05 | 09 | 2025

"Make 'em cry, make 'em laugh, make 'em wait"

Bringing queerness forth. Armistead Maupin opens up

Tales of the City is a series of books published between 1978 and 2004, a family saga set in a single place, an apartment at 28 Barbary Lane, San Francisco. These books were ground-breaking examples of queer representation, telling diverse stories and making them feel normal, believable, and true. They offered one of the earliest, heart-felt explorations of queer domesticity.

Their author, Armistead Maupin, is himself a ground-breaking figure. His conversation with Peter Florence is no less than a confession, an exploration of the author’s mind. Florence doesn’t go easy on him – he knows what he wants, and won’t stop before he gets his answers. Fortunately, Maupin is more than willing to play along.

Growing up in conservative North Carolina, he was lucky enough to meet a woman – Mrs. Peacock – who “picked him up from the crowd”, pushing him to write. And yet letting go of his upbringing, of the conservatism of his family wasn’t easy. “I went along with it” says Maupin. He had no other way of looking at the world.

“It took San Francisco to get conservatism out of me”. Or rather, “it took a dick in my mouth to change my mind”. Maupin isn’t afraid to be explicit, keeping the audience engaged with his wit and humour.

1976 was a pivotal year. As a strong-minded twenty-something he proposed to the San Francisco Chronicle something completely new and incredibly traditional at the same time: a Dickensian series of short stories, five days a week. A story that would never end. That’s when Tales of the City was born.

An exhausting, stressful job, he admits. But also “the most extraordinary opportunity to be absolutely contemporary”. And to be “absolutely contemporary” in 1976 San Francisco meant representing queerness, sexual liberation, the hidden reality of the bathhouses, and many incredible characters with their multifaceted identities. His Tales became a mosaic of representation: he was the first writer to ever mention a death from AIDS, and he created Anna Madrigal, “the first sympathetic transgender character” in literature.

Florence recalls Maupin’s fictional coming out, a letter written by Micheal ‘Mouse’ Tolliver (the character the writer infused most of himself in) that has become a classic, used by many queer people for their own coming outs. It’s striking to see how many people were influenced by his books – or by their TV adaptation – and thanks to these stories discovered something about themselves.

This conversation isn’t just a stroll down memory lane, though. It contracts and expands, and Maupin is never afraid to speak his mind. When asked about the differences between the US and England (his new home) he’s rather clear. Despite Britain’s narrative around inclusion, something is deeply wrong there. A self-declared “champion for the T in the LGBT community”, he brands trans exclusion - culminated in the UK Supreme Court ruling last April - as “the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen”.

With clarity, courage, and compassion, Maupin contributes to the unfinished tale of solidarity.