A plague-era memorial
A Friend of Dorothy’s
by Richard Willett
Los Angeles: Magic Show Press, 2025
$25.99 / 9798992339802
Reviewed by Anna Horsch
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A Friend of Dorothy’s is a deeply moving novel that captures the complexities of queer life during one of its darkest chapters. Set in 1980s New York City at the height of the AIDS crisis, the story explores queerness, the struggle for visibility, and the devastating connection between intimacy and mortality that haunted so many lives.
It becomes clear that the novel’s protagonist, Eric, has long viewed himself as an outsider, setting the stage for a quiet yet impactful journey of self-discovery. Through vivid flashbacks to Eric’s youth in North Vancouver, the narrative gains emotional depth, revealing a boy who never quite fit in—bullied and alienated, his sense of self fractured by suburban expectations of masculinity. Seeking belonging, Eric leaves the quiet beauty of the West Coast for the restless energy of NYC, where he becomes entwined in the life of Dale, a once-vibrant man now facing the cruel realities of AIDS. Initially uncertain about caring for Dale, Eric’s compassion grows, reflecting the resilience and humanity that defined a generation of men living through loss.
The novel composed by BC-raised Richard Willett—completed over three decades ago—reads like lived experience, blending grief, love, and hope into a story that feels both intimate and universal. It is heartbreaking yet life-affirming, reminding readers how connection can flourish even in the shadow of tragedy.
What makes A Friend of Dorothy’s so compelling is its refusal to sentimentalize the AIDS crisis. Willett’s portrayal of illness is unflinching: Dale’s physical deterioration—weight loss, lesions, and the humiliation of growing deterioration and dependency—is rendered with stark honesty. Yet this rawness is balanced by deep compassion; Dale is never reduced to his illness, remaining witty and proud even in the face of suffering. This interplay of vulnerability and dignity gives the novel its emotional power.
Eric’s journey is equally affecting. His misplaced desire and lack of sexual fulfilment expose a profound rift between mind and body, reflecting the wider alienation experienced by many queer men of his generation. Through his caregiving, Eric begins to confront the fear, shame, and detachment that have long defined his life. Tending to another person’s suffering forces him to confront his sense of non-belonging and anger. It teaches him a new way of being present, grounded in shared humanity. This movement from isolation to connection is the novel’s most resonant theme, handled with quiet grace.
A Los Angeles-based playwright, Willett (9/10) writes with restraint and clarity. His prose is understated but often lyrical, finding beauty in pain. The line, “the tears were like air that morning, like breathing,” captures the fragile balance between life and loss that permeates the novel. The writing draws readers into Eric’s internal world without tipping into melodrama. At the same time, the novel has minor flaws. Pacing can feel uneven, particularly in the shifts between Eric’s past and present. While the North Vancouver flashbacks provide essential context, they occasionally disrupt the momentum of the New York storyline. Dale’s inner world could also be developed further; although he is central to the story, his emotional life is largely mediated through Eric’s perspective, which leaves his character feeling underdeveloped.
The novel’s ending offers no tidy resolution, but it is quietly transcendent. In its final pages, Eric experiences an emotional awakening, crying from the sheer wonder and release of finally feeling whole. His body, mind, and soul move in harmony for the first time, suggesting transformation rather than closure. Willett resists easy answers, leaving readers in a moment of stillness and understanding. This open-endedness seems to mirror the uncertainty of life during the AIDS crisis while offering the possibility of healing and connection. Through Eric and Dale, Willett frames caregiving as an act of resistance, revealing a story not only of grief but also of the courage to care, to love, to lose, and to find meaning amid mortality.
Perhaps the most lasting impression of A Friend of Dorothy’s is its sense of quiet perseverance. The story is undeniably sad, yet not hopeless. Eric’s journey to self acceptance demonstrates that even in devastation like the outbreak of HIV, transformation is possible. Caring for Dale allows him to let go of fears and insecurities that once defined him, seeing both himself, the world, and the people in it with renewed clarity.
Ultimately, the novel is a meditation on the intertwined nature of love and loss. It confronts readers with uncomfortable truths about vulnerability, mortality, and the limits of human connection, while showing that meaning can still be found amid suffering. Willett’s writing carries a soulful honesty that elevates the story beyond a historical account of AIDS to a testament to human resilience. Though imperfect in structure, the novel’s emotional depth and moral clarity make it enduringly powerful, leaving readers not with closure, but with understanding. In its rawness, beauty, and quiet defiance, A Friend of Dorothy’s reminds us why stories like this still matter.
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Anna Horsch is third-year English and Sociology BA student at Thompson Rivers University with a love for reading and writing. [Editor’s note: the review of Friends of Dorothy’s is Anna’s first for BCR. Welcome aboard, Anna!]
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The British Columbia Review
Interim Editors: Trevor Marc Hughes (nonfiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction and poetry)
Publisher: Richard Mackie
Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an on-line book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.
“Only connect.” – E.M. Forster