Book Reviews
Title: Death of the Author Author: Andrew Masterson Publisher: Flamingo This review first appeared in DOA	Way, way back in 1st year English Lit Uni classes, our tutor used to tell us there were certain ways one could become a post-modernist, but the most memorable manner (or at least the one I have retained through my pot-haze of 1st year memories) is to die in a flamboyant manner. Foucault, author of What is the Author, among others,  left the planet via AIDS obtained, many thought, from massive fisting sessions in San Fran bathhouses. And Roland Barthes, the man of myths and author of the famous Death of the Author text, was dispatched via a milk truck, finally proving Derrida’s hypothesis concerning the destabilisation of the subject. And Jacques Brel? Well, he was a crazy Belgian, adopted by the French, who was honoured by the musical Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris, even though he was dead. What does that have to do with an Australian crime novel, set in the southern city of Melbourne, and concerning the tale of a university professor and poet who discovers that someone is ripping off his works and publishing them as his own? Everything actually, except the Jacques Brel part. For what begins as a seemingly-benign and generic tale of lust, jealousy, suspicion and death metamorphs into something quite other, quite spectacular, as Masterson’s narrative skills reveal the depths to which his plot is based around concepts of postmodern theory and practice. It's a testament to Masterson's skills that he successfully keeps the reader intrigue by the story's direction, whilst revelling in the quirky elements of literary theory but never becoming bogged down in the bewildering quicksand of academic wankery that can sometimes impeded such attempts. Masterson's first novel, The Last Days, was based on the premise that Jesus had never died, but instead become a drug-dealing friend of the downtrodden in modern-day Melbourne. In that book, his specialty was theological problems, the quandary of deific existence alongside perpetual suffering. Here, it is the death of the role of the author, and of their authority, that concerns Masterson, and via Foucault's theories of madness, Barthes' concepts of authorship and Derrida's post-structural subjectivity, Masterson offers up an enjoyable and invigorating text, a tome that asks as many questions as it answers. The only deficit seems to be the ending, where too many elements are wrapped up in too few pages and the reader is left wondering where and why things have occurred as described. Otherwise, what we have here is classy, yet never contemptuous, popular literature, in the best sense of all words. Death of the Author never talks down to its reader, yet it assumes little, and Masterson has been quoted as being equally accepting of the view that his book can be read as purely a detective novel, or as something more profound, but with both having equal footing in the stakes of meaning. I read this in one day - sometimes books just happen to fall in your lap right when you need them, and Death of the Author is, quite simply, one the books of 2001. Highly recommended.
Title: Love in a Dark Time: Gay Lives from Wilde to Almodovar Author: Colm Tóibín Publisher: Picador This review first appeared in DOA	Previously nominated for the Booker Prize for his fiction work, Love in a Dark Time sees Colm Tóibín turn his pen to a series of essays investigating the lives of important artists of the twentieth century. As the title indicates, his selection of diverse figures, including James Baldwin, Thom Gunn and Pedro Almodovar, have one thing in common - their sexuality. These essays, first written as a series for the London Review of Books, all focus on how sexuality, whether hidden or exposed, impacted on the artists lives and work and vice versa. Tóibín is a skilful writer, his prose reinvigorating the tragedies of Wilde and Francis Bacon, whilst shining new light on Almodovar's formative years, before the likes of Law of Desire and Kika rocketed him to international film fame and made him the toast of the normally-conservative Spanish gliterati. Thomas Mann, well-known author of Death in Venice, is investigated, and Tóibín shows how Mann's marriage and family life, blended with his sexuality, all appeared in various shades of disguise through his written work. Tóibín's collection is paradoxical, in that while he sets out to write about "gay figures for who being gay seemed to come second in their private lives", what ultimately results is a perception of sexuality as the driving force behind the artist. As I've argued many times before with friends, from a post-sexuality perspective this seems incongruous and erroneous, and I far prefer to support theorists like Foucault and Butler who maintain that sexuality is constructed by and through discourses, rather than the other way around. The sexuality industries rely on identity and identity politics to drive them, and Love in a Dark Time seems ready to fall in step with this, Tóibín claiming early on that "the laws of desire changed everything for them and made all the difference." What interests me in contemporary society are writers like Dennis Cooper for whom sexuality is an accepted, a sideline, something that is, rather than something that is to be argued. Nevertheless, Tóibín's book is important in showing how Western society has progressed over the last century of gay and queer identity struggles, and the preponderance of artists, writers and filmmakers with alternative or non-mainstream sexualities. His use of a linear progression, beginning with Whitman and Wilde and ending with a reflection on Mark Doty's poetry, is helpful in this aim, and yet our impression of progress and change are thwarted by the final chapter. A personal reflection on Tóibín's land of birth, it's title "Goodbye to Catholic Ireland" indicates a farewell to a land which, as Tóibín explains, still rejects gays and lesbians, the Catholic Church shining its condemnation on many who make up its priesthood, as well as the creative souls who have often defined Ireland and captured its people in the best life. A strange conclusion then to a strange century, leaving just as many questions unanswered about where and how art, sexualities, and contemporary life interact.
