damaged his relationship with his family, complicated his efforts to find queer community, and resulted in longterm struggles with anxiety and addiction.

I found Broome's efforts to untangle his challenging memories of his mother and father especially poignant and profound; throughout the book, he traces how their fear of the real and ever-present danger he would face as a Black man growing up in America led them to police his gender identity and sexuality in harsh and sometimes violent ways. Broome's thoughtful exploration of the fraught relationship between love and control is an important reminder of the way that American racism requires Black parents to make impossible decisions to try to keep their children safe.

While I appreciated some of the fruitful juxtapositions offered by Broome's thematic narrative structure, without clear forward momentum the chapters sometimes fell into a bleak pattern of hope, humiliation, then defeat. Punch Me Up to the Gods reads a little like spying on confessional, and though it's evident by the end of the memoir that Broome finds in the sum of his experiences a clearer understanding of both himself and America, I needed a stronger connective thread to the realizations that define the final chapter. Nevertheless, Broome's story is an important one. I'm grateful that he shared it.

[Samuel · Rating 5 out of 5]

when it’s a good read... the whole day is canceled. Easily one of the best memoirs I’ve ever read.

[Bonnie G. · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have been so lucky with my book choices in the last couple of months, drowning under a tidal wave of genius. After reading two stunningly good works of fiction I decided to move to nonfiction, reasoning that whatever novel I picked up next would not satisfy me because I had been temporarily ruined for other books (I have a short memory, I figure I will be back to fiction soon.) So I chose to pick up a work of creative nonfiction from a new writer (he came to writing in midlife, his younger years given over to drug abuse and joyless sex) assuming it would be a palate cleanser of sorts. The good news is that it did not suffer from the comparison to my recent fiction reads. The bad news is now I am ruined for both nonfiction and fiction.

This book is simultaneously gorgeous and ugly, brutal really (there are some funny moments, but they are surrounded by the unfunny.) But this is not a book were we are rubbernecking, it is not tragedy porn, the book creates a space for and builds real empathy. The process is successful, in part, because Brian Broome is building empathy right alongside you. It has been an age since I have read a book that so clearly showed the difference between knowledge and wisdom. The author turned so much pain and rejection into extraordinary wisdom. This is an eagle eyed view of the reasons for and harms of the fetishization of blackness. It is also an attack on black conceptions of masculinity. He does not celebrate any aspect of this narrow definition of men's and women's "roles", and slaps us across the face with illustrations of its danger to women and men alike. And the writing is perfect. It honestly is. I am a harsh critic, I don't throw around statements like that cavalierly. It is perfect. There is nothing sensational or manipulative, the words are put together like poetry. Broom considers James Baldwin to be his idol (though he says not his favorite writer) and ends the book making his first trip outside of the US to the French town where Baldwin spent many years. Writing from the beach in Nice, Broom says he is not James Baldwin, and he is not, he is a different man raised in a different time and place. But he is equal to many comparisons to Baldwin. He says he wants to be black and queer and unafraid to share his truth like Baldwin did. That he does, and he does so with a clarity and unassailable candor and veracity. As with Baldwin, Broome forces the reader to acknowledge his rightness or to turn his back on his rightness, there is no counterargument, there is nothing theoretical, his premises are fully supported by his own experiences.

I listened to the audio read by the author, and absolutely recommend it.

[Ebony Rose · Rating 5 out of 5]

There is a category of memoir I've discovered in recent years that have completely challenged my understanding of the genre, books that stretched and pushed the genre and what it could or should be. Books like Hunger by Roxane Gay, Heavy by Kiese Laymon, In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado and Know My Name by Chanel Miller. Memoirs which so brilliantly and bravely bear the souls of the writers in a way that I could not have ever imagined. Memoirs that changed me in some fundamental way, just for having had the privilege of experiencing them.

I consider Punch Me Up to the Gods in that category. Brian Broome wrote the hell out of this book. This memoir plays with style and form, discarding traditional expectations of linearity, and tells the story of Brian's life as a gay boy and man in rural Ohio (and later, Pennsylvania). Brian's difficult family life, poverty, struggles with substance abuse and deep reflections on black life made for a beautiful, tender, sad, and sometimes joyful read. I loved it.

Highly recommend.

[Vnunez-Ms_luv2read · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book had me going through a variety of emotions. Anger, sadness, laughter, etc. very straight with no chaser account of the author’s journey of being gay and Black in a time that this was not accepted, especially in the Black family. I also enjoyed the chapters about atuan and how he tied them into his history. Mr. Brian, I thank you for allowing me the chance to live your story via your words. Blessings unto you in this thing we call Life. Thanks to Netgalley, the author and the publisher for the arc of this book in return for my honest review. Receiving the book in this manner had no bearing on this review.

