I really enjoyed this book. It's a unique blend of personal LGBTQIA+ memoir and nature writing. The sense of place is poignant and strong. There are many trigger warnings for this book, including suicidal attempts and ideation, traumatic coming out experiences, family abandonment, and queer violence. But it's also a realistic look at the rugged landscapes that queer people in America make brighter and better.

A deeply interesting look at the cross section between environmentalism, queerness, and the American West—Boys and Oil touches on many topics that I, as a queer person from said American West (Montana, but close enough) have felt whilst living through being who I am and feeling a type of way about the culture of mining towns.

Wow, what a memoir!

First of all, Brorby's lyrical writing and descriptions of North Dakota's landscape was mesmerizing. I've never been, but it sounds beautiful, and I can understand his love for this place. And I fully resonated with loving the place you grew up, but still knowing you need to get out. I think it's a message that will resonate with a lot of other readers, too.

This memoir made me feel a variety of emotions. I laughed and smiled at times, and I was also very sad. When Brorby's describes the night he was "outed" by his aunt (and his parents subsequent reaction)...I cried. When he later details the days he came out to his grandfathers, I SOBBED. His grandfathers are the epitome of unconditional love.

Overall, I really enjoyed this memoir and even learned about about environmental advocacy in North Dakota.

Thank you Netgally and Liveright Publishing for this gifted e-book!

At times beautiful as well as tragic. The fear that Taylor experiences throughout his life due to the homophobia and the violence of other men is intensely palpable in this honest confessional of growing up closeted in North Dakota.

I was thrilled to see this on NetGalley because I, too, am queer and in North Dakota and while I certainly don't regret the read, it was... Rough. Brorby loves a thesaurus heavy image and the kind of melodrama punctuated by phrases like, "Nothing, after all, survives on the prairie by being tender," except all the other ones are worse. Everything is alabaster and cerulean, all the clouds are cirrus, the prairie grasses are gold, sunsets are crimson and violet. I live in this land, a Bakken oil boom town in the far west corner, and I know how beautiful it can be (A shock to southern California me when we got here in 2012!) but reading it described this way over and over again was like rubbing my brain with a cheesegrater.

There are no characters in this book, just images, props, and ciphers through which Brorby's Serious Truths can be enunciated, and some of the anecdotes feel... like a bit much. I know that memoir is the place where writers are supposed to be free to paint the picture they experienced rather than photograph reality for the reader, so I won't begrudge a man the way he sees and reiterates his own life. I will, however, begrudge the quality of the prose used to talk about it.

If you're looking for a sad gay narrative or if you have an interest in overwrought metaphors about lignite coal mining, this might just be the book for you anyway.

Thanks to W. W. Norton & Company and Liveright for the ARC.