Title: It’s Your Hour: A guide to Queer-Affirmative Psychotherapy Author: Michael Bettinger Publisher: Alyson This review first appeared in Pinksheep	Up until 1972 in the USA, and some years later in Australia, homosexuality was considered an illness by the broad medical community, and tales abound of treatments like electro-shock and aversion therapy being used to try and “cure” those unfortunate enough to be diagnosed with such an affliction. Thankfully those times are far behind us, yet, largely due to Exodus and other fundamentalist organisations, the myth that one’s sexuality can be cured still remains, and the urban folk-tales of yesteryear can still persuade people that psychotherapists/shrinks/quacks/etc are to be avoided, rather than utilised to our advantage. However with wide community acceptance of anti-depressants, and the lessening of stigmas associated with mood disorders, a timely book has been released, targeted towards those in the queer community who might receive some benefit from counselling, treatment and other elements of psychotherapy. Bettinger, a private practitioner, has crafted his guide well, with a style that’s easy to read and non-confrontational, whilst never patronising or dismissive as similar tomes can be. He begins with an introduction to psychotherapy and its relevance to queers, and then progresses to outline the various models for mental health, giving pros and cons, as well as suggestions on what type of therapy, such as cognitive behavioural, or even creative forms such as art and dance, can be useful, depending on the individual. It’s Your Hour is a step-by-step guide, taking the reader through the initial consultation process, progressing through the course of therapy and, surprisingly, even alternatives to psychotherapy and pharmacology. As someone who has lived with a mental illness for almost a decade, I already knew much of what is discussed here. However, It’s Your Hour would have been a life-saver in the early years of my illness, its affirmative and positive views towards therapy a comfort rather than the black void I often faced when first contemplating seeking health. Its focus on GLBTQ’s is a large part of its success, and it’s an important and essential addition to the reference material available to our communities.
Title: Vampire Vow Author: Michael Schiefelbein Publisher: Alyson This review first appeared in DOA	What would happen if a young, yet brutal, Roman officer fell in love with an adolescent Jesus Christ? What would the officer's response be if Jesus, though tempted, spurned his advances? And what would happen to that officer if given immortality via a seductive encounter with a vampire? These are some of the questions posed by former seminarian and first-time author Michael Schiefelbein. Vampire Vow follows the blood-trail of Victor, a vampire who has spent much of the last thousand years munching on various abbey-goers throughout Europe. Tormented by his rejection from JC himself, Victor sees his blood and flesh-lust as a means of wreaking revenge. Problems arrive when Victor takes up residence in a US monastery, and falls deliciously for Brother Michael, a wholesome devout trainee who reminds the vampire of his only love. By now you would be right in gathering that Vampire Vow is not your typical vampire novel. Interwoven with the blood-letting and sexual ecstasy are a series of philosophical and theological questions, several about the "true" nature of Jesus, as well as the obvious issues of those two great codependants - good and evil. Schiefelbein's novel is at its best when it takes on these issues and fully explores them, especially when the spirit of Jesus reappears to haunt Victor. Problems arise however with the formal structure of the text, the generic feel of a well-documented subject (ie the vampire) never quite allowing the characters to transcend it. At times it all seems a little formulaic, and for a large portion of the text, it's difficult to feel anything for Victor and without that sense of identification, the plot drags. Perhaps some judicious editing could have rescued Vampire Vows from the quagmire of other vampire books, and Schiefelbein shows much talent considering this is his first full-length text. It's ultimately a little disappointing, a result more than likely emanating from the possibilities of what it could have been, as opposed to what it is.
