--from the short story "Holding Pattern"

Review of Postcards from Heartthrob Town at it appears in "Passport Magazine: April, 2007:"
"Reading 'Postcards from Heartthrob Town', Gerard Wozek’s bracing collection of short and sexy travel memoirs, it comes as little surprise that the author is a published poet. He has a sharp eye for telling juxtaposition, and a remarkable ability to translate his insight into evocative language. Arriving in Oaxaca, Mexico, he takes note of 'flaking billboards advertising Orange Crush' against a backdrop of 'brooding mountain peaks reaching over a pink horizon.' In Osaka, Japan, Wozek introduces us to Marley, an expat American food fetishist and his local lover, Jinn: 'Sometimes he’d masturbate his partner with the slippery skin of a banana peel, or tie licorice whips around Jinn’s scrotum.' And during a bout of masturbation in a restroom at the Berlin airport, 'the rhythmic motion…reminds me of Franz’ violin bow…the to-and-fro of Franz’ arm reaches a frenzied pitch…and all at once the musician has alchemized into the music itself.' Even when he is not writing about sex, Wozek’s prose really does throb, capturing the aura of eroticism that so often accompanies our explorations of unfamiliar places, both geographic and psychological."
--Jim Gladstone  

Review of Postcards from Heartthrob Town at it appears in "Reader Views: April, 2007:"
"'Postcards from Heartthrob Town' is a collection of short stories about gay men traveling around the world in a quest for sex, love, and companionship. The originality of this collection is partly due to the settings which range from unique sections of the United States to foreign settings including France, Germany, Morocco and Japan. The information the author provides about all these places is astounding--one marvels to think he has visited so many countries, and even more marvelous, if he has not visited all these areas, that he writes as one intimately familiar with each city and its streets. A deeply sophisticated world view is pervasive throughout the work and becomes more so with the progression of each story. Despite the often exotic settings, the real theme of the book is the emotional journey of being gay and seeking love and understanding. Because the same theme runs through the stories, they build on one another, although the reader may have difficulty remembering distinguishing marks of many of them with a few exceptions where a distinct tone comes through as in 'Reuben Ran.' What makes the stories true literature is they go beyond simply focusing on the sexual aspects of being gay and delve into the emotional longings and alienation that gay men experience. They are not quick, pornographic gay fantasies--although they do border on fantasy at times. The happy ending is not achieved by a sexual act--nor do they deal with the angst of one’s sexual identity. They are far from simply “coming out” stories. They surpass these more typical elements of gay fiction. What predominantly sets the stories apart from other gay fiction is Wozek’s mature and sophisticated language. In a few stories, the adolescent characters’ language seems a bit too sophisticated, but overall, the tone and style is powerful and carries the reader along in an almost dreamy addictive prose toward an often emotionally difficult ending. 'Postcards from Heartthrob Town' is not without its moments of humor however. In the first story, “Tenderness among Wolves,” the adolescent boy, just beginning to awaken to his sexual feelings, tries to understand himself by dressing his G.I. Joe toys in grass skirts and allowing them to copulate with one another. The story, 'Reuben Ran,' is of a lighter, more fast-paced tone, and optimistic as the young protagonist runs away from home to study art in Russia. Overall sadness permeates the book, a constant sense of dissatisfaction despite or because of the characters’ frequent obsessions with sex. We see gay couples falling apart, men learning their lovers have cheated on them, or men who are saddened by a past that might include abuse from a previous lover or a best friend who refused to speak to him again when told his friend was gay. In the end, the book seems largely to be about lack of fulfillment, and not surprisingly, recalls E.M. Forster’s novels, although more 'Howards End,'where the characters strive to connect but fail to do so than his gay novel 'Maurice' where the ending is an unrealistic fantasy. In one story, the main character comes to feel sorry for his lover who appears trapped in his sophisticated facade. Similarly, the reader finds himself caught up in the dreamy, exquisite sophistication of the prose, yet all the beauty of the author’s words does not hide the deep unhappiness of the characters and their situations. Whether the reader is gay or straight, he will appreciate that the stories are about the mystery of human relationships in 'Postcards from Heartthrob Town.' Readers will find their own experiences, longings, loneliness, and exquisite fearful romances depicted in these pages."
--Tyler R. Tichelaar  

