Book Loot: Week Ending August 8th, 2010

Witch StoriesThis week:

A few months after purchasing it on ebay, The Notebooks of F. Scott Fitzgerald finally arrived. I’d accepted that it had probably been lost in the post, and emailed the seller who was on holiday at the time. When they returned from their trip they told me that the book had been sent back to them as my address had been rubbed off the package! Very pleased that it wasn’t the victim of some sort of postal conspiracy.

This is the 52nd Book Loot post, which means that Start Narrative Here has been around for almost a year! (And I don’t even want to think about just how many books have been amassed in that time.) My first review was posted on a wordpress hosted site on the 11th of August, 2009 – and I decided that I wanted my own space and bought the domain a week later on the 18th of August, 2009. Starting a book blog was a project aimed at learning to express myself again after a really horrible year, and it has quickly become much more than just a nerdy recovery method. It has reinvigorated and reaffirmed my love of the written word. To anyone that has commented, read, recommended, emailed or even lurked over the past year, thank you so much.

Image from tumblr.

Play It As It Lays by Joan Didion (1970)

Play It As It Lays by Joan Didion (1970)On the surface Joan Didion’s Play It As It Lays looks like yet another story of a beautiful, privileged woman suffering a nervous breakdown. Maria Wyeth, an actress, is going through the breakdown of her marriage to director Carter Lang. Yet, Didion’s writing avoids the typical hysteria. Her technique is sparse, the restraint she shows is purposely alienating, intent at keeping the reader at a distance from the true horror of Maria’s suffering. It protects us from the oblivion of nothingness that Maria feels, and forces us to confront it ourselves.

She could remember it all but none of it seemed to come to anything. She a sense the dream had ended and she had slept on.

To recount the plot seems futile, the narrative is built from key events seen through Maria’s eyes. Maria has been committed to some form of institution, and looks back over what happened in the lead up to, during, and after the breakdown of her marriage. There is no clear linear progression, but events, signs, symbols gradually do fall in to place. Maria has an abortion. Maria visits her ex-husband on a movie set in the desert. Maria watches her close friend commit suicide. Something as simple as a stilted telephone conversation, as momentous as an arrest in the desert, or the nightmarish hallucination of the contents of blocked drains are all told in a brutally dispassionate third-person voice.

One thing in my defense, not that it matters: I know something Carter never knew, or Helene, or maybe you. I know what “nothing” means, and keep on playing.
Why, BZ would say.
Why not, I say.

The structure of the novel is interesting too, opening with single chapters told in the first person from major characters – Maria’s manic, compelling voice, Helene reflecting on her conflicted relationship with Maria, and Carter trying to pinpoint where things started going wrong. From there, most of the novel is told in this distant third-person narration, until the end where Maria’s voice is heard again. This seems to mirror the state of Maria’s internal self, beginning with rampant self-obsession, turning to looking at herself from a disconnected and distant viewpoint and finally, we hope, gaining a stronger sense of her own identity by the end. It’s bleak, but Didion’s writing is so controlled that the emotional effect of these events, and of Maria’s perception of them, doesn’t hit until after. Play It As It Lays is a novel that lingers, becoming all the more powerful as time passes.

Closer by Dennis Cooper (1989)

Closer by Dennis Cooper (1989)Closer is not the Dennis Cooper I remember reading back at university. While the extreme sexual violence is still there, with suggestions of mutilation and masochism,  in Closer it simmers beneath the surface, lurks in the shadows. Instead, Closer is a dark, somehow touching, look at the lives of gay youths and the boy they all physically desire, the troubled George Miles.

Closer takes the form of a series of loosely connected chapters, George Miles being the thread that connects them, each from the perspective of a different young man. There is John, an art student, who draws portraits of beautiful people and desecrates their image until they are ugly; who forms a sexual relationship with George. John remains distant while he re-examines his artistic purpose, and cannot draw George’s face accurately. When he finally does, afterwards George tells him of his own issues, and John breaks it off with him. It’s as though the image is what he desires, and the realization that there is something “real” behind that image is too frightening.

He didn’t have time to draw everyone, but being picky meant choosing an artistic goal. John couldn’t. He didn’t know what he was doing. He wound up selecting the best-looking students because they were fun to deface and pretty easy to bullshit. He’d just sort of casually say that maybe he was portraying how tortured they were behind their looks and they’d gasp at his scribbles like they were seeing God or a UFO.

Other characters have a similar relationship trajectory with George, drawn to his flawless facade (which is not described in great detail, allowing us to project, like the characters, an image of impossible, otherworldly beauty), only to abandon him when they discover that he too has fears, feelings and flaws. That is, that he is a person and not an ideal. The chapters from George’s perspective reveal a sad, emotionally disconnected young man, numbing himself against his pain with sex, drugs and a childlike fascination with Disneyland.

Paul, a pathological liar who believes he is a famous, attractive, talentless popstar, spews stream of consciousness rambles about authenticity, performance and love. For him, George is a way to step out of the (imagined) spotlight and find love, separate from adoration. Other characters are also George’s school friends, only one of which is not in love with George himself, but in love with another who is in love with George. Their lives and stories are intricately connected, yet they seem unable to make a lasting connection beyond the image.

Lies are so hard to keep track of. It’s like your constantly being reborn every time you begin a new sentence.

The ending is unsettling, the violence is only suggested so as with George’s beauty, our warped minds are forced to go to the darkest places to imagine these unspeakable acts. It’s confronting and manipulative. The violence is made all the more vicious by everyone’s extreme apathy toward it, no one is horrified, no one is angry, no one is surprised. In amongst the visceral deaths, abuse, and unsightly injuries there is always a glimmer of hope. Not much, but it is there. The possibility of love, of moving beyond the image of the other no matter how beautiful or scarred it may be.

Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground 1981-1991 by Michael Azerrad (2001)

Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground 1981-1991 by Michael Azerrad (2001)It’s easy to get romantic and nostalgic about independent music, at the same time getting tangled up in messy arguments about authenticity and integrity.  Michael Azerrad’s Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground 1981-1991 avoids this problem and instead maps out the formation of the American independent music scene with a clear perspective and an evident fondness for the music and the energy such a scene provided.

Azerrad, an American music journalist, sets out to tell the origin stories of thirteen bands that played an important role in the formation and success of the American independent underground scene: Black Flag, The Minutemen, Mission of Burma, Minor Threat, Hüsker Dü, The Replacements, Sonic Youth, Butthole Surfers, Big Black, Dinosaur Jr, Fugazi, Mudhoney and Beat Happening. These stories end either when bands break up or, the real death knell, sign to a major label.

They were replaced by a bunch of toughs coming in from outlying suburbs who were only beginning to discover punk’s speed, power and aggression. They didn’t care that punk rock was already being dismissed as a spent force, kid bands playing at being the Ramones a few years too late. Dispensing with all pretension, these kids boled the music down to its essence, then revved up the tempos to the speed of a pencil impatiently tapping on a school desk, and called the result “hardcore.”

What struck me about these stories is how key figures featured across many of the stories, creating the sense that in particular geographical regions and across the nation this really was a scene. An organic, thriving, cultural scene that managed to shape the sound of “alternative” music. This isn’t indie as a sound (you know, those guitar based bands on major labels that are relentlessly described as indie) or an aesthetic, but independent as prerogative. These bands were indie because there was no other option or outlet for the sounds they wanted to make.

I’m a punk/hardcore nerd, so the most interesting chapters for me were those related to Black Flag, Minor Threat, Big Black and Fugazi. However, even the chapters on bands who I’d never really connected with before (Hüsker Dü and Sonic Youth), managed to keep my interest. These are not always the stories of righteously independent minded individuals, the bands histories are marked by petty in-fighting, drugs, alcohol, strained relationships, the usual “creative differences” – there is a wealth of great melodrama here that Azerrad is not afraid to explore. A little more about gender inequality would have been interesting as only a handful of women feature in these bands, but I’m sure this topic has been covered in depth elsewhere. As a history of the time, the music, and establishing why and how these bands were so important to a form we take for granted now, Our Band Could Be Your Life is engaging, and dare I say it, even a little inspiring.

Minor Threat epitomized one of hardcore’s major strengths: It was underground music by, for, and about independent minded kids. These kids weren’t on the hipster-bohemian wavelength, either because they weren’t hip or bohemian or because they simply felt the whole trip was needlessly exclusive and elitist. So it figures that hardcore would become popular in a definitively uncool city like Washington D.C. Hardcore wasn’t some druggy pose copped from Rimbaud, it was about things its audience encountered every day, and it certainly wasn’t some lowest common denominator corporate marketing ploy; hardcore kids knew the consequences of the former and grasped the larger implications of participating in the latter. And it had a beat they could dance to.

Our Band Could Be Your Life has me thinking about the possibility or viability of a contemporary underground/independent culture. Much is made in the book of how the lack of communication technology beyond the telephone meant that much of the networking was done through old-school means, namely mail, telephone and zines. With the current saturation of internet technologies aiding communication and social networking, doesn’t that also offer ready-made niche audiences to sounds and ideas that would previously have to either wait for audiences to adapt to new sounds or actively seek out those who would “get it”? Then again, much of the creation of these audiences is due, in part, to the efforts of the bands mentioned here.

Book Loot: Week Ending August 1st, 2010

Hunter S. ThompsonMy postwoman was kept very busy this week, here are the bookish delights she dumped on my doorstep.

Two of these (Lilian’s Story and One Day) were won from various online competitions. I’ve been having such good luck in book related competitions, I wonder whether that luck would translate should I buy a lottery ticket? After watching Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson the other week I was inspired to fill in the gaps in my Thompson library, and the Simon & Schuster editions are so much more pleasant looking than the unbearably ugly MacMillan reissues.

The unstoppable Amanda from Desert Book Chick sent me Expiration Date, and it looks like a mind-meltingly awesome read, you can read her review of it here. August is Classics month over on her blog, and when I stop running my hands lovingly over my Penguin Classics and Modern Library editions and I’ll be writing a guest post for her about reading the classics. It’ll be my first guest post and I’m pretty excited about it.

This week I had to press the “MARK ALL AS READ” button on my book news folder as it got way too unmanageable in the time I spent away from the computer, so this Book Loot is sadly lacking the usual list of fascinating tidbits from the literary world. I’ve been busy with Melbourne International Film Festival screenings, but the past week looks mild compared to the crazy schedule I’ve prepared for myself this week. I’m most looking forward to The Killer Inside Me (I have the book on hold, and would have read it by now too if only some dastardly creature hadn’t kept it for three weeks past the due date.), Taqwacore: The Birth of Punk Islam (and I have the book that inspired this documentary on hold as well) and the newest film from one of my favourites, Harmony Korine, Trash Humpers – and yes, it is what it sounds like.

I’ve also (finally) decided to put up the Google Friend Connect widget, and although my loner tendencies like that it’s just me there at the moment, if any of you would care to join me over there, it is sure to be one hell of a party!

Image: a very young Hunter S. Thompson, via tumblr.