Title: The CEO of the Sofa Author: P.J. O'Rourke         & Title: Hooking Up Author: Tom Wolfe Publisher of Both: Picador This review first appeared in DOA	It's been said, countless times now, that after September 11, nothing will ever be the same again, and this, dear readers, applies to book reviews as well. For the first time in my life I have made it all the way through a PJ O'Rourke book without wanting to rip out his brains with my teeth. And, again for the first time, I have failed to enjoy a Tom Wolfe book, wondering continuously why this tome was allowed to be published. Strange days indeed. O'Rourke is most well-known as the right wing Hunter S Thompson, the man who balanced Thompson's freewheeling 70s work in Rolling Stone with his own shots from the darkness, often filled with bitter contempt for anything to do with communism, socialism, Cuba and anyone who could be even remotely associated with them. Thompson and O'Rourke seemed at opposite ends of the binary scale, both talented writers, but O'Rourke in his previous works lacked anything remotely resembling compassion, and his penchant for hitting easy targets drew attention away from the merit of his writing. In CEO of the Sofa though, it's different. Much of the vitriol seems toned down, reasoned, rather than writhing, and his take on the UN, featured in chapter one, berates the organization for its bureaucracy and its hypocrisy in spending "55 million in Europe, where people catch colds, and only 36 million for 'integrated control of tropical diseases' in the Third World where people die." Watching the latest war games on television, it was hard not to grim at the awful irony inherent to the opening of the UN Charter, "We the peoples of the UN determined to save succeeding generations from the scourge of war." O'Rourke quotes this, then reels off a devastating list of inaction and ineptitude that has dogged the UN in its fifty years of existence. Though O'Rourke regales us with justifications of his right-wing attitudes and Republican membership, he ends the book, surprisingly, with a celebration of Thompson's most famous work, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, calling it "a harrowing portrayal of the human condition as absurd." Equally absurd is Tom Wolfe's collection of essays and short fiction. Wolfe was the man in the 60s who, along with Hunter S and several others, worked the term "New Journalism" for all it's worth. The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test" remains today one of the most astute explorations of sixties counter-cultural myth making, and Wolfe's later novels, including The Bonfire of the Vanities, have established him amongst the echelon of "Grand American writers." However he does himself little service in Hooking Up, named after what he sees as the 21st century's term for having sex on the first date. Hooking up is also the first essay where he explores, like a grandfather, today's youth, complete with sneering derision. It's not what I would expect from the man who rode with Cassidy, Kesey and Leary on the Merry Pranksters, and its a disappointing regression from a respected man. Where Wolfe most succeeds is in his explorations of Silicon Valley and brain scanning, leaving his judgment to the side as he marvels at where technology may be taking us. His novella, Ambush at Fort Knox, is riveting enough, but nothing prepares the reader for the awfulness of what's to come, a reprint of a 1965 profile of The New Yorker's owner, written whilst Wolfe was working at a competing publication. Whilst perhaps it was funny and relevant thirty years ago, the republishing of The New Yorker Affair seems tawdry and desperate, hideously dated, and possibly an attempt to capitalize on Wolfe's re-emergence with A Man In Full. I'm amazed myself, not only by the books, but also by my reaction to them. Though I'm listening to lots of tango and Cole Porter, I never thought I'd appreciate an O'Rourke text, but it's funny, as tepidly warm as PJ gets and it flows well. Then again, I never thought Wolfe would become a turgid reactionary, publishing old and tired material for money. Day to day, nothing is ever the same.
