It is doubtful that anyone outside Christopher Zyda’s personal circle of friend or business associates could identify him as an author. Memoirs are usually attached to some kind of adjacent celebrity or renown in own’s chosen field. Though unknown, he has quite a story to share.
Raised in typical, middle-class, Southern California, his early years reflect a studious young man whose interests and abilities point to a future in the creative arts, perhaps as a screenwriter. A degree in English Literature at UCLA is all part of that plan. The atypical part of his young life is his awakening sexual orientation. The first big hurdle he confronts in college is addressing rumors spreading through his fraternity that he is gay. Zyda tackles the situation head-on, coming out to the entire fraternity.
After a series of relationships that are brief and never develop into anything of significance, Zyda meets Stephen, an accomplished lawyer and graduate of Yale. Handsome, successful and very smart, Stephen outshines any of his previous romantic pursuits. Their relationship thrives and things seem very bright. Being the mid-1980s, you know that the specter of AIDS is looming over every relationship. After a series of health setbacks, Stephen is diagnosed with AIDS. This being so early in the pandemic, most information is bleak and understanding is practically non-existent.
Without being reminded, we forget just how precarious that time was to navigate the public health crisis. Reliable tests were slow in development. Anonymous testing was not even available. If a person eventually pursued an actual test, it became a permanent mark on their health record. Even a negative result tipped off insurers that you were a risk. There were no protections for pre-existing conditions. Basically, you had to never get sick or make a claim to securely maintain health insurance. You might be forced to remain in an unsuitable job that provided coverage because it might end if you left the company.
The insurance companies were evil but people were awful, too. Though raised as a devout Roman Catholic, Zyda faith is tested again and again, eventually abandoned without any spiritual means of love and support. Family and friends are supposed to be the people we turn to in our time of need. AIDS revealed the very ugly truth that religious dogma and societal revulsion exacted on our population. As a reader, you will be beyond appalled at the hate, neglect and animus displayed by these supposedly “fine people.”
We all have to be reminded of these uncomfortable truths. Our collective memories are very short but reading this memoir forces self-reflection and reminds us just how bad things were and how far we have progressed. Younger readers will likely find this territory foreign because it seems extreme compared to today’s environment. Even as someone the same age as the author, I needed to be reminded of these bad, old days.
Zyda coins the terms “Vortex of AIDS Insanity” which might sound hyperbolic but actually pretty well describes a lot of the aberrant behavior. Detailing the indignities would take as long to catalog as actually reading the book.
He returns to faith many times in the narrative though it is usually to detail how hypocritical and disappointing that supposed source of comfort turns out to be, Another phrase he creates is the “missing commandment.” Instead of the traditional ten, the missing one should state “your spiritual journey is yours alone.” This is the best response I have heard for dealing with other people imposing their faith on others. Zyda manages to find what works for him but keeps the details to himself. A wise choice.
Though he achieved enormous success in finance, at heart he always thought of himself as a writer. It must be satisfying that this is finally a reality and a long journey has come to fruition.
The Storm: One Voice from the AIDS Generation by Christopher Zyda https://rarebirdlit.com/
REVIEW: STEPHEN COYQueerguru Contributor STEPHEN COY has been an avid reader all his (very long) life ? and is finally putting his skills to good use. He lives in Provincetown full time with his husband Jim, having finally given up the bright lights of Boston and now haunts the streets mumbling to himself that no one reads anymore
