BFI Film Classics The Exorcist by Mark Kermode

 BFI Film Classics The Exorcist 

by Mark Kermode

BFI Film Classics The Exorcist cover

Author and film critic Mark Kermode

I was very excited to read this BFI Modern Classics about The Exorcist, one of my favorite films of all time. Furthermore, in other books I’ve read about the film version of The Exorcist, Mark Kermode is often cited as the authority on this film. The book doesn’t disappoint as it explores the production of the film, as well examining key decisions that both Blatty and Freidkin made in the script, direction, and editing of the film, and how this potentially altered the meaning and themes of the film. Kermode starts the book, though, exploring some of the background from the true story of a boy who underwent an exorcism in the 1940s, and how this story inspired William Peter Blatty, a young screenwriter in the 1960s.

One of the best parts of the book is in Chapter 2 where Kermode explores the beginning of The Exorcist, which takes place in Iraq, and involves the discovery of a Christian medal in an ancient tomb that pre-dates Christianity. I’ve always loved this opening scene since there isn’t really any dialogue, but a series of images that viewers are left to assemble and assign meaning to. What I didn’t realize, though, was that some of the sounds are heard again later in the film when Father Merrin is battling the demon in Regan. The tone of this part is so menacing, especially when the dogs fight. Kermode also notes the visual cues that appear again, from the statue of Pazuzu to the cataract in a man’s eye, which appears like the whites of Regan’s eyes when she is possessed. It also helps to show that this battle between good and evil, between old and new, is something that is continuous and has spanned generations and many different eras in time.

From there Kermode moves the analysis to Georgetown, where the actress Chris MacNeil is working on a new film that seems to be about campus protests, again highlighting the kind of battle between older generations and younger generations, who seemingly have different values and ideas about achieving their goals. This was something I had previously read about in other books about the film, but it makes sense that part of what was so appealing and frightening for adults watching The Exorcist was that it was about teenage rebellion, about growing and changing, and the challenges that these kinds of changes have on the relationships between parents and kids. Kermode doesn’t necessarily frame the analysis this way, looking at it more from generational differences, but it is interesting to consider that element of it, even if Regan represents extreme changes. In fact, some of the doctors in the film who are looking for an organic or physiological explanation for Regan’s behavior changes seem to think that her outbursts are related to mental or physical disorders possibly occurring before puberty. While Chris begins to experience these challenges with Regan, Father Damien Karras, a young Jesuit priest in Georgetown, is also struggling with relationship with his mother, who lives in New York and requires support for her ailing health. Karras also seems to struggle with his faith, wondering whether he still believes in God, as he sees suffering all around him. Again, Kermode notes some of the visual cues that Friedkin emphasizes and returns to throughout the film, especially in his analysis of Karras’s dream after his mother passes away. Again, I’ve always thought that these kind of surreal montages in the film are what distinguishes it from other films. It’s an incredible way of telling the story and conveying emotion and empathy in viewers.

In addition to analyzing the film choices from Blatty and Friedkin, Kermode also explores the innovative special and make-up effects that made so many people frightened and fascinated with The Exorcist. It was really cool to find out more about how some of the effects were pulled off, although it’s sad to read about the injuries that Linda Blair and Ellen Burstyn sustained on the set. Furthermore, we learned about the stunt double and voice actor who weren’t credited for their work initially. If you don’t know about this story, it’s an interesting piece of trivia for the film, especially since the stunt double was the one who wore the Captain Howdy makeup in which there are some jump cuts to show her face randomly in the film. Kermode also mentions a few of the “cursed” elements of the film, like the injuries that the actors sustained, as well as the deaths of some of the other actors shortly after, and the set burning at one point that delayed shooting. However, what I really enjoyed reading about what the attempts to recut the film in the late 90s, and how Friedkin’s decision to re-evaluate the themes and meaning of the film led him to seek out footage in the Warner Brothers vaults and recut the film to add in different scenes. This included the infamous spider walk scene that apparently couldn’t be included in the film until digital editing was available to remove the appearance of the wires. Kermode also interviews the effect coordinator who devised the wire harness that allowed for the spider walk. It was really amazing to learn more about the decisions that went into editing the film, and about how ordering certain scenes and conversations altered meaning and understanding of the plot points. Interestingly, in the original theatrical cut, Regan is never prescribed pills, but they are mentioned at some point prior to the exorcism. As Kermode explains Friedkin’s directing skills prevented many viewers from catching this flaw. The story and pace of the film moved so well with the action that people didn’t really notice. It wasn’t until the recut of the film in 1999 where they incorporated the doctor’s prescription in. I remember seeing that version in the theater, and the medical scenes are almost more horrifying than the exorcism itself. The cold, clinical setting of the hospital paired with the industrial soundtrack of the diagnostic machines added to an anxious feeling as we, like Chris, witness Regan suffering to find out how to end her suffering. In any event, it was amazing to read more about the decisions to re-cut the film, and the challenges that Friedkin faced in finding soundtracks and footage to include in the new version. I also didn’t realize that there were montages of Regan and Chris exploring DC on their own, and as Kermode explained, these were not included because there were no audio tracks for this scene. Regardless, I loved the 1999 version and seeing it on the big screen was so exciting. Reading this book is also exciting and fascinating. Not only did I gain a deeper insight into elements of the film, but I also loved learning more about the decisions and choices that went into making the film, whether it involved editing decisions, soundtracks, or characters and dialogue. It was amazing to read about all of these different aspects of The Exorcist and how they can impact the meaning and themes of the film. Highly recommended. 

