“Andrew stared out the window at the dark blur of the passing trees… ‘I’m gay, for chrissakes. In a place that hates gays.’” – Marc Ruvolo, Pieties
In 1981, Andrew, diagnosed with a debilitating illness labelled as GRID or Gay Related Immune Deficiency (later renamed AIDS: Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome), undergoes a significant lifestyle shift, bidding farewell to his hedonistic existence in New York City. Plagued by illness and financial hardship, he returns to his estranged parents in Wheaton, Illinois, an intensely religious suburban community. His mother, a perennially sickly woman, manifests unexplained sores and bruises while traversing the dimly lit corridors during her episodes of sleepwalking.
Concurrently, Andrew’s disapproving father absents himself for prolonged periods within the sequestered, obsessively manicured, serene Japanese garden on the property, mostly at night. Furthermore, nocturnal disturbances, possibly attributable to rodent activity, unsettle the household.
Andrew’s suspicions mount when he observes his father engaged in clandestine activities within the garden late at night, partially obscured by the thick foliage. Subsequently, a sequence of ominous occurrences persuades him that a perilous undercurrent surpassing mere infidelity is likely at play. Andrew embarks on a compelling inquiry to unearth the concealed peril lurking within the confines of his suffocating environment.
Pieties is a harrowing read that successfully mixes queer issues—including the social and medical stigmas all too common in the 1980s—and dysfunctional familial and societal relationships with the supernatural to deliver a complex and intriguing queer horror story. When I say harrowing, I mean it was difficult at times for me, as a gay man, to (re)experience alongside Andrew the homophobia inflicted upon him and also, though totally understandable considering his environment, the self-defeatism that he often foisted upon himself.
Whether you’ve felt this type of verbal and/or physical homophobic aggression personally or not, Ruvolo’s writing
is quite visceral and pulls no punches, so empathizing with Andrew isn’t challenging for any reader.
And yes, consider that this is the early 1980s, where fear, ignorance, and, sadly, compassionless callousness were rampant, but as much as things change, some things stay the same. Many words and disparaging actions appearing in Ruvolo’s work sadly resonate today. And though it pains me to say this, often our greatest betrayal can come not just from our families but closeted queer individuals, and this is shown here in infuriating clarity. Andrew also learns that even more openly gay individuals don’t always offer a safe space. And then there are the relentless religious sanctimonious attitudes! Andrew is besieged on so many fronts.
Ruvolo’s straightforward human interest narrative and complex characterizations, particularly concerning queerness, are confident and thoughtful, akin to the work of James Baldwin, Christopher Isherwood, and Anne Rice. The contemporary Suburban-Gothic elements found in the novels of Peter Straub, Grady Hendrix, and Stephen King are also present and vibrant in Ruvolo’s work. The details in Ruvolo’s writing, his descriptions of the rural and urban landscapes, and the feeling of living in the early 80s are rich and evocative.
It’s worth noting that nothing feels derivative or piggybacking on the ideas and styles of any other writer; Ruvolo’s work is entirely original and compelling. While there may be correlations with the styles of the aforementioned authors, it’s more of a flavour rather than a direct influence. If there is an influence, that’s great, but it’s not essential to my main point.
While fast-paced, thrilling, and revealing, the conclusion feels abrupt, leaving the reader with a sense that the story could have delved deeper. But if this is how the author wished to end his tale, that’s cool; it doesn’t diminish the narrative’s chilling, revelatory impact. That said, certain characters’ actions and possible ends are slightly murky, but that may be Ruvolo’s intent. Are we, as readers, meant to question reality versus surrealness, conscious intent versus supernatural influence? Perhaps we are.
I don’t want to give away too much, but I did want to explore Andrew’s future fate in more depth. That could be a story for another time. There are hints of intent, a sinister direction implied, and I’ll have to accept what Ruvolo has chosen to reveal and appreciate that I was able to be immersed in this vividly written world of the early 80s, queer suffrage, and various cultural horrors, some supernatural and some born of homegrown human nature.
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