Review of Postcards from Heartthrob Town at it appears in "Torso Magazine: July, 2007:"
"Author Gerard Wozek's book of new and collected stories focuses on his travel experiences. Though his tone is more on the poetic side, you'll love the stories even if you judge the quality of the tales by the strength of your hard-on. Wozek uses different approaches, as well as fiction and non-fiction. He can elaborate on a hardcore public sex scenario, or simply describe the memory of the first time he slept near his cousin. In a variety of ways, Wozek is able to bring intensity to his stories, and he renders the emotional and sexual charge of every moment in a remarkable way. His literary talent allows him to describe such things as dirty bathroom sex as a sublime experience and a life-affirming practice. If you want more than just right-to-the-point stories, 'Postcards from Heartthrob Town' is your book, with its beautiful poetic renderings and afterthoughts on sexual experiences. I bet it would make a nice travel companion."
--Etienne Meunier  

Review of Postcards from Heartthrob Town at it appears in "Outwords Magazine: April, 2008:"
"As an introductory blurb accurately notes, this book's author, Gerard Wozek, 'examines the link between geographical locale and the compass of his own heart.' This beautifully written work contains 19 stories which serve as both a travelogue of various locations as well as a guide to the interior life of a man questing for meaning in the world. It's a thoughtful and colourful mix of both personal memoir and fiction. As such, it is both an inner pilgrimage as well as a sensuous trek across the globe. Wozek delves back into childhood memories as well as weaving some beautiful insightful prose about his inward and outward travels. The landscape is dotted with lovers along the way but this is tasteful travel erotica not pornography. Throughout there is a linking theme of the basic loneliness, longing and isolation gay men are often heir to--a feeling even in childhood of alienation and of being set apart form others. In a sense, all travel is about a search for wholeness and serenity. The journey may be exciting, even exhilarating, but this book of wanderlust is also about the lure of unknown men as well as unknown places on the map. It explores the mental and physical landscapes these men inhabit and how encounters with them on life's journey subtly change who we are. It is written with tenderness, loving and longing. Skillfully crafted, the stories will give you a real taste of the pulse of many foreign lands, as well as a feeling of connectedness with the heart, mind, and soul of its author. Well worth a read."
--Peter Carlyle-Gordge  

Review of Postcards from Heartthrob Town at it appears in "Best New Writing 2008: Eric Hoffer Prose Award Winners/Hopewell Publications:"
"Gerard Wozek’s essays about travel, as a gay man, are engrossing and warm. His honest writing shows readers that gay life can be both lonely and rewarding. His travels take him to many exotic places; he has adventures—and lovers—along the way. This book is one of the most candid in recent gay literature, echoing Edmund White’s work, although it does contain explicit sexual content."
--Christopher Klim  