God's Lonely Man: Analyzing Taxi Driver in BFI Film Classics by Amy Taubin

 BFI Film Classic Taxi Driver by Amy Taubin

BFI Film Classic Taxi Driver cover

Author and critic Amy Taubin

Taxi Driver is a powerful character study about “God’s Lonely Man”, written by Paul Schrader and directed by Martin Scorsese. There was a period of time when I watched this film frequently, which looking back, probably wasn’t the best use of my time. However, I was so riveted by Travis’s descent into madness, and how his inability to connect with others had him find meaning in other ways, particularly through violence. Amy Taubin’s critical study of this 1970s classic was great to read if you are a fan of this film. She provides some background about Schrader’s influences on the screenplay, and it was fascinating to see how existential works like Dostoevsky’s Notes from the Underground and Sartre’s Nausea were influential developing Travis Bickle. However, it was also the story of Arthur Bremer, the man who attempted to assassinate George Wallace in 1972, and his diary, which focuses on his loneliness, isolation and failed attempts at connection and intimacy, that further inspired Schrader’s screenplay. Taubin also provides further context for the setting of the film- NYC in the 1970s, that was dealing with recession and economic problems, as well as America’s withdrawal from Vietnam. All of these factors fed Travis’s sense of isolation and loneliness, and prompted him to use his insomnia as a means of making money and finding connections as a taxi driver. I wasn’t previously aware of Bremer’s role in influencing the script, but as Taubin notes and many are aware, the film was also an inspiration for a later assassination attempt. It’s interesting to read some of these factors that went into creating the character of Travis since there continues to be similar loneliness and isolation people experience. These feelings were heightened by COVID and quarantining, but I also wondered how much social media and our lives online are contributing to this sense of isolation. Although Taubin’s book doesn’t address these kinds of questions, she does take a modern lens to looking at the film and examining Travis’s character through race, class, and gender. As Taubin notes, Taxi Driver, following in the footsteps of other vigilante films of the 70s, may have been an attempt to reclaim the urban landscape from Blaxspoitation films. She also notes that racism is one of the problems that Taxi Driver never directly addresses, providing examples of how seems distant from the other drivers at the diner, but sits furthest from Charlie T., the only Black cab driver. From here, Taubin explores the debt Taxi Driver owes to The Searchers, the 50s John Ford western that pits John Wayne’s Ethan, a returning Civil War veteran, against the Comanche chief who has taken one of his relatives. Although I knew this film influenced Star Wars, I hadn’t realized it’s influence on Taxi Driver, and it’s interesting to think about how Taxi Driver is kind of like an urban western, where the hero’s actions and motivations are not always clearly altruistic or good. Although Taubin explains that Travis’s mohawk was influenced by Vietnam special forces soldiers who were out on lethal missions, I wonder if there was some connection to the Searchers and the warrior ethos of the Comanche. Although Travis somewhat identifies with Ethan’s character as someone who is seeking to rescue a woman, it might also speak to Travis’s identity diffusion and his inability to clearly define himself in the modern world.