Title: Choke Author: Chuck Palahniuk Publisher: Jonathon Cape/Random House This review first published in DOA	Chuck Palahniuk first dropped his literary load with the now-classic Fight Club, and over the course of his subsequent novels, Survivors and Invisible Monsters, he’s proceeded to dismantle identity in the postmodern age, rewriting the body, the mind, the soul and the gender into a million fractured figments. Now come Choke, Chuck’s take on family, sex, nostalgia and the creation of heroes in a culture of empty vessels. Narrated by Victor Mancini, a worker for a colonial tourist re-creation village, Choke follows a multi-sequence storyline, a tool which Palahniuk has flirted with before, but never in such detail as this, and never as successfully as this. The plot is far less driven by action; instead, the novel is more character-focussed, an exploration of how the principal people in Victor’s life have shaped or continue to deshape him in various forms. Central to this is Victor’s trick of choking in restaurants, hence the tile, in order to get strangers to “save his life”. In gratitude for Victor’s gift of meaning to their lives, these not-so strangers send him letters and money, money he uses to support his mother, now rotting away into senility in a psychiatric clinic. As the tale progresses, we’re bitchslapped by revelations, and, as before in Invisible Monsters, by the lies and stories we use to identify our selves and our own narrative paths. Palahniuk is sharp and concurrently blunt in his style, and it’s a reassuring tool that helps carry the book far beyond what a mediocre writer might have conceived. He also offers this, on the final pages, a sign that not all deconstruction leads to destruction:    We can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are. Sane or insane. Saints or sex addicts. Heroes or victims. Letting history tell us how good or bad we are.     Letting our past decide our future.     Or we can decide for ourselves.     And maybe it’s our job to invent something better. Like Coupland’s Girlfriend in a Coma, Palahniuk’s Choke reminds us of how we must create meaning in this void, how important dreams are, and how easy it is to be sucked into the quagmire of routine and conformity unless something, unless we, refuse to be sucked along.
Title: the day eazy-e died Author: James Earl Hardy Publisher: Alyson This review first published in DOA	Eazy-E was never conventional. One of the founding members of original ghetto-gangster superband NWA, he strutted his stuff like no-one else.  A sex-machine on two long legs with  a motor-mouth that ran over with epitaphs, put-downs, hump-a-rhymes and infuriating phrases that no-one could ever refer to as gay-friendly, it came as a shock not just to rap fans, but to the music world in general, when he announced that he had HIV/AIDS and died soon after. Defiantly straight, his announcement was prefaced by the (un)familiar clause, “contracted via unprotected heterosexual sex”, as if to preclude any thoughts of other possibilities that could damage the public opinion that E seemed to want to so often defy. Just as unfamiliar then is this novel, the fourth by Earl Harding, and the sequel to his earlier tale If Only for One Nite. the Day... sees the return of model/father/gay and black Raheim, who struggles with the news of Eazy E’s illness, for very personal reasons. His past, semi-promiscuous sex life haunts him in his new relationship with Mitchell, and the taboos that face gay African-Americans strains Raheim’s grip on honesty, to those around him and also to himself. the Day... is an intriguing novel then, for its attempts to deal with subjects normally silenced within the communities to which Raheim belongs, as well as the dialogue that Hardy uses to convey the urban street-wise existence of his characters. It’s a bold move to portray authenticity, and most of the time it works well considering the topics tackled. Whilst never escaping from its romantic/hip generic constraints, the day... is nevertheless an brave work which is sure to please fans of Hardy’s earlier books. I can’t say I’m a huge admirer of his style or prose, but that doesn't mean that books like these shouldn't’t be published or read. It’s probably exactly the opposite, and as a white, queer reader, I was provoked by the novel to question some of my assumptions and ideas, which is never a bad thing. And, for those looking for a light weight look at some serious issues in a contemporary way, you could do far worse than to check this out.
