Hello
Gentle Reader
⟨ I would like to offer and extend my
apologies to you my dear Gentle Readers, as I have no written a proper column
in the Tea on a Tuesday cycle. I have
not published the promised bi-weekly column of eclectic and eccentric topics,
since late last year. Unfortunately the New Year appeared to be rung in with
hurricane speeds which left me little time to type out future columns as
planned and for that I do apologize and will make a much more concerted effort
to rectify and remedy in future. ⟩
Transgressive
literature, or works of literature in that model, are best summarized as
writing which offers social commentary and critique of the constrictive
conforming demands of social conventions, norms, and accepted social structures
and hierarchies as they are presented, adapted, and adhered to. Authors of
transgressive literature provide a necessary scathing analytical overview of
society by detailing its: flawed structures, power struggles, the dichotomy of domination
and subjection, the abject humiliation, and the otherwise normal processes of
everyday life, which go unchallenged and accepted. The authors then present
characters or situations or ideas which then push the boundaries of the social
structures which govern society by convention, proxy or by codified means. The
characters themselves vary on the spectrum. Some are sociopathic in their
anti-social ideals, whereby they eagerly see the cage and rattle it by
committing vandalism, assault, rape or murder. These characters operate under
the author’s authority at which point they see the frivolity of society—or
rather the ulcer—and then poke it. Through their anti-social behaviours they
revolt and vivisect the confines of society’s conventional demands for
conformity, peeling back the layers of hollow falsities to reveal the otherwise
insincere nihilistic void which the everyday citizen subscribes to. This
blatant disregard for the normal perspective that is prescribed and
administered with ease to the masses, and by extension is accepted without
complaint or question, seeks to treat the cataracts and blindness and lead
individuals or society to a more aware state of being. On the flipside, it’s a
grotesque caricature and satirical performance exposing the absurdities of
society, individuals, and the relentless hopelessness that engulfs their
existence, as they readily obey the structures and protocols in place to govern
their hapless lives. These characters are underground revolutionaries,
providing enlightened and unpopular orations and monologues on the plight of
the modern man. In other instants they are the jesters of psychosis, satirists
and jesters, who revel in Bacchus debauched glory, as they strike the societal
ulcer and reveal the plight and hopelessness of the world. Examples of this
literary lunatics and revolutionaries include: Fydor Dostoevsky’s the
Underground Man [From: “Notes from the Underground,”]; or Albert Camus’s Meursault
[From: “The Stranger,”]; and of course Anthony Burgess’s Alex [From: A
Clockwork Orange,”].
On
the contrary end of the spectrum, showcases the characters in a different
light. These characters are not the invigorated and mad revolutionaries, nor
are they the clownish caricatures of society’s oppression now finding release
in the most illicit and provocative of ways. These characters are frighteningly
normal or even model citizens in their exterior display and facades. They are
teachers, doctors, businessmen; respectable in dress, manners, and profession.
Yet beneath their veneer lies a perverse desire to lash out and unleash their
frustrations, inclinations, and penchants for destruction against others or
themselves. They revolt in maddening miniscule manners. They voyeuristically
attend peep shows, or watch people perform sexual intercourse in park benches
with fascination, delight, and infatuation. They can be both blatant aggressor,
where they attack a loved one with striking force; as well as subtle, such as
kicking a stranger on the subway and blaming it on another. They are afflicted
with the most perverse desires, and in their rational monologues and sincere soliloquies
provide a logical explanation for their otherwise deranged behaviour. They
revolt in subtle measures, as they buckle under the restraints of their
confinements and obligations. They conform, but only on the surface, as they
secretly explore their own innate and perverse desires, either through
psychosexual measures, degradation, mutilation, addiction. Some are mere
products of circumstances, falling into the cracks of desperation,
transgression and addiction on the nihilistic excuse of what else could they
do? Others entrapped in the confines of their own power structures and
struggles release their pent up energy by degrading their students, watching
random sexual encounters (be it orchestrated peep shows, or casual encounters
in public), kicking or striking out at members of the public or animals,
orchestrating rape, or simply participating in transgressive and illicit
behaviour. These deranged and disenfranchised souls include: Elfriede Jelinek’s
Erika [From: “The Piano Teacher,”], Vladimir Nabokov’s Humbert Humbert [From:
“Lolita,”], and Irvine Welsh’s Mark ‘Rent Boy’ Renton [From: “Trainspotting,”].
