Chronicles reminds me a little of East Sydney: men as far as the eye can see. Men in couples, men in night-clubs and bars, men finely muscled and flabby, moustached and clean-shaven, tall serious men in long black jeans and boots, men cruising other men up and down Oxford Street, men sleeping together in all manner of formations and places. And if East Sydney was one of the first gay ghettoes in the city; Chronicles is one of the first men-only utopias. Now, a cursory glance through ChroniCles, with its endless genealogies and details of temple construction and ritual, will hardly give the impression of a utopia, and so I will need initially to track over the territory I have covered before, teasing out the features that make this a utopian text. However, as with the earlier gay ghettoes and their overwhelming presence of men - you could go for weeks and not see a woman - a feminist criticism is that this male-only world relies on the silencing of women. In fact, such a ho(m)mosexual world, to borrow a term from Luce Irigaray, is but a microcosm of the reality of the world at large. Men do in fact dominate and control at every level, and the systemic exclusion of women from the gay ghetto of Chronicles shows in stark relief the unwanted truth of patriarchal domination.