[Shelby (catching up on 2025 reviews) · Rating 5 out of 5]

♦️ＲＥＶＩＥＷ ♦️

🔻"𝗣𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗵 𝗠𝗲 𝗨𝗽 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗚𝗼𝗱𝘀"
🔻𝗕𝘆 𝗕𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗕𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺𝗲 @𝗯𝗯𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗯
🔻𝟰.𝟯𝟱 𝗼𝗻 𝗚𝗼𝗼𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘀
🔻𝟮𝟱𝟬 𝗣𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀
🔻𝗣𝘂𝗯: 𝗠𝗮𝘆 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟭

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ • 5/5 Stars

Brian Broome's memoir is heart-wrenching and moving. It is powerful, honest, and vulnerable. The courage it takes to write a book like this is inspiring, and though I don't know Mr. Broome, I am proud of him for sharing his truth. I don't know many people who would so generously share their story with the world -- especially a story filled with so much pain. But I hope it will touch people where they need it most. I hope gay Black boys and men will find themselves in these pages and find strength. I hope heterosexual people of all ethnic backgrounds will learn and become better allies.

Broome is also a poet, and his poetry is apparent in his beautiful, descriptive writing. Overall this is a fantastic, quick read (only 250 pages -- I devoured it in one day)! Very highly recommend! ❤️

[Derek Driggs · Rating 4 out of 5]

Because of severe personal health problems I’ve been unable to focus in on a book for the past month or two. This book somehow caught my attention and my empathy and got me to focus and feel for its whole duration. The author writes pointedly and poignantly about his experiences as a Black gay man and how the world around him tried to tell him he was Being wrong. He addresses so many layers of societal toxicity: gendered, racist, homophobic, and other, and reveals how often the voice of love that could save is buried under those layers. A powerful voice for our times.

[Jaclyn · Rating 5 out of 5]

The quality and craft of memoirs coming from the US sets the standard for memoir writing. Punch Me Up to the Gods, just like Kiese Laymon’s Heavy, pushes what we thought was possible with memoir. Broome, like Laymon and of course Baldwin well before them both, wants to get to the heart of what it is to exist in a Black queer body in America. He uses an encounter on a bus with a small Black boy to reflect on memories from his childhood and life. There is a beautiful tradition of Black men writing for their sons, or in this case other Black boys, in an attempt to help them navigate the cruel world in which they find themselves. Nothing I say could do justice to the brutal honesty, vulnerability and truths laid bare in this book. It simply has to be read, it’s demanding to be read, it deserves to be read, it needs to be read.

[Maureen Grigsby · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a hard memoir by Brian Brooke, who has had a very tough life by not being the masculine person his family wanted. This book reminds me how badly people need parental love to be mentally healthy adults. Excellent writing!

[Andrew Eder · Rating 4 out of 5]

I LOVED this book. LOVED. It was such a great story of being Queer Black and in Ohio!! I cannot wait to discuss with my club!!

Post book club:
- loved the nonlinear structure and the back and forth between his story and the story of Tuan and his dad on the bus

- can get confusing with the back and forth

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[Trisha · Rating 4 out of 5]

I knew very little about this story before starting. I liked the cover, the title and found the topic interesting so I'd just jumped right in. I liked the short story style - the stories lead in to each other just slightly but the story flowed really well as the MC aged and went through a lot of self discovery.

Some stories were really hard to read, broke my heart but there were also some that made me smile. The few chapters that were from a different POV were my least favorite as I really enjoyed the main storyteller and wanted to know more about his journey. I really appreciated this one and am so glad I gave it a try!

A huge thank you to the author and publisher for providing an e-ARC via Netgalley. This does not affect my opinion regarding the book.

[Doreen · Rating 4 out of 5]

5/17/2021 Brutal, frank and beautiful. Full review tk at TheFrumiousConsortium.net.

5/18/2021 Structured around Gwendolyn Brooks' seminal poem We Real Cool and a bus ride where Brian Broome observed a young Black boy named Tuan interacting with his father, this autobiography in essays is a profound, powerful examination of the life of a gay black man growing up in late 20th century America.

Born and raised in 1970s northeastern Ohio, Brian knew he was different from other boys at an early age, and not in a way that his parents or society approved of. His father, especially, thought that constantly, viciously beating him would instill the desired manliness that he seemed to lack. As soon as Brian was able, he left small town life for the lure of a big city, where he thought he might finally find his people and a life of liberation and love. Things don't go as planned, and the shy young man discovers drink and drugs before finally being able to discover himself.