In addition to issues of race, Taubin’s analysis also focuses on class and gender, specifically how Travis’s loneliness affects his search for love and connection. During his night shift driving, he encounters lovers and prostitutes, while also exploring the rough terrain of 42^nd Street’s theaters. Taubin notes that many of these scenes capture Travis alone in the frame, or rather on the street near people, but seemingly isolated and distant from them as the center of the shot. It isn’t until Travis encounters Betsy, a volunteer working on the campaign for Palantine, a presidential candidate. Despite coming from different backgrounds and seeming to share no real interests, Betsy agrees to a date with Travis that goes horribly wrong. Once again, we see Travis’s inability to clearly define himself, as he identifies immediately with Palantine while not really knowing anything about him. It’s merely to appeal to Betsy. As Taubin notes, Travis’s attempts to further connect with Betsy, eventually leading him to consider assassinating Palantine, ostensibly to gain Betsy’s attention, similar to Bremer’s attempt to assassinate Wallace (and later Brinkley’s attempted assassination). When Travis’s half-hearted attempt fails, he finds further purpose in another chance encounter with a girl, Iris, whose pimp Sport Taubin presents as a stand-in for Chief Scar in The Searchers. This was also fascinating to read as Taubin not only notes the similarities between Ethan’s quest for Debbie and Travis’s obsession with saving Iris from Sport, but also in noting that Iris and Sport are kind of like the remnants of the hippies, the failed attempts at love and connection that gradually degenerated and brought things to the mid 70s NYC. It was interesting too to see the parallels in Travis finding meaning and identity through women. His inability to connect with them and find appropriate ways of communicating gradually leads to his further isolation and resorting to violence as a means of gaining attention. Throughout the exploration of the story, Taubin also analyzes various aspects of the film and characters, exploring how they emphasize the themes of loneliness, isolation, and the kind of violence that occurs throughout the film. I absolutely loved reading this analysis as it provided me with a new way to consider this excellent film. It’s made me want to revisit this film, since it’s been some time since I’ve seen it. I also appreciated how thinking about the film in today’s world makes some of the issues and concerns that Taxi Driver raises even more important and resonant. I’m thoroughly enjoying reading these BFI Film analyses, and this one has been particularly enlightening and thoughtful in its consideration of Taxi Driver.   

BFI Film Classics The Manchurian Candidate

 BFI Film Classics The Manchurian Candidate by Greil Marcus

BFI Film Classic The Manchurian Candidate cover

Author and Critic Greil Marcus

I recently read David M. Stewart’s excellent Demme biography There’s No Going Back, and Demme remade The Manchurian Candidate in the early 2000s, post-9/11 in a world that had not quite yet realized the full fever dream of online conspiracies. While there were conspiracies about 9/11, the so-called weapons of mass destruction, and even the 2000 election, they hadn’t yet spread wild over the internet, so it was interesting to see Demme re-imagine this classic film for a new generation grappling with its own wars, both physical and ideological. I was really excited to find this BFI Modern Classics on the 1962 version of the Manchurian Candidate written by one of my favorite critics, Greil Marcus. I always enjoy Marcus’s views and perspectives on music, history, culture, and art, and this book presents an interesting take on the history of the film in both its original context and a modern context. What I also found interesting was Marcus’s own personal perspective on this film.

Marcus presents a linear analysis of the film’s plot, but seemingly moves between time, presenting the meaning of the film in the 50s and its Cold War anti-communist ideologies, in the 1960s, released a year before Kennedy’s assassination, and in the 2000 in a post-9/11 world. I found this approach to be fascinating since the film is both preposterous, as Marcus notes, but contains elements of real individuals and events like Senator Iselin, who is modeled after Joseph McCarthy. Furthermore, Marcus notes how similar the imagery of the film is to The Twilight Zone, a show that had just become popular for its presentation of an uncanny simulacrum of our world. In particular, he uses the dream sequences that are shared among different members of Marco and Shaw’s platoon, where the envision a Ladies Garden Club meeting in New Jersey, but really it is a meeting of communist leaders discussing their plans for mind control and assassination. As Marcus notes, the scene slips between the imagined and the real without any kind of clear indication for viewers, something that is unique in its portrayal. It is a rather disorienting scene, but one that is also shocking and innovative.

Like any Marcus deep dive into a work of art, this book contains considerable reflection on the film’s relationship with real life events, in particular assassinations that followed in the years after the film’s release. I hadn’t realized how close in proximity this film was to Kennedy’s assassination, which explains why it was not available for 25 years, until 1988. In Chapter 4, Marcus explores how the term Manchurian Candidate has become a part of the political and conspiratorial vocabulary, especially with all of the political and celebrity assassinations in the years following the film’s release. Marcus is not indicating any kind of causation, but rather looking at the film’s ideas about conspiracy and machinations, and how people have used fiction to explain or make up the reality that is often unexplained or mysterious. In particular, the book and film play on fears from the 50s of the Red Scare, and I found this interesting in today’s climate, and how often people will exploit fear, resentment, and anger, primal emotions, to gain followers or votes. It’s interesting to reconsider this film now when the speed of information is often too quick to verify or find out what is true.