Despite
the otherwise violent and degrading subject matter, which forcefully greets the
reader, it provides social commentary on the issues of society’s structure,
both codified and conventional. It shows the failure of policies, legislation
and government; it provides a disturbing overview of the accepted notions what
is considered appropriate. Take Elfriede Jelinek for example. The controversial
Nobel Laureate in Literature has made a career as a provocateur, agitator,
satirist, and commentator on social, political and economic issues with her
evocative and disturbing novels and dramatic works. Branded as a
confrontational feminist author, Jelinek has often taken issue and aim at
Austria, through its efforts to deny its Nazi past and collaboration, the
enslavement of capitalism and commodity driven consumerism, as well as the
destructive impact of human relationships, and their fatalistic dive into sexually
violent codependent cycles. Jelinek’s vitriolic pen does not spare character,
society, or reader from her scathing analysis. Men may be the perpetrators of
the initial violent actions against others—mainly women as they are wives,
mothers, receptionist, waitress (a position of no to little authority—but she
crucifies the victim with equal venom. In the case of women, she finds them
lackluster, debilitated, masochistic, and desiring the protection and power of
men, at the cost of assault, abuse and degradation. By Elfriede Jelinek’s
deductions women enter the entrapment with the innate desire for the dependent
and destructive relationship it is doomed to produce. In return, as Jelinek
depicts with equal scorn, women become accomplices to other travesties and acts
of degradation on to others. In some situations and cases, they revel in their
own humiliation, while then attacking and abusing a helpless and hapless child
whereby the cycle of violence perpetuates and palpitates into another generation.
Reading
such novels or short stories would not be considered a pleasurable or enjoyable
experience. They are forceful, uncomfortable, and uncompromising in their assault
and societal analytical vivisection. These writers expose the trials and
tribulations of a world overlooked, ignored, denied or forgotten. Though their
works are shocking, they do not exist on the superficial level of pushing their
reader’s faces into the glass or feces for them to stand humiliated and
subjected to the horrors of the show. Rather they keenly survey and present the
situation, the circumstances, and the realities with a needed commentary to
introduce and promote a desire to rise above, reconcile, or change the
situation and create a better world—and if not at least mock with satirical
wit, the absurdity of existence as a whole. They write with purpose and a
mission. The mission or the purpose is the necessary element of what makes
transgressive literature relevant. It’s the desire to present and display the
realities of the disenfranchised, the disposed, and the degraded in hopes that
by agitation and provocation their criticism will provoke a shift in
perspective or ideology to rectify and remedy society’s blights and blunders.
Transgressive literature without that immediate notion to provoke or inspire,
is then just flagrant. It’s the self-absorbed soliloquy of a solipsistic
narcissist, whose work is merely tepid trivial trash.
Sadly
that is the direction transgressive literature and fiction appears to have
moved towards: a narcissistic self-absorbed monologue, where the author is able
to grandstand and openly expose themselves with confessional prose, at which
point they conspicuously declare without poetry or commentary, their own
perverse inclinations, humiliations, sadistic torments, and masochistic
delights. They offer no social commentary beyond the superficial utterance. This
dreadful debilitating and degrading dribble would even make Sylvia Plath blush
with embarrassment and the sheer self-indulgence being exhibited. Yet, somehow
this act of self-flagellation through prose, is praised by critics and readers
alike. These torrid tales of trial, tribulation, torment and tragedy are
somehow being considered appropriate or revolutionary. Where in reality they
are but a mere exercise in self-indulgent degradation and confession be it
fictional otherwise. They lack the appropriate commentary to be called
revolutionary; where in actuality they seek to merely provide an overview of
their otherwise deranged sexual escapes, or tortures, or torments, or tragedies
with debauched nihilism. They expose nothing beyond their own intrapersonal monologue
and crucifixion. There is no interaction with society beyond the meaningless
mechanical capitulation of sex and its inherent instinctual demand to either
dominate or submit. Sex in itself is often the main outlet and exercise in
relationships, communication, and topic of choice, when it comes to these
books. Then again sex is an otherwise halfhearted subject in itself, one which
can entice, enchant and disgust a reader. It is a convenient mode in which to
explore the idea of power in a purely physical and nihilistic manner. Sex as
already mention is but the mere mechanical capitulation which each character
submits to in some manner or otherwise. They forfeit consent, self-respect, and
meaning in favour of engaging in an otherwise meaningless act of penetration,
subjection and dominance.
