“When you are thirsty dishwater is as good as holywater—is a certain belief.” – Christian Teresi, “LIKE SHINING FROM SHOOK FOIL”
Since that horror rec column, Mallory and I finally watched The Backrooms. Really enjoyed it! I bet it was a great theater experience, all those weird lights and unsettling sounds. We saw Obsession in theaters and really loved it, rewatched a month or so ago and still loved it. Idk if Backrooms is as good, or if I just watched Backrooms while also taking care of a not-quite-one-month-old. I do think it’s interesting that both movies prominently feature a man who cannot grow the fuck up. Brutal state of affairs for men lately, and I’m not talking about “the male loneliness epidemic” or “HR ladies” or “woke campuses” or whatever the right wing is currently panicking about. I’m talking about these louts who can’t take responsibility for their own actions or thoughts or words or desires, these losers who can’t get their shit together. I’m not a perfect person—I am in recovery from a pretty serious drinking problem and I have had times where I’ve been an inconsiderate, thoughtless jerk—but one quality I’ve got in spades is a willingness to change. Showing growth: it’s possible!
What I’ve Been Reading This Week
So listen—these were the last two books I read before the baby arrived. A very good novel and very good collection of poetry. HOWEVER, they are not exactly easy texts, and my brain was on one of those teacup rides you see at state fairs. Now, my brain’s just on one of those Hellevator/Tower of Terror type deals. So. Two books that I really enjoyed. Two great October books, although the novel might work better for Noirvember. All the same, two books that went over my head a little bit. They’re both staying on the shelves though—I want another crack at both. I’m talking, of course, about the the bird is gone by Stephen Graham Jones and What Monsters You Make Of Them by Christian Teresi.
the bird is gone by Stephen Graham Jones: an SGJ novel teaches you to read it. Guy’s a storyteller. A lover of the way language jukes and twists. A lover of oh you know what THAT means lines, and not necessarily in a sexual way. He’s never going to give it to you entirely straight, he’s constantly leaning in close to conspiratorially whisper in your ear. Novels like Mongrels or I Was A Teenage Slasher are on the easier to follow end of the spectrum. The Indian Lake Trilogy has an ostensibly easy setup: Jade Daniels is our Final Girl, even penning essays about how slashers work. Those books shift around, though, and make you work to get all the details. This one? Hoo boy. Hey, it’s on FC2. What else would you expect from an FC2 novel?
Our setup is a little fantasy, a little murder mystery. Someone has accidentally given the Dakotas back—literally through inadvertent magic fiat—and people don’t super know what to make of it. There is a treaty, yes, signed under duress with General Sherman, but someone hid that treaty in a stolen pipe, stuffed that pipe in a bowling alley locker, and flushed the keys down the toilet. Our characters are gathered (with their various baggages) at said bowling alley. It’s an SGJ novel, so one of those characters is a janitor writing a manifesto. There’s also a mute former commercial actress, a pair of former Twin Towers Basketball Players who went radically different ways once their playing days ended, and a number of others who would be just as comfortable in a Tom Waits song. Man, I had trouble understanding this novel, but I did not struggle to feel the vibe. This novel is a cigarette you know you shouldn’t have, but you also know one won’t kill you. Eh, so what if it does? The United States government wants to return all the natural flora and fauna to the Great Plains. Death to imperialism, death to colonization.
It was often difficult for me to know who was narrating or exactly what was happening (and how, in the Bacteen chapter). That’s pretty embarrassing to admit publicly—chalking it up to pre-infant-birthday brain. I’d love to sit with the text longer, really figure things out, because a difficult text is not a problem. A difficult text is a blessing, especially one with sentences as fun as this. What really carried me was the moodiness—the atmosphere sort of always feels like you’re in a grimy bowling alley bar in one of the Dakotas. Even the scenes out in nature or at different times feel like some barfly is relating the events. A welcome setting, a narrator who I’ll buy another beer.
What Monsters You Make Of Them by Christian Teresi: the best use of contrapuntal this side of Tyehimba Jess. There’s a lot of marriage of high and low—we have Mike Tyson talking to John Keats. We have a poem that describes itself as an etymology and has an epigraph from Mitch Hedburg. These are extraordinarily intellectual poems, but also very readable. If you’re putting together a four for $20 deal at the Red Hen table at AWP this year, consider adding this book to the pile.
LINKS!
Something to listen to while you browse? This is my favorite song right now. The unison riff has replaced “Sir Duke” as my favorite unison riff. Sorry, Stevie.
- NBA season started this week. I liked Tom Ziller’s “Encores” piece, asking if the Thunder, Spurs, Nuggets, and Pacers can get their magic back after a couple of hiccups
- it’s not what you write, it’s how you write about it by José Olivarez in Office Hours
- The Miami Sol’s Needless Demise Provided A Familiar Lesson by Frankie de la Cretaz in Defector
- My Beautiful Beast: Monsters, Frankenstein, and Gladys by Dorian Dawes on their Patreon
- Shirley Jackson, Literary Genius Revisited by Sean deLone in Dear Head Of Mine
What’re you still doing here? Should we make amends with Stevie Wonder?
If you work in the service industry, may you clean up in tips this weekend. And really, go read a Stephen Graham Jones novel. Dude really writes great working class characters. I recommend starting with Mongrels or The Only Good Indians, but why not dive into Indian Lake Trilogy? Whatever you do, have fun and get scared.
Sorry you got an email,
Chris