Marcus is always a great critic whose keen insight and ability to creatively contextualize a work both for its time period and modern times enables readers to gain a unique perspective on films, music, and literature. I really enjoyed this book, especially after watching The Manchurian Candidate. It helped me understand the film better and find deeper meaning in the symbols and shots throughout the film. Highly recommended. 

BFI's Modern Classics Analyzes Silence of the Lambs

 BFI Modern Classics: Silence of the Lambs by Yvonne Tasker

BFI Modern Classics Silence Of the Lambs

Author and scholar Yvonne Tasker

This was the first BFI Modern Classics book I’ve read, and I decided to read Tasker’s Silence of the Lambs analysis after recently reading David M. Stewart’s excellent Demme biography There’s No Going Back. I haven’t watched Silence of the Lambs for some time, but I did read and watch Red Dragon and Manhunter about 2 summers ago, so it seemed like a good time to revisit this classic film and read up on some analysis of the film. In re-watching the film after reading Stewart’s book, I was struck by all of the amazing cinematography in the film, as well as the incredible editing that leads to a brisk and engaging pace towards the end of the film. This is truly one of the best films of the 90s and arguably one of the best horror/thriller films. Rewatching the film also made me appreciate Tasker’s analysis of the film’s themes, symbols, and groundbreaking story at the time. Furthermore, Tasker analyzes not just the film, but contrasts it with the book to show what elements were either left out, emphasized, or adjusted for the purpose of the film. Tasker walks through the film’s chronology, but also emphasizes certain elements in each chapter. Chapter 1 examines the symbolic nature of the film, looking at birds, lambs, and butterflies. I didn’t even think about Starling’s name, and how that represents the idea of a bird, something that is sometimes free to roam, but at other times hunted or in a cage. The lamb and butterfly symbolism are a little more apparent, but Tasker provides a useful and insightful analysis in understanding how these symbols function in the overall narrative and themes of the film, as well as how the visual imagery of the film helps to further highlight and emphasize the meaning.

Chapter 2 was particularly interesting as Tasker notes how this film helped to launch the female investigator films that often copied from Silence of the Lambs. While the book was written in the early 2000s, and includes films like Copycat and The Cell, I also thought about Longlegs, which not only takes place around the same time as Silence of the Lambs, but shared a similar visual aesthetic with the film. One of the other elements of Silence that stood out to me on this re-watch was how much Starling was scrutinized as a woman, not just as a cadet. There are several scenes in the film where Demme uses an eye-line match to have the audience experience men staring at her with questioning or skeptical eyes. I was amazed by how many close-up and eye-line match shots there are throughout the film, which enabled viewers to build a kind of empathy and understanding with Starling.

Chapter 4 was also interesting in that it presented the dichotomy between the settings for the film, shifting between the modernist settings like the FBI offices and the more gothic settings like Lecter’s cells and Gumb’s (Buffalo Bill) home. Tasker notes the idea of female gothic, and how gothic settings are often presented as places of disturbances and disorientation, but in both gothic settings, there are paths to understanding or further journeys. Tasker notes the stairs that lead to an undisclosed location in Lecter’s basement cell, as well as the labyrinth like arrangement of Bill’s basement. Both places push Starling to uncomfortable and even dangerous interactions, but enable her to “look deep within” to put clues together and solve the mystery. The last chapter focuses on touch and skin, which I was also glad to read since I noticed that both Lecter and Director Crawford touch Starling’s hand, while the camera focuses a closeup on these interactions. Tasker notes the psychoanalytic qualities of these interactions, and how they lead back to Starling’s memories of her father, and how Lecter and Crawford serve as different types of father figures for her.

In addition to the thoughtful and detailed analysis of the film, the book features amazing color photos from the film that highlight some of the shots, symbols and scenes that Tasker references in her analysis. This was also helpful in understanding her analysis and looking at some of the amazing images from the film. I really enjoyed reading this analysis, and I’m looking forward to reading a few other of these BFI Modern Classics from my library. This is a great, short selection to read if you are a fan of films, and especially if you want to explore some interesting and thoughtful interpretations of this amazing film.  

