If you were going to come out to your parents and straight friends as a young adult, this is probably the memoir you'd want to give them to soften the blow: squeaky clean and nary a drag queen to be found. Perhaps I've been jaded by spending more than three decades sharing houses in the Pines, but the people, scene and emotions described by John Glynn are so boring and refined that I'd probably drink as much members of "the Hive" to get through my Montauk weekends too. Dismissive references to Provincetown and Fire Island suggest that Glynn is less comfortable with letting his freak flag fly than many in his peer group. Not that there's anything wrong with that; Out East just isn't very interesting despite being competently written.
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