Review of Postcards from Heartthrob Town at it appears in "GaydarNation: June, 2008"
"What is the problem with the jacket covers of gay men’s fiction? I know I’ve banged on about it ad boredom before, but they’re so ridiculously time-warped that any bookwormer browsing Borders would immediately bypass the gay section thinking it was a sale of books unearthed in the stock room circa 1978. Basically, gay book covers fall in two distinct churches: stripped-back, oiled-up torsos complete with rock-hard titties as smooth as a Lothario’s patter or dreamily hazy shots with a couple arm in arm gazing longingly into each other’s peepers like some subversive ad for Mills & Boon, all muted pastels and Miami Vice espadrilles. Either way, the artwork department of gay male fiction needs something of a shot in the arm. To underline my point, I refer the Right Honourable Gentlemen to Postcards from Heartthrob Town. Its cover screams trash-core, cheap-thrills pornvella with its standard-issue gym-bunny buffed pec-rack, but inside, the guts of it is much more interesting, profound and lyrical. It’s all very well bleating on about looking beyond the first impressions of the cover, but it does try to succinctly set out a book’s basic stall and, in this case, the front-of-house actually does the book a huge disservice. In 'Postcards', author Gerard Wozek yokes together the connection between geographical location and the complexities of the human heart. Part-personal memoir, part-fiction, the book is a collection of nineteen stories which are both a travelogue of various places as well as a guide to the interior world of someone (presumably the author) reaching out and clutching at meaning, permanency, in life, and in the process reconfiguring that age old adage that travel broadens the mind because this is both an individual psychological pilgrimage and an actual physical globtrotting odyssey. Whether wandering across the foreboding landscapes of his hometown in the American Midwest or cruising the dark demimondes of the underground, unseen Paris, Wozek is preoccupied with the notion of the why and how of the collective instinct for people of similar demographics to seek each other out, specifically the way gay men seem to seek each other out no matter where we are in the world. Rather than simple, ordinary travelogue snapshots of locations and tourist mainstays, each story is driven strongly by character and distinctively coloured by the spirit and aura of place. Essentially, it’s a compendium of queer archetype narratives, each evincing a sense of displacement and a yearning for journey, both for new landscapes and for, literally, another body, to prove what all literature sets out to: to prove we are not alone. These flowing short stories and affecting travel essays snake-charm around the experiences and recollections of a restless writer whose life is in the grip of an incessant wanderlust and culminate in a fascinating fusion of personality and place. Surprisingly, the differing styles don’t jar or judder against each other, but rather work in tandem to produce a polished, intriguing end-result. Some stories are straight-up info-stacked queer travelogues - in ‘My Polka Kings’, Wozek Polaroids the medieval myth and folklore feel of the Polish city of Krakow perfectly and in ‘Brujo’, he deftly captures the magically spiritual otherworldliness of Oaxaca in Mexico. Others eddy and shimmy with eroticism and raw sexuality; in the Paris of ‘Francois at the Toilette’, Wozek revels in the cottaging delights of faceless sex amid the urinals and in ‘Pulse Point’, he voyeurs the “honey-brown” young men furtively loitering in a Spanish park for some frantic anonymous al fresco action or possibly even love. Written with the keen poet’s eye and ear, Wozek’s work embraces a broad brush of emotion, ranging from optimistic romanticism to dark sensuality to soul-questioning introspection and the wonder of wandering the world’s varied face, as well as exploring the complex terrains of our emotional maelstroms. The métier of Postcards is the way it shows the universality of human experience - of the human spirit - showing that, regardless of sexuality, we’re all just doing the same thing in life: searching."
--Jason Jones  