Documenting the Creation of an Iconic Album: Tonight in Jungleland by Peter Ames Carlin

 Tonight in Jungleland: The Making of Born to Run by Peter Ames Carlin

Tonight in Jungleland book cover

Many thanks to Doubleday Books and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Peter Ames Carlin’s detailed and compelling book Tonight in Jungleland: The Making of Born to Run. I recently read Carlin’s The Name of This Band is R.E.M., and thoroughly enjoyed how comprehensive that book was in exploring the origins and career of a band that spanned different eras in music. I also knew that Carlin previously wrote a biography of Springsteen, so it seemed like he is not only an excellent music journalist, but also is knowledgeable about the subject. What was different was that rather than covering the entirety of this musician’s career, he had to narrow the focus and analyze the factors and events that led to the creation of one of Springsteen’s most heralded albums, Born to Run. Carlin explains these differences in the “Acknowledgement” section when he writes “covering the expanse of Bruce’s life and career hadn’t allowed for the sort of close attention to any particular album that this project required. So there was still a lot to learn, and quite a bit of new information to chase down and digest. Doing this required the cooperation, help and patience of many people.” That is one of the great aspects of this book in that many of the key players collaborated with Carlin on this book, providing further insights into the struggles, barriers, and doubts that arose during the creation of this album. This was also a noticeable difference from his R.E.M. book, where the band members did not participate in the book (although it is also a great read). Furthermore, the book arrives just in time for the 50^th anniversary of this album, and while this album and the song “Born to Run” in particular have become important for rock and roll, Carlin emphasizes that “Every work of art is the product of someone’s extraordinary effort. But some projects still feel surrounded by at least some measures of grace,” and this book helps to explore the unique circumstances that contributed to making this album special and helping make Springsteen and the E Street Band such an iconic American rock band.

Although I’m not huge Springsteen fan, I appreciate his work, and hadn’t realized how challenging it was to create this album. Carlin’s book spends most of the book exploring the musical and business aspect that led to this album, and doesn’t spend that much time exploring the personal influences of Springsteen’s life, although some of the chapters focus on his family and growing up in Freehold. I was amazed to learn that Springsteen faced limited support from his record label in creating Born to Run since his previous two albums were critically praised, but did not receive much commercial attention and had limited sales. Furthermore, Carlin provides some historical context about the early to mid-1970s both across the nation and in areas in Jersey like Asbury Park, where Springsteen and his band were gigging and practicing. It’s important to consider in that the nation was facing the Watergate Scandal and economic uncertainties and strains with events like the oil embargo. This contextualization helps to paint the kind of dire and hopeless situation that many Americans experienced, which also might one of the reasons that Springsteen’s Born to Run resonated with many people, as he often championed downtrodden characters who were fighting their ways out of desolate and hopeless situations, professing how the town “rips the bones from your back…we gotta get out while we’re young…” I gained a new appreciation for this album and its music, helping to better understand how Springsteen’s lyrics and music presented music as a kind of escape or salvation from many of the wrongs in the world. In particular, it was interesting to see how his band was interracial and evenly split between white and Black members, which at the time was not that common. Carlin notes, too, how this kind of integration was a part of the album’s photography and artwork for the cover, with Springsteen asking for Clarence Clemons to be on the cover with him.

Carlin’s book presents the challenges that Springsteen faced from his record label, especially since they were unwilling to front the money to record the album, which required Springsteen and his band to go out and tour to make money to pay for studio time just to record some singles to share with his label what the new record might sound like. Carlin’s book includes the perspective of Springsteen’s manager and first producer, Mike Appel, and how integral he was to supporting Springsteen’s early career. Throughout these financial challenges, Springsteen was able to maintain his band, although some members from the original band departed. This further delayed the ability to tour and record since the new members had to learn the music and adapt to the styles. Regardless, it was interesting to see these challenges and how Springsteen was able to maintain such a large band with many different members who obviously believed in him and his music.

