For me, the theme of this very intriguing book can be found in editor Wendell Ricketts's story "Raspberry Pie." Regarding his posh, patrician ex-lover across the lunch table, the narrator's only desire is to make him understand that, "I am not like you."

Fortunately for readers, Ricketts, unlike the protagonist of his story, doesn't plan to drag us out to his favourite splatter films to prove his point. Instead he has given us this fascinating, diverse and refreshingly unique short fiction anthology in order to blow apart many of the tired stereotypes of gay men that persist in Western culture.

The struggling protagonists of these stories are acutely aware, not only of their place in the social strata, but of their status as outsiders. They remark on more privileged men that surround them sometimes with frustration and contempt, as in the Rickett's story, sometimes with envy and desire, like the anonymous Harvard cutie sporting Brooks Brothers and Bass Weejuns on the MTA in John Gilgun's "Cream," or merely with simple bewilderment, as with the outreach worker whose green polo shirt "...looked as if it'd never seen a stain," in Rick Laurent Feely's "Skins."

But even though their working class origins are plainly evident most of them occupy an uncomfortable grey area in between the two worlds, for it is with an equal degree of detachment they regard their own families and the environments they grew up in. Fathers are often belching, farting brutes firmly planted in front of the TV with beers in hand, while mothers are ineffectual, chain smoking, church-ladies. Even in a story where the narrator and his boyfriend are unconditionally embraced by a warm, loving family (the lovely, winsome holiday tale, "My Special Friend" by Christopher Lord) the author still takes pains to describe the orange and brown crocheted afghan draping the sofa, the twin Barcaloungers, the beanbag ashtrays and a collection of ceramic chickens in the kitchen. In this way, it seems as if they are saying, "But I am not like you, either."

Most of the men in these stories are transplants to major cities or metropolitan areas - Portland, Baltimore, Toronto, New Orleans, Boston, New York and Philadelphia. Some are in college or recent graduates, others newly employed or recently promoted. And all of them, with several notable exceptions (like the trucker in Timothy Anderson's hilarious "Hooters, Tooters and the Big Dog") appear to be trying, with varying degrees of success, to transcend their roots while still rejecting the stereotypical lifestyle that the media insistently sells as the gay ideal.

And that's the beauty of this book. The characters refuse to be pigeonholed. They come across as living, breathing individuals and thus are the strong suit in most of the stories. I highly recommend this book to readers of gay fiction who are seeking a unique perspective and some terrifically original characters. ( )