Although I can appreciate that this book exists, I'm not sure I was the right audience for it. Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the eARC.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I requested this ARC, but I was intrigued by the blurb, which reads as follows: “An author creates a narrative blend of history, cultural criticism, and memoir in celebration of everyday queer women, based on a lesbian helpline that existed in North London in the nineties.” It’s probably one of the more accurate book synopses I’ve seen recently; the book fulfills this promise.

The book somewhat romanticizes the lesbian helplines that existed in the UK during the 1990s, but I think that at least some of that sentiment is understandable – just for the sake of comparison, during the same decade American queers were confronted with Don’t Ask Don’t Tell and the Defense of Marriage Act. Lesbianism was never illegal in the UK, because it was never explicitly acknowledged, which is both a blessing and a curse of an entirely different sort. Author Elizabeth Lovatt delivers a thoughtful and thorough discussion not only on the helplines themselves but on many aspects of queer culture that often are not openly acknowledged, covering a range of topics from how we deny ourselves inclusivity even in our own spaces, to sex and dating, to abusive relationships.

I am by nature largely solitary. My social group is small as a matter of choice. When I do interact publicly, I prefer queer spaces, but it’s uncommon to find any where the majority of those in attendance are not white and cis. I’m more comfortable in BIPOC spaces, but it’s not often that I find any other indigenous non-binary queers in the room even then. Even in LGBTQ spaces, acceptance is often based upon following the norms, and if you choose instead to remain true to your own identity you will often find those spaces uncomfortable at the very least. This is a truth that is rarely acknowledged, and Lovatt is one of the few I have known to speak openly about it. I suspect that many who read her book will find it eye-opening.

Lovatt also frankly discusses sex between women in ways I’ve rarely seen. Not in explicit detail, this isn’t pornography. But with honest discussion regarding how even the ways we share our physical expressions of intimacy have been influenced by cultural norms. This is far less common now, but once upon a time in the not-so-distant past the queer community was much less sex-positive and willing to discuss safe sex. Further, she unhesitatingly discusses how even in same sex relationships, women sometimes fake their orgasm - a fact I admit even I found surprising and sad, because for any number of reasons it shouldn’t be necessary.

And, finally, she unflinchingly approaches the topic of abuse in WLW relationships. Because none of us can deny this happens, and we do all of us a disservice when we ignore it simply because it makes us look bad.

Lovatt discusses these and many other topics in Thank You for Calling the Lesbian Line, all interspersed with personal anecdotes and snippets from the helpline logs that many readers will find incredibly relevant.

It was interesting as well to note the significant increase in queer literature and resources available now as versus thirty years ago. And of course I have realized this before; I’ve noticed as the availability has blossomed even in the past decade. But I had admittedly not thought about it in some time, until I read the entry of a woman looking for lesbian literature in 1995, and until I ran a browser search, out of curiosity, on existing queer helplines. And even as I am struck anew with gratitude that there is now greater representation and support for all of us, I am saddened by how that might regress, thanks to the current administration, to the black-market trading of underground publications.

The one drawback to Thank You for Calling the Lesbian Line is that it is perhaps too thorough and too thoughtful; it veers into cerebral and loquacious more than once, and it makes the book drag on a bit. Personally, I got the sense that this was more a result of the author’s passion for the subject than any tendency toward pedantry, but the end result was the same; parts of it were a bit of a drudge. Still, I found it well worth the effort, and I’d definitely recommend adding it to your TBR.

4.5⭐️

Disclosure: I received an ARC of this book from the publisher via NetGalley and am leaving a voluntary review.

I was so so so excited to read this when I recieved the arc on netgalley. Lesbian history is one of my favorite topics in the world, so I absolutely ate up every story from/about the logs. However, I found myself wanting much more. Admittedly, when I read the blurb on netgalley I made the assumption that this book would be much more focused on the historical reimaginings than the author's own life, but I wasn't expecting them to only be used as chapter introductions. I appreciated the reflections on lesbian history that complement the logbook entries, but there was so much contemporary commentary and biography that i felt as though I was reading two different books. Not to say that I didn't enjoy reading about Lovett's experiences, I just felt that many of them seemed almost misplaced. Also, as others have mentioned, I feel like there needed to be more research done on the history that was included and a deeper understanding of what the author wanted to do with this book needed to be reached. Lovett explicitly states that they are not a historian, however, this IS real history being written about, history that is important and near scared to so many, and deserves a lot more care than I feel it was given here.

This book was wonderful as a woman who identifies as queer. I really wish there was a book like this that was more broad instead of focusing on just one place, but alas. Either way, definitely something I'll be recommending to people. Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for allowing me an early access copy.

This was an absolutely wonderful book. The mix of history, commentary, and autobiography painted a clear and nuances picture of lesbian life in the UK through the help line.

Part memoir, part cultural history, Thank You for Calling the Lesbian Line is quite unlike anything I've read before and part of my effort to read more nonfiction. It tells both the story of the author's later-in-life coming out journey and personal history as a lesbian, and the story of lesbians and queer women in the U.K. finding acceptance, safety and community on a series of volunteer-run hotlines dedicated for lesbians talking to lesbians about lesbian issues in the 70s-90s.

This book has been criticized by other reviewers as feeling invasive or like a violation into the confidential phone calls of women who were scared or lonely, but I never felt that way and I'm a former journalist with high ethical standards. Since a lot of these calls were anonymous, first names only, it would be impossible to track down each of these women to ask them for their permission, and in the days of Trump America when queer identities are once again being scrubbed and criminalized from public life, it's more important and relevant than ever that this history does not stay in the dark. Privacy is important but it can also be a tool used by oppressors who want to pretend that the world is all cis and straight.