Carlin’s research also delves into the lyrical content where readers learn about the car culture of Asbury Park, and how Springsteen’s experience with some racers led to some of the more famous lyrics from the album, as well as the imagery and symbolism of songs like “Jungleland” and “Tenth Avenue Freezeout.” I enjoyed learning about this aspect of the album, especially considering the time period and how Springsteen’s lyrics created unique characters who were battling not only for their lives, but also for their futures, challenging the inequality and barriers in society. However, my favorite aspect of the book focused on the recording process, where we learned about the studio challenges that Springsteen and the band faced when trying to capture the music and intensity of the live shows. It was fascinating to learn that Jimmy Iovine was one of the engineers for the album, and that Springsteen brought in Jon Landau, who at the time was an emerging music critic, to co-produce the album with Appel. In Carlin’s estimation, it seems like having the co-producers led to some disagreements and delays, but also heightened the quality of the recording since Appel and Landau had different perspectives on the music. It was also fascinating to think about how the technology of the time limited the ways the band could record their sound, and with a large band featuring not just traditional rock instruments, but also horns, it was a challenge to capture the various dynamics of these sounds on a limited amount of tracks. In assessing the recording sessions and highlighting some of the challenges from those sessions, Carlin seems to indicate that these limitations helped to shape different directions and versions of the songs, where Springsteen and the band were revising different parts of the songs, playing instruments differently to emphasize emotions and ideas from the songs. I loved reading about this creative process, and it was fascinating to learn about how the recording process and the limitations of technology influenced the ways the songs were shaped. In addition, Carlin presents the challenges of artists who want to maintain a vision, yet are also compelled to sell records through the typical process of creating radio-friendly pop music. It seemed like the two producers were in a constant struggle to manage both the artistic vision and the commercial appeal of the album that features some songs that run over 5 minutes.

One of the more surprising aspects of the book was Springsteen’s reaction to the initial pressing before the album was released. Despite encouragement from his co-producers and others at the record label, Springsteen seemed unhappy with this, and Carlin attributes these initial reactions to self-doubt largely from his father. It’s not a major theme of the book, but Springsteen’s complicated relationship with his parents, and his dad in particular, does come up a few times, and it seemed to play a hand in Springsteen’s personal questions about whether he was staying true to his vision or if he was making an album to just sell records. It was not something I expected to encounter considering Springsteen’s place in rock history. Nevertheless, it was interesting to see how he responded to the initial pressing, and how his band members, producers, and others who are close to him reassured him about this album. Much like Carlin’s R.E.M. book, Tonight in Jungleland highlights how musicians have to navigate the border between artistic integrity and commercial success; however, this book is primarily focused on the process and factors that led to the creation of an iconic album. I appreciated this detailed focus and Carlin’s meticulous research and interviews that help to flesh out this process. Highly recommended. 

An Oral History of Atlantis: Stories that Push the Boundaries of Creative Writing

 An Oral History of Atlantis: Stories by Ed Park

An Oral History of Atlantis book cover

Author Ed Park

Big thanks to Random House and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Ed Park’s incredible new short story collection An Oral History of Atlantis: Stories. I have heard of Ed Park, but haven’t read anything from him, although Same Bed Different Dreams is on my to-read list. I was surprised at how funny and absurd the stories in this collection are. I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect, but I found the stories to all be strange and absurd and often presenting apt and humorous characterizations of elements of modern life, especially in areas of art, writing, and technology. Furthermore, these aren’t traditional, canonical type of short stories from the past, but rather I found them to be unique character studies where we find the characters engaged in a strange or complicated aspect of life. In addition, a few of the stories take narrative risks and present the story in unique formats, which I really enjoyed. Sometimes these approaches to stories can seem more like a novelty or decoration, but for Park’s stories and characters, they provide a unique framing device to capture the absurdity and humor in each event.

The collection starts off with “A Note to My Translator”, a brief letter from the fictional and pseudonymous  author Hans de Krap, who appears in another story. The basic premise of this story is that the translator has rewritten the book’s first chapter with “brazen, unnoted blunders”, which de Krap categorizes in 3 hilarious pages. It’s unclear whether this was a willful change or something is completely lost in translation, but the book, titled Mexican Fruitcake in E’s translation (not de Krap’s original title) features many strange changes that seem to go beyond language choices. Another selection with a kind of experimental approach to the story is “The Wife on Ambien”, which lists all of the ways the narrator’s wife differs on Ambien compared to when she does not take Ambien, and how this sleeping medication makes her a more productive, but also risk-taking woman. I also enjoyed “Machine City”, where the narrator, Joon, details his college experience appearing in an experimental improvisatory student film with an ex-girlfriend. Joon, who is taking a class in surrealism, is eventually introduced to Bethany Blanket, who ends up directing him and his ex-girlfriend Yuna, in a film. It seemed like this story was almost like a key in understanding how the other stories fit together, since many of the stories take a surrealist approach, where artists often “mentally stitch bits together into one exquisite thing. The coherence of incoherence.” Despite his prior relationship with Yuna and the strange break-up and sending her a 20 page letter, Bethany requires that they act like they are meeting for the first time for her film. The story is framed by the Joon’s current recollections of this time, searching for information about the film and Bethany’s career on IMDB. I loved the Nirvana references in the story, especially when Joon shares plays “Lithium” on headphones for Massimo, one of his friends. The dialogue and situations in this story are really funny to consider, and it just reminded me of reminiscing about those kind of absurd experiences from college. The story “The Air as Air” also features one of the recurring elements found in other stories, the town of Eucalyptus, and has some of the funny dialogue where words and phrases have double meanings. In the story, the narrator, who studies breathing techniques from a guy named Karl Ababa, meets with his father, who makes the narrator call him The Big Man. When they meet, they catch up on what they are up to, and The Big Man says