Title: Fast Eddie, King of the Bees Author: Robert Arellano Publisher: Akashic This review first published in DOA	Dig City, metropolis of the haves, and the have-nothings. The twenty-first century is in full swing, and Eddie, an orphan raised by a street-wise shyster, is trying to find himself a role in life - as a thief, with altruistic motives; as an unwanted son of mystery parents and as a soul in a society that exists to scam. Equally cursed and blessed by his huge feet, our protagonist overcomes his assigned moniker of Eddie Feet to become Fast Eddie and sets off, via a series of mishaps, to discover the nature of his true identity. Arellano, well known for his guitar playing with Bonny Prince Billy, is equally famed as the author of the net’s first interactive novel, Sunshine 69, under the moniker of Bobby Rabyd. Akashic have picked up his first print novel as part of their Urban Surreal series, and its a roller-coaster ride through post-urban landscapes of suburbs run by crime bosses, underscored by the white-collar wealth of a public infrastructure made private by profits and exploitations. Arellano reinvents and reworks the Oedipus story, as well as sending Eddie into the underground den of social outcasts and revolutionaries, the Hive, and putting him on a literal collision course with the King, a karaoke-mad, truck driving maniac who threatens to send our hero into the afterlife long before he ends his quest. As you can tell, Fast Eddie is a cunning play on popular and classical narratives, as well as a cunning satire on the mediocrities of life, both suburban and city-based, the emptiness of communities, and the increasing divisions of wealth that result in the disenfranchising of the individual and of culture itself. Arellano’s language throughout the novel is a rapid-fire linguistic free-for-all, at times more a rap than a traditional narrative plot, yet it hangs together superbly, and, as the novel progresses, the text adequately represents the increasing chaos and confusion. Smart, funny, bitter and beautifully twisted, Fast Eddie, King of the Bees, makes an entertaining, engaging and rewarding read.
Title: The New Sins Author: David Byrne Publisher: McSweeney’s This review first published in DOA	What do you get when you cross the former lead singer of Talking Heads with the publishing company of a man responsible for one of the great books of last year (ie David Eggars)? The New Sins, of course, a text that establishes itself with the following caveat: There is philosophy here, and other things that only a fool would try to describe. And yes, this fool is about to attempt a description of what could be termed as either the new ethical guidelines for the noughties, or a sublime, post-modernist, self-referential deconstruction of self-help/guidance texts that attempt to establish a new ethical approach for the noughties. Understood? Though any nine year old knows not to judge a book by its cover, it’s important here to recognise that Byrne’s text, in its Biblical maroon, immediately posits itself as a serious tome, downright religious, like the freebie Mormon Bibles you can send away for. The New Sins reveals itselves inside, split into two almost-identical halves, one in Spanish and one in English, to satisfy its original purpose as part of Byrne’s presentation to Spain’s Valencia Bienal earlier this year. Scattered throughout are photographs, taken by Byrne, that possibly provide additional meaning, or, as the book explains on page 11, “to explain what the texts obscure.” And yet the photos are different for the Spanish section, suggesting multiplicities of meanings curled up in cultural contextualities, or alternatively an attention to detail in design. As you can see, The New Sins cannot be grasped on a singular level. It warns of the dangers of charity, beauty, hope, honesty and cleanliness (the latter a sin against nature), among others, and offers ways of resistance, of challenge, and of repentance. It also exhorts that words have come to mean their exact opposite, so, like Wilde suggests, the most important things in life are trivial, and those that are trivial are most important...or is it the opposite? Could Byrne, or rather, Byrne’s text be serious as he implores us to go beyond sin and virtue, the sane and the insane, to resist the diseases of ambition, the propaganda of the pop song? Could he even possibly be joking? Is it possible to distinguish between the truth that lie in humour and the darkness that lies behind the light? Have I stopped making sense? The New Sins is complex, deceiving yet revelatory, like an idea of Foucault’s that can constrain you at the same time as it empowers you. Maybe Byrne has measured the times exactly and produced a work of reference that, in it’s very superficiality, becomes the most profound text I will read this year. I’m impressed, but undecided. Repressed, yet excited. Blurred, like meaning, in this review. Goodnight.

<-click> For More Book Reviews