Join us for a discussion of Michael Andor Brodeur’s debut book, Swole, in which he shares why brawn deserves our serious consideration.

A memoir and researched cultural history of bodies from ancient mythology, Renaissance art, to the current fascinating world of manfluencers, Swole signals a fresh examination of the meaning of manhood in the 21^st century and the outsized role our bodies play in defining one’s true strengths. As Kirkus notes in their starred review, the book succeeds as “A memoir, history, and critical essay in one, sure to captivate anyone who’s ever pumped—or dreamed of pumping—iron.”

Michael Andor Brodeur will be joined in conversation by pianist Adam Tendler.

To reserve a copy of SWOLE: The Making of Men and the Meaning of Muscle (Beacon Press, May 28, 2024, hardcover, $28.95), please write to us at contact@bgsqd.com with “please reserve copy of Swole for June 13th” in the subject line.

Thank you for supporting the Bureau by purchasing books from us!

This event will take place in person at the Bureau of General Services—Queer Division, on the second floor (room 210) of The LGBT Community Center, 208 W. 13th St., NYC, 10011.

Registration is not required. Seating is first come, first served.

Suggested donation to benefit the Bureau: $10.

All are welcome to attend, with or without a donation.

We will pass a bag for donations at the start of the event, but we can also take credit card donations at the register or on Venmo @BGSQD

Michael Andor Brodeur has been the classical music critic at the Washington Post since 2020. Previously, he held editorial and staff-writer positions at the Boston Globe and Boston’s Weekly Dig. His essays, humor, and criticism have also appeared in Nylon, Thrillist, Entrepreneur, Medium, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency and other publications. He has also released 5 music albums under different monikers, most recently writing and performing electronic music under the name New Dad.

Adam Tendler has played the piano since the age of 6, but still sometimes can’t believe the piano is a thing—like, this big machine that makes a very particular sound that people take quite seriously, as if that sound is important and essential, eternal, timeless and primordial, like wind, waves, or volcano fire. But really it’s an accumulation of taste and preference, the sound of a piano, and a rather modern invention, right? So he thinks about that a lot. He also often can’t believe he plays the piano, particularly before a concert, and sometimes gets lost in the thought that Bach and Brahms and so many other composers never once heard the sound of, say, an airplane.
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