 “‘So you know about Uncle Buck,’ he said. ‘The movie?’ ‘What movie? I’m talking about your Uncle Buck. He went on that show where they give you a makeover. It was Lindy’s idea, the whole stupid TV thing. She has connections. You know Buck. He dresses worse than I do. He dresses like he smeared rubber cement on his chest and rolled around in a pile of undershirts. So they show the episode and it went a little too well, if you get my gist.’”

I found this to be really funny, and the entire meeting with his father was pretty humorous. Throughout many of the stories, there are similar examples of this kind of word play and punning that add to both the uniqueness and absurdity of the stories. “Seven Women” was fascinating in that details 7 women who are all connected to Hannah Hahn, an editor who created an obscure literary magazine whose rejection letters were sent on postcards where she retitled their submissions and edited the piece down to one sentence. It reminded me of the translator from the first story. These characters are all connected not only through their relationships, but also their proximity to Hannah. One of my favorite stories was “The Gift”, where the narrators writing a letter to his alumni magazine, sharing the experience as students in an experimental class known as “Advanced Aphorism”, which was never taught again. This was another story with incredible word play, but it also functions as a satire of higher education, as the professor, Dublinski, has unusual methods and inconsistent meeting times and places for the class. “Two Laptops” was also a humorous critique of modern technology, where the narrator’s wife leaves him and moves in with another woman in the same condo complex. His son, who wants to go by C-Love, also features in the story, and they try to find interests for him, from music lessons, to sports, and eventually computers. In this story, C-Love communicates with his dad via skype when he stays at his mom’s place, even though it’s in the same neighborhood. However, sometimes the connection goes “metallic, bits of it gray and bits of it green, and big chunks of the image fall out, so it looks like I’m seeing his skull.” C-Love also has trouble seeing his father. In another great story “Eat Pray Click”, the narrator also has trouble connecting with an old friend who has developed a way to manipulate kindle books to create innumerable iterations of the novel. When the narrator tries to connect with Rolph later, he experiences a similar disconnection through technology, wondering if Rolph was even where he said he was. Both characters in this story studied with Stoops, a professor in “Machine City” who teaches the Surrealism course and who founded a literary movement called Sensibilism and its antithesis, Mood Writing. I loved the interconnection between stories here, as well as the satire of literary criticism and technology. One of the last stories, “Slide to Unlock”, is also a kind of satire of passwords, where it presents various iterations of password formation, but is also critical of the kind of personal information that these passwords rely on. It’s similar to “The Wife on Ambien” in that it is something like a list, but it’s also a great critique of something that has become a feature of our modern lives.

I loved these stories, both the individual stories and the entirety of the collection. It was great to see interconnections among stories where ideas, concepts, places, and people overlapped and came up in different places (Hans de Krap appears in another story as well). Furthermore, the stories are really entertaining and humorous, offering some bizarre and absurd situations. Many of the stories feature word plays or subtle satire that allows readers to question these aspects of life. I will revisit these stories, and I feel like many of them would be fun to teach, to see how students would respond to them. I’m also wondering if these stories appealed to me because I’m closer in age to Park, or whether a younger generation might get some of the humor and satire in these stories. Regardless, I’m sure that these stories will challenge their ideas and conceptions of short stories, possibly broadening their perspectives. Although these stories may not be for everyone, I thoroughly enjoyed them and recognize that they help to extend the boundaries on ideas about creative writing and short stories in particular. I highly recommend this collection. 