Standard memoir stuff, but Mr Broome pulls even fewer metaphorical punches than his father did in actuality, tho the younger man directs his ruthlessness in a more deserved direction, interrogating the issues of race, sexuality and masculinity that made him the person he is today. Punch Me Up To The Gods is an unflinchingly honest examination of all the terrible things that shaped him, whether done to or by him, as well as a stunningly generous expression of love and compassion for all the hurting, hurtful people just struggling to survive in a world that too often encourages fear of and cruelty to the "other". The memoir is beautifully shaped, using Ms Brooks' poem as a narrative scaffolding while also providing another throughline in the form of Mr Broome's meditations on Tuan's life as they both journey on the bus. The writing is astounding throughout this brilliantly crafted, searingly intelligent critique of a culture that could have very easily destroyed Mr Broome. That he could come through decades of pain to write this masterpiece of empathy and honesty is a testament both to his own character and will, and to the threads of kindness and hope that we need to keep displaying in our everyday lives. Books like this encourage us all to work to be less racist, to be less colorist, to not judge people based on gender or sexuality. It's an important, vital, absorbing read.

I did not, however, care for Yona Harvey's introduction. On the plus side, it didn't spoil Mr Broome's narrative. On the minus, it talked mostly about James Baldwin (to which, awesome but irrelevant -- Mr Broome discusses Mr Baldwin in the text and it doesn't need embroidering upon) and also about Ms Harvey's own attitude to the book, which quite frankly set my teeth on edge. Maybe it's because I've never had patience for those kids who revel in shaming and narcing, the way that entire "you're gonna get in trouble" singsong passage she includes so vividly evokes. I'd honestly recommend skipping the introduction entirely so you can better enjoy this excellent memoir without the intrusive shadow of judgey assholes looming larger than they need to.

Punch Me Up To The Gods: A Memoir by Brian Broome was published today May 18 2021 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt and is available from all good booksellers, including Bookshop!.

[Taylor · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5

Black life in America doesn’t seem to allow for it. As a race, we are often admired for how “strong” we are and for how much we have endured. The truth is that we are no stronger than anyone else. We have endured, but we are only human. It is the expectation of strength, and the constant requirement to summon it, fake it, or die, that is erosive and leads to our emotional undoing.

...

Punch Me Up to the Gods knocked me flat. If you are white and queer, read this book. Hell, anyone and everyone should read Brian Broome's stunning memoir.

This memoir is narratively unique. While present-day Brian rides on a bus heading to the airport, and observes a Black father and son interacting during the commute, he reminisces on his childhood, upbringing, trauma, and adulthood as a Black, gay man. This, therefore, is not a linear narrative of Brian's life. Brian's memoir is framed around Gwendolyn Brooks’s poem “We Real Cool,” and is a heartbreaking ballad to Black gay boys everywhere.

Brian does not shy away from horribly awful truths in this book. His childhood was rampant with abuse, bullying, and loneliness, and his father beat into him early on that boys should not show weakness - that Black boys should mold themselves into the ideal form of "manhood." Boys should not cry. Boys should not like girly things. And if Brian was not masculine enough, or acted too "gay," his father would beat him viciously for it. What's even more devastating is that Brian's father framed this unrelenting violence as an act of protection against white supremacy.



“My father back then believed in beating Black boys the way Black boys are supposed to be beaten. For our own good, he would say. Meant to toughen us up for a world where white people feed off our pain and to teach us that we cannot give them the satisfaction. Any Black boy who did not signify how manly he was at all times deserved to be punched back up to God to be remade, reshaped.”



The traumas of Brian's childhood led to a tumultuous young adulthood, full of drugs, alcohol, excessive partying, and loneliness. I so completely admired Brian's honesty in his depiction of himself - he's not afraid to portray himself in an unflattering, painful light.. Through poetic, gorgeous writing and achingly raw storytelling, Brian weaves an emotionally resonant tapestry of a narrative. He discusses toxic masculinity, drug abuse, trauma, homophobia, the alienation of white queer spaces, and racism with a deft hand, and even though his story is so sad, I felt hopeful in the end. Not just hopeful for Brian, but also for other Black gay boys who read this book. Hopefully they'll read Brian's story, and know that they're not alone. That they're allowed to be open about their feelings, pasts, and identities.

A truly special memoir. Again, I implore all of you to read it, and I was especially moved by the chapter written from Brian's mother's perspective. I was such a weepy mess. What a gorgeous, important book.

...

“I used to believe that the space I occupied was conditional. That I had to please anyone and everyone around me in order to exist because I had made the horrible mistake of being different.”