Where are the Merry and “Gay” Stories?

In the 1950s, a genre emerged within pulp fiction: lesbian pulp. With suggestive covers and erotic scenes, these books featured explicit homosexual relationships — but the endings were never satisfying. 

Same-sex affection was still illegal in the United States at this point. Homosexuals were banned from federal jobs, deemed a “security risk,” and same-sex marriage wouldn’t be legalized for another 65 years. Queer relationships were seen as obscenities, and therefore authors couldn’t tell stories seen supporting this agenda. 

For lesbian pulp — and queer stories in general — to be published amidst this turmoil, they abided by the “bury your gays” trope. 

By killing off one love interest, making them turn out straight or generally having the ending turn out unhappy, authors could slip through a loophole in homophobic legislation. In this way, they managed to publish a form of queer representation, albeit disheartening. 

Seventy-five years later, there are no laws against so-called sodomy in the United States, and queer couples are free to get married. While there’s still pushback against public queer representation, authors, screenwriters and everyone in-between are free to write as explicitly on queer topics as they want. 

So why are queer characters still ending up unhappy? 

Modern films and movies often focus on the tragedy of being queer. The “dead lesbian trope” was on the rise in the late 2010s, frequently killing off queer, usually female, characters — for example, Lexa from “The 100,” who dies as a direct result of her queerness.

The injustice felt isn’t merely the elimination of queer characters, however, it lies in the action of writing these characters to ultimately end up alone — whether it’s friendless, without a romantic love or completely dead. 

Lexa from “The 100” isn’t the only queer character who falls under this umbrella. 

Thomas Marrow from “Downton Abbey” struggles with loneliness and is one of the few characters who doesn’t get married by the end. 

Susie Myerson from “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” is the most solitary figure in the entire show. 

Will Byers from “Stranger Things” spends his whole young life isolated before forcing himself to get over a lifelong romantic interest. 

These are a handful of the characters written to face isolation due to the experience of queerness. It’s a reality many queer audiences often push back against, and for good reason. These desolate endings feel disproportionate in comparison to the well-off way their straight counterparts tend to end up. 

A rebuttal against this pushback might argue it’s realistic for queer characters to end up this way — it echoes the sad but true stories of real life. 

However, it doesn’t make sense to say it’s realistic for queer characters to end up alone when the same standard is hardly ever held to straight or cis people. According to this logic, queer characters either find and accept themselves alone or find romantic love; the two can’t go hand in hand.

The truth of the matter is this is a misrepresentation of the reality of being queer. 

Queerness in and of itself doesn’t necessitate being a burdensome existence. It can be filled with a unique and indescribable euphoria, a resilient solidarity and the utter exhilaration of living outside the box. In 2026, being queer doesn’t have to be an inherently traumatic experience. 

Queer people will always exist and have always existed. Whether homophobia and close-mindedness are present or not, queerness is fundamental to countless people’s identities and cannot be erased by hostility. 

While showing the struggles of the queer community is a crucial story to tell, it doesn’t have to be the only one. 

Positive images can be just as powerful as negative ones. Stories displaying struggles and strife can be inspiring, but so can portrayals of queer people thriving and living peacefully without persecution. 

For marginalized groups like the queer community, joyful existence is resistance to homophobia and transphobia. It’s political and sends a message of defiance and strength. 

People need to see stories where they can believe in a happy ending for themselves, loved in a community for who they are and not just for what they’ve endured.