Exploring Mistakes Without Regret in Rax King's Sloppy

 

Sloppy book cover

Author Rax King

Big thanks to Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage, and Anchor Books and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Rax King’s new collection of essays titled Sloppy Or: Doing It All Wrong. I haven’t read Tacky yet, King’s first collection of essays, but it’s on my to read list with its focus on pop culture as art. Sloppy also features some elements of pop culture, but is also incredibly personal and intimate. I was not only surprised by the candor and risks that some of these essays take but also moved and touched by King’s reflection on her past experiences, both good and bad, that brought her to sobriety and a reckoning of sorts with her father’s declining health and eventual death. Not all of the essays are deeply personal, but I found that those essays that focused on King’s own struggles with addiction, mental health, and her relationship with her parents were my favorites in this collection. For me, part of this was her ability to fearlessly reflect on her own mistakes, but also to look back on them with humor and acceptance, and not with regret or shame. This kind of perspective is important to keep in mind, and it leads to some important insights for King. I also think that having experienced similar situations with addiction, recovery, and caring for ailing parents, I felt like there was a lot I could relate to in her experiences, and reading about her perspective was relatable, but also fresh in many ways. King doesn’t seek out pity but rather looks to find meaning and strength in these experiences, often through humor and self-deprecation.

What stood out most to me was King’s own unique voice, of which humor definitely plays a part. Her essay “Proud Alcoholic Stock” relates to her experiences growing up with parents in recovery, and her struggles to understand her own relationship with alcohol and other substances. She discusses her parents’ relationship and their inability to relax in social situations where alcohol was present. As she notes, “Alcoholism is often genetic, which they knew, but as it turns out, so is obsessing about one’s alcoholism.” As someone who grew up in an alcoholic home, I agree that when these realizations occur, that obsession about alcoholism takes on strange perspectives and meanings. King goes on to discuss her observations of other parents who can drink normally and her own experiences with trying alcohol for the first time. I actually wondered if this essay was possibly part of her recovery, as she notes how her relationship with alcohol began and changed over time, eventually leading to her early experiences with sobriety, and how it also changed her relationships with others. She also discusses her father’s other addictions, particularly to tobacco, and how this led to his death. In the essay “Cough-Cough”, King discusses her father’s gradually worsening health and death in the hospital, and how cigarettes brought about this condition. Other essays like “Pants on Fire” and “Anger Management” deal with King’s father’s lying and his explosive temper, remnants of his addict life that never seemed to resolve themselves. “Anger Management” in particular struck a chord with me, as King details sharing burgers and shakes with her father when she was younger, yet the diners were never really able to get her father’s shake exactly right. She relates her own temper to her father’s, and how her ex-husband often liked to provoke her into anger, with one particular disturbing anecdote involving a pellet gun. Yet, it seems like sobriety and the divorce from her ex-husband has enabled King to take a new perspective and work towards avoiding “the life of a lonely volcano, punking magma on myself while the villagers flee” where her “rage is still there—less explosive, still corrosive.” I appreciated this since we don’t always see how these horrible experiences provide us with these useful insights and awareness. She finishes this essay about an instance caring for her father as he’s dying in the hospital, an experience that will cause all kinds of chaos and unanticipated emotional swings in anyone. Her father wants a cheeseburger and milkshake for one last time, despite not really being able or even allowed to eat this meal. One of the nurses caring for her father chastises King, reminding her that he couldn’t have this food in the hospital—it was against the rules and bad for his vitals. Yet, as the kid of a dying parent, she’s in a new role, caring for her father and wanting to comfort him in these final days. I remember when my dad was dying in the hospital, and we snuck in his dog for one last time. Even though it was brief and probably freaked out the dog, it was one of the last times I saw him smile. King’s essay was just a reminder about this complicated situation that no one can ever prepare for, and how it’s important to manage the intense emotions that are bubbling below.

Other essays were personal, but not always emotionally impactful. I appreciated “Ms. Girl Power” which explored King’s discovery and early understanding of feminism, as well as “The Temple of Feminine Perfection”, which details her experiences as a dancer in a club. Her reflections on the customers and other dancers were funny and descriptive. “Front of the House” was another great essay for anyone who has worked in a restaurant. It brought me back to the days of waiting tables, and why I don’t really miss that time at all. Other essays like “Some Notes Towards a Theory of an Old Dad” and “Hey Big Spender” discuss King’s own personality and its relationship or influence from her father and his idiosyncrasies. Overall, this is a solid collection from the unique voice of an important writer and cultural critic. While many of the essays look within and are reflective, there are important cultural and social insights to glean from King’s writing. Her essays in this collection are a wild ride through drinking and drugging, mental health challenges and treatment, recovery, and caring for sick and dying parents. This is a collection that offers both laughter and humor but also delves into deeper emotions like the sadness of depression and the struggles