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In 1952 author Marijane Meaker, using the pen name Vin Packer presumably because she won the "Invent a gay male porn star name" contest, wrote what's credited as the first lesbian pulp fiction novel. That's a very specific thing to be first at, but there are a lot of books so okay. She and her publisher had to be careful: to escape censors, everyone had to end up (view spoiler)[either straight or institutionalized. (hide spoiler)]

Meaker was unhappy with the book partly because of that ending - which she wrote so tepidly that no one could have failed to read between the lines - and partly because she was young and the book is fairly awkward. Which is partly the fault of the '50s, honestly; everyone was such dorks back then. The action is set (of course) in a sorority house full of terrible repressed young women who sing to each other a lot and dream of being "pinned" by hulking fraternity brothers. The brothers sing a lot too, wanna hear a song?

We are the great big, wow!
Hairy-chested men, wow!
Hairy-chested men!

See what I mean? Dorks. (All the songs, in Meaker's hands, develop a menacing tone; that's a nice trick.)

Dangerous dorks. I read this under the misapprehension that it was noir; it is not noir, but very bad things happen. (view spoiler)[Mitch's sisters passively arrange for her rape as punishment for her nonconformity. This is nightmarish, obviously, but I don't find it particularly unbelievable. (hide spoiler)] And there is a femme fatale of sorts. (view spoiler)[Poor weak Leda, who sacrifices Mitch to save her own social image, is a pitiful and believable betrayer. (hide spoiler)]

The story has its roots in Meaker's life, as I learned from her penetrating and self-deprecating introduction. She explored her sexuality at boarding school; (view spoiler)[a girlfriend's mother found a letter she'd written; she was punished. (hide spoiler)] It was dangerous to not conform in the 50s, and particularly dangerous to be gay. And sororities and fraternities are still extremely dangerous places.

Meaker somewhat reluctantly agreed to let Spring Fire be republished ten years ago, and I'm glad she did. It feels like an honest document: these are the feelings that gay people had to wrestle with in the '50s, and the dangers they faced. (Obviously I don't know for sure - but Meaker does, that's the point of books.) It sold 1.5 million copies when it came out, a surprise smash hit; Meaker talks about the fan mail they got from lesbians across the country who recognized their own experiences. They're all doddering old people now, and I bet they were psyched to see this back in print. I'm psyched I got to read it, too. I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say it's important, but it's interesting. I like it.