Review of Postcards from Heartthrob Town at it appears in "Powell's Books, September, 2008"
"Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not drawn to gay erotic literature. In fact, until recently, I hadn’t read any erotica for years. So tell me how a collection of gay erotic short stories made it to my bedside table in the last several months. It’s one of the most enjoyable and engaging compilations of stories (erotic or not) that I’ve ever read. Gush I do not! Gerard Wozek’s Postcards from Heartthrob Town: A Gay Man’s Travel Tales makes me want to grab my passport and head for the nearest boarding gate. Except I’ve got a review to write. I’ll start with my only criticism. I confess that my relationship with Wozek’s book is a somewhat secret affair. Sorry, but you won’t see me sipping coffee at my favorite cafe with that cover (apparently not Wozek’s doing). What makes me cringe is not the blatant sexuality of naked sweaty pecs, an effortless six-pack and an unseen hand no place our imagination can’t go. It’s that whoever this guy is (headless yet), the color photograph of him on a book of erotica reeks of cliché and condescension. OK, so it gets your attention (and maybe gets you off?), but Wozek’s stories deserve better. Even before I hit the book’s table of contents, the Joni Mitchell epigraph tells me I’m in for a literary journey that’s honest and heart-felt, personal and poignant. Or, fellow Joni fan that I am, maybe I just want to believe that. But Wozek convinces me this trip is worth my treasured tub-reading time, just from his titles alone: “Tenderness Among Wolves.” “Paris Angels.” “Kissing the Buddha.” “Pulse Points.” Already I can’t help but see the poet in him, and by the first paragraph, he’s got me. From one story to the next, Postcards sends me on an itinerary of mostly foreign places traveled in wanderlust and wonder, musings and melancholy. His protagonists seem always longing for somewhere they almost are able to reach, as they drive past Midwest highway billboards and cross Paris bridges, linger in Moroccan cafes and stroll through Japanese gardens. Among all the Frenching and thrusting, Wozek detours into dreams and diary entries, fantasies and flashbacks, The Carpenters lyrics and Charlie Chan movies, ancient-cathedral histories and tourist routes (without sounding like a travel agent brochure), seamlessly weaving between the sensual and the erotic, the intimate conversation and the illicit tryst. He first takes us back to childhood (his?), in “Tenderness Among Wolves.” There’s the protagonist with his G.I. Joes, not combating in camouflage fatigues but kissing each other in their wheat-stalk and grass skirts. He covers up the secret of his backyard hideaway with a “boyish swagger,” barely concealing his infatuation and lust for his older cousin Leigh, who ends up spending the night with him in the playhouse: “I’m thinking all the while of Leigh’s hands, of the way my breathing changes when he stands next to me, of the gentle way he charms and makes me forget myself.” Even Wozek’s night gives in to desire: “I look up at the sky swollen with dead stars. The stars succumb to the mercy of thin air and vanish.” And the story’s ending? The first time I read it, it made me gasp. Some of Wozek’s first lines have a similar affect. Take “Paris Angel” that begins: “Angel of the veil. Angel of whirlwind and smoke. Angel of the unknowable rune.” His artful eye for detail delivers opening sentences like the ones in “Reuben Ran:” “Reuben liked to run with the wolf boys. He liked to walk in thick packs that inspired fear from his classmates and feel his square shoulders rub up against his two best partners Mario and Deek. He liked to slick his black hair back with wet-look gel and wear orange leather cock rings around his wrists. He liked to sneak out of his bedroom window at night to smoke Camels in the park after curfew.” In “Smoke Follows Beauty,” Wozek’s story set in Berlin, we catch sight of this: “The rhythmic motion of our open masturbating reminds me of Franz’s violin bow. Back and forth, the wand divines the secret code written into his quirky compositions. The to-and-fro of Franz’s arm reaches a frenzied pitch, particularly when he is playing in concert, and all at once the musician has alchemized into the music itself. I love to watch him close his eyes and get lost in the drone of those taut strings.” Like walking onto a plane in New York and waking up eight hours later in Rome, Wozek’s stories, just pages or even paragraphs apart, transport us less from the familiar to the foreign than they do from one end of the sensual/erotic spectrum to the other. We bask in “Brujo,” set in Oaxaca, Mexico: “I nestled into a corner of the botanicals where I was surrounded by all kinds of roses: black roses, tea roses on thornless stems, seashell roses. The most exquisite orange roses were nodding in the late morning sun and something compelled me to reach over and inhale the aroma of an open bud.” From this story’s tender embraces, we’re jolted by the one that immediately follows, bluntly titled “Francois at the Toilette.” I’m amused by Wozek’s brazen transition while admiring his flexibility, and I’m laughing full bore by the end of the story’s second paragraph: “It’s always the same routine. I arrive to greet his uncut cock standing straight up at the urinal. I take my own out and begin to gently stroke my lengthening shaft. Then we move quietly to a stall to finish off our compulsion for each other’s skin: The soft biting and gentle nibbles of earlobes and lips, and our fetish for sucking each other’s dirty fingers that have been riding steadily up our asses.” So much libido in Wozek’s stories—even when he writes about death. In “Arcana,” he eulogizes a lost love in Tarot card images, beginning with the Prince of Cups: “I remember your eyelashes. The way snowflakes would crust over them when we were standing outside in a Chicago winter waiting for the bus. The way they would brush against my cheek when you would kiss me hello on the cheek. How they framed your hazel-brown eyes, making your limpid gaze even more hypnotic, even more compelling when you fixed your stare onto some handsome stranger at a cruise bar.” And later, in the Temperance card, “All my stagnant, buried emotion won’t raise you from the dead, all my forced macho bravado, stifled tears, the turning away from your bird-frail frame.” In the final card, The Magician, the protagonist recounts, “Last night I dreamt of you again. You were waving hoops of burning fire over my naked body as I levitated in the air. Then you placed me in a narrow box and drove steel spikes through it. Of course, in that dream I felt nothing. And when you opened the paneled coffin, I stepped out, still alive, still intact, and I walked over to you and there were fluttering doves pouring out of your Dr. Seuss hat. You wrapped a long rope of knotted rainbow scarves around us and we kissed to thunderous applause.” What have I been missing all this time by not spending some of it with such satisfying erotic literature, like this! Forget that I’m not gay, or a man. I could be a eunuch and still feel something from Wozek’s words. But it’s more than the sexual that his stories stir up in me. Whether they throb with true love or the truly lurid, the travel tales in Postcards from Heartthrob Town ultimately arrive at where it’s clear they all started for this exceptionally talented writer—the heart."
--Claire Sykes