The author also explained her own fears around this issue and I support her approach. She used notes in the logbook written by volunteers, changed the names of the callers and rather than copying their stories directly, she retold their stories, mixing in her own personal history and imagining what their voice must have been like.

The call notes are also a very small part of the overarching narrative and are used to give life and color to the historical account.

I didn't know these hotlines existed so this was fun to learn about for me. A resource like this would have been huge for me in the 90s as I also had a later-in-life bisexual awakening and back then I just didn't have the words for how I was feeling or knew any other bisexuals.

The book makes important points about how the internet is vital but shouldn't replace in-person meetups for connection, feeling seen and community organizing, not just dating.

The book perhaps covers too many topics, trying to reach all the possible manifistations of being a lesbian for all women - going into race and trans issues. But I think that's also part of the point. There is not one way to be a lesbian and the phone lines tried and sometimes failed to reach people from all walks of life. The book also did not shy away from critique about how problematic these phone calls could be, and I appreciated how it did not either villify or hero worship phone volunteers.

Queer histories like these deserve to be told and I learned a lot by reading this, often seeing myself in the pages. The book also comments that the term lesbian could also include the experiences of bisexual and pansexual women loving women in a way that I found inclusive.

I suppose you could say that this book got preachy in parts but I never found it that way. It was written by a journalist with a point of view and a voice who backed up her arguments with solid research.

Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for the advance review copy. I am leaving this review voluntarily.

An interesting premise, and clearly had good intentions but a miss for me. Reading the logs of callers (or Lovatt's recreation of calls? - I was never entirely sure) was interesting, especially as a reader who is more familiar with the anonymity of social media.
But early on I felt I was reading a pesky recurring blurb of 'the importance of the lesbian line'. Which most readers are no doubt aware of, thus why they are reading this book. It just felt like a never ending introduction. The chapter on race was an endless list of acronyms and as Lovatt eventually all but said near the end, there wasn't enough data in the call logs to speak much to the impact of race. But yet we got a full chapter, when I would have preferred the few calls mentioned to be integrated into chapters that addressed the callers actual issue.

Thank you, NetGalley, Grand Central Publishing, and Elizabeth Lovatt!

As much as I enjoyed this, I have to say: the author tried to Jam Pack too much in too short a book, resulting in a kind of chopping of the stories. I see what the intention was, but with something as special as this aspect of queer history, it needed more. I also agree with another reviewer that this almost felt like something that we shouldn't be allowed access to. My curiosity overrode my discomfort, but it reminded me of how I feel about true crime. I'm so intrigued but should I be consuming this? Did the subject want this told? Having to change names and identities made it felt like this wasn't something that was supposed to be public. I feel like this would have been better as a documentary or a docu-series.
Still recommend but curious to see more people's opinions on this.

"To read the logbook is to eavesdrop on a conversation I was never meant to hear," Elizabeth Lovatt writes in the second chapter of the first part of this book on lesbian hotlines. I wonder, then, what drove her to publish this book, which contains some deeply personal, yet also, admittedly, insightful stories? On the one hand, this book sheds light on a mostly forgotten aspect of queer history; on the other, its existence in its current form, with its shoddy execution, is something that doesn't sit well with me. I commend Lovatt for taking care to change callers' and telephone operators' names and to seemingly remove some of the more blatant identifying details, but I can't help but feel like we're peeking in through a number of windows we shouldn't be. Additionally, while Lovatt is an excellent writer, her understanding of archives and history is appallingly limited; one detail in particular that rubbed me, as an archivist and historian, the wrong way, was the way she tried to claim that calling the archival record of these logs a "special collection" was a form of discrimination. It isn't! "Special collection" is just what ANY collection in a special collections library (another name for an archive) is called! Calling it a "special collection" is the same as calling it a "box" or a "folder." The word "special" doesn't imply anything about the source itself, or its origins. The letters of an old, white, male politician could be considered a "special collection" simply because it is a collection housed within a special collections library; the only implication there is that only the library or archive in which you find yourself has this exact collection of materials. The contents of this book are important to consider, but perhaps their consideration could have been handled with greater care, by someone who actually knew what they were talking about, and perhaps at a later date (i.e. at a more respectful time, after the women discussed within the logs had passed and therefore could no longer be identified).

Ooooh this is a big book of LESBIAN and it’s filled to the brim with lesbian history!!!

The main theme that strings it all together are logs from the Lesbian Line. From each log, Lovatt then goes into an exploration into more specific UK’s lesbian history: Lesbian literature, Section 28, lesbian visibility AND invisibility (whether by force/ by choice/ simply by a lack of awareness), coming out, looking lesbian, trans lesbians, intersectionality, London lesbian nightlife, trendy lesbianism/ lesbian chic, lesbian sex, lesbian break ups, violence in lesbian relationships, #lesbiantok, lesbian online spaces, etc.

It’s jam-packed with information, quite a bit specific to the UK lesbian community. Reading the author’s purposeful and sensitive commentary, you can so obviously tell the effort and care taken to put this book together.

With Lovatt’s personal story, plus the history of Lesbianism in the UK, the call logs and history of the Lesbian Line and the establishment of other resources, and the additional exploration and commentary… I get that the author wanted to make sure she didn’t leave any stone unturned and tried to include as many subsets of people/identities as possible, but I personally felt like there was just too much in too little pages. Some parts of the book also read kinda dry. I would love to read a more focused, deep dive if Elizabeth Lovatt publishes another one in future!