YEAH THE BOYS (Pantera Press 2026) is author Holden Sheppard’s much anticipated sequel to his award-winning novel INVISIBLE BOYS, and while you can definitely read this one as a standalone, your experience will be much richer if you’ve read INVISIBLE BOYS first. Same characters, similar setting, but about seven years on. Sheppard’s writing is immersive, gritty, shocking, tender, surprising and warm, and as he traverses the issues he loves to write about – queerness, gay men, what it is to be any kind of man, masculine toxicity, queer allies, being in the closet, coming out, families, friendships and of course, footy – he does so through the eyes of young men struggling to find their place in the world, or even to find their own self-identity.
In the previous novel, the boys were adolescents but in YEAH THE BOYS they have reached their youthful twenties. Zeke, Hammer and Charlie are no longer the tight-knit group they used to be; a devastating tragedy in the preceding book changed everything. But in this book, they are united through a series of coincidences and happenstances (which are not so coincidental when you consider the setting is mostly Geraldton and Perth in Western Australia, a relatively small community).
Zeke continues his ongoing fractious relationship with his proud Italian family, remaining closeted, conventional and unadventurous so as to not bring shame upon those he loves. But as the story develops, he becomes increasingly prickly about these restrictions and when he takes the monumental step of joining a gay footy club, he hopes it will be the welcoming space he’s been searching for. He’s never played football before but this is a club where mateship and inclusion are more important than ball skills.
Hammer has continued his journey as a rising football star with the AFL, a real man’s man on the outside, but inside, still carrying his anxieties and fears about being gay himself. When his club embraces diversity in the most out pride way possible, he speaks against it, worrying he might be outed himself in the process. It’s all too close to home. Speaking up creates a nightmare, not only for him but for all those around him.
Charlie has never quite made his mark as a punk musician, but not for lack of trying. When he joins the bar staff (and shares their home) of his new friends Curtis and Ahmed, he starts to understand the concept of family and inclusion that’s always eluded him, and he begins to heal from his trauma.
The boys are back, but now as young men. Some things are forever the same and some are irreparably different. They each said and did things seven years ago that hurt the others, some they regret, some they stand by. Research shows boys’ brains don’t fully develop until their late twenties though (so I’ve read) and it’s clear that although the boys are older and perhaps wiser, they are by no means wise, fully formed or put together. Each struggles still with self-identity, ambition, relationships, and most of all their sexual desires and needs.
Sheppard’s writing is bold, visceral, no-holds-barred. He speaks with authority and personal experience on a range of issues in a very intimate and authentic way. Some of these issues (like…ahem…footy or utes) may not be issues that resonate with me personally, but that doesn’t detract from the allure of the narrative and the delicate and complex web of relationships he constructs. His writing is explicit, which might be a challenge for some readers, but for others – especially those queer-curious – it will be reaffirming.
Several minor characters appear with distinct gusto. I especially loved Curtis and Ahmed and their loving, accepting but also tough and resilient marriage and their open-armed encouragement of younger gay men. Their ambition in building their bar as an inclusive venue is a triumph but comes with significant challenges from unexpected quarters.
There’s a lot of sex in this book, and it’s hot, heavy, raunchy and unapologetic. But Sheppard interweaves this with warm friendships, tender moments, shy and awkward missteps, regret and yearning. Massive betrayals and unforgettable forgiveness punctuate the story. Sheppard prides himself (I think) in writing about the gay community in a non-homogenous way. Every gay is a different kind of gay, and that’s okay, and to be expected. Readers who have certain ideas about what a gay man looks like, how he acts or dresses or speaks, his hobbies or passions, will have their assertions challenged. Because, in the end, a person is a person, and whether they are gay, or a footy lover, or a car enthusiastic, or a knitter or a musician or a nerd or a politician or an influencer or a family man or a player or any combination makes no difference. Underneath it all, each is a person with needs, desires, hopes, dramas, bad experiences and dreams.
When I read INVISIBLE BOYS I wanted to mother these teenagers, these clumsy, bounding, unsure, passionate children. Now they are young adults, I still want to mother them. They are still growing, still learning, still finding their way. It is a joy to see this aspect and stage of their lives. I’d love Sheppard to write another sequel in seven years’ time to see where they are at aged thirty. These boys, despite or because of their flaws, will capture your heartstrings. And if you are a gay man, this book will resonate, because it is bound to include at least one character in similar circumstances (either physically, mentally or emotionally) to you or someone you know.