Of
course that being said these writers perhaps are attempting to follow in the
footsteps of their crass forefathers who incited revulsion and loathing with the
general reading public and critics, while in return gained respect and
admiration from the dementedly inclined. Jean Genet is an immediate example.
There was a writer who sought to defy all normal social conventions and
literary protocols, by elevating violent criminals to sainthood; guiding tours
through the social underground; and declaring and advertising bohemian sexual
culture in all its colourful light. He questioned and provoked the idea of
traditional moral values, and caustically solicited the ire of any institution
which governed and promoted such moral attributes and standards. Jean-Paul
Sartre famously called Genet’s novel “Our Lady of the Flowers,” an ‘epic of
masturbation.’ Yet, Genet was different from these contemporaries. His
debauchery was never intrapersonal or confessional degradation. His work
provides an explicative social commentary on society’s rigid and outdated sense
of structures, moral probity, and stiffing lack of expression. He was not,
however, a self-indulgent nihilist who documented or fictionalized
homoeroticism or murder. Rather, Jean Genet embodied Nietzsche’s ideas on
‘Transvaluation,’ or revaluation of values. He was an uncomfortable
existentialist who promoted all the pains and joys of liberty—sexual and
otherwise. But the message was always clear, in its own strange romanticized
manner. He questioned, he defied, and he revolted, against society’s
traditional ideas, ideologies, perspectives, and moral codes. Unfortunately this sentiment is not shared by
his contemporaries, who instead recount in autofuctional flagrancy their own
demented experiences or perhaps desires, dreams, and even fantasies. I fail to
see the point of such novels or books; such as Christine Angot’s: “Incest.”
These are books and novels—or perhaps fictional autobiographical
narratives—which deny social commentary or any motivation beyond their own
self-indulgent absorption into narcissism. These authors tackle the taboo not
with any real reason or meaning, beyond perhaps playing out their own
misconstrued desires and fantasies, and then turn them into these degrading
confessional narratives, which border on a pornographic mass of nihilistic
meaningless shoveled together in a patchwork of prose, and then deemed of
reasonable literary merit. Perhaps its due to the content or perhaps its due to
the authors own identity the work is somehow, praised as being an exemplary
work of fiction, which should be applauded and praised as revolutionary, where
in reality it is revolting in its sheer self-indulgence. If transgressive
fiction is to be taken seriously it requires itself to provide the necessary social
commentary to gain its merit. Anything else is just second rate and would best
be suited for other media mediums.
The
truth about transgressive fiction and literature as a whole, is it’s often a
rather one trick pony. Once it’s released and has shocked and awed the masses,
the act cannot be repeated. It does not age like fine wine—rather it spoils
like milk. If an author continues on the path of trying to shock via their
prose work, with ever greater demented prose and confessions, they merely become
a relic of their former self, where they rattle their chains and no one takes
either stock or notice. In the end they become repetitive, bland, and boring;
which is the fate of most if not all transgressive writers such as: Jean Genet,
Christine Angot, and Chuch Palahniuk, to name but a few. Some, like Elfriede
Jelinek appear to retain some relevancy for their avant-garde mediums in
theatre; but even she always risks falling off the razors edge to the point of
irrelevancy.
Transgressive
fiction is at best a youthful experiment to revolt against the establishment.
It’s a way to throw a rock through the window and then scream with added glee:
“fuck you!” After that it becomes the usual shenanigans of a bloated humorless
jester. In order to be taken seriously, however, it requires commentary on the
social constraints and conventions, if it cannot analyze and dissect the
debilitating expectations, then it’s merely self-indulgent solipsistic
nihilistic pornography, which lacks any engagement of an external sense, and
merely fixates on the myopic intrapersonal self.
Thank-you
For Reading Gentle Reader
Take
Care
And
As Always
Stay
Well Read
M.
Mary
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