The Natalie Walschots and Stephen Cain reading last night was good. I wouldn't have minded a third reader, but Stephen read a very lively selection, and read sections from the "American" and "Canadian" sections of his latest book, so there was a lot of variety. The first poem he read, "American Psycho," was making me feel alienated-- the language was, in a hard-to-pin-down-way, disturbing. Then Paul whispered to me that it was all taken from Bret Easton Ellis'
American Psycho. Then, only then, did I finally understand. No, seriously though, it would've helped ease me into the reading to know that the poem was a treatment of
American Psycho instead of wondering vaguely if Stephen Cain was a misogynist, or racist. The language was so borderline though, it was a question of tone almost, which made me squirrely. Squirmy. Cain later talked a little bit about his writerly process, and mentioned that he is a constraint-based writer, or at least wrote
American Standard Canada Dry using different formal constraints, filters, translations.
Natalie's writing is more familiar to me-- the disorientation, the surprise I feel when I "get" one of the compositional tactics didn't happen for me listening to Natalie (I mean because it only happens once, right? I'm no longer a Walschots virgin). Interesting to think about the difference that familiarity with a body of work, its mechanics, makes. The juxtaposition of Natalie and Stephen for me was "successful" as an oral/aural pairing because of the familiarity/unfamiliarity dynamic. Plus, the show up at The New Gallery involved distillation and fish tanks, and, in honour of the fishies, Natalie read what I'm going to dub her "fish up the bum" poem. Fun! (You can get a reasonable fishsimile of the experience-- that is, the reading experience, not the fish up the bum experience-- by reading Natalie's NO Press chappie "Passion Play" while checking out Robyn Moody's
Still.)
After the reading we went to the Drum and Monkey to Drink Canada Dry. I became loud and passionate about metaphorical mangy puppies. Sorry, Jordan Nail. I know you care about (metaphorical) mangy (sp?) puppies too.
Ok, so speaking of Bret Easton Ellis, I just read
Lunar Park a few days ago. This is not an author I would normally read, but Paul wrote his MA thesis on
American Psycho and
Fight Club and so there are all sorts of books by coked up American authors lying about our place. Paul ripped through
Lunar Park late into the night, and he laughed a lot at first and then became seriously freaked out. His range of reactions to the book, plus his conversations about it, convinced me to give it a read. I similarly raced through the book, reading until 4:00 in the morning.
Lunar Park is a very interesting book-- in a nutshell, the narrator and main character is Bret Easton Ellis, and the book seems to be a reflective account of his life post-
American Psycho and those other books he wrote that weren't quite as infamous. He becomes a family guy and tries to stop drinking and taking drugs. He begins to be haunted/stalked by his character Patrick Bateman/Christain Bale/his Father/himself as a younger man/a deranged copycat fan. The book becomes truly frightening, playing with horror conventions, playing with "authority," dealing with writerly responsibility, all in a package of narrative.
Ok, and guess what? There is a metaphorical mangy puppy in
Lunar Park! How's that for a masterfully written blog entry! Do I know how to tie it all together or what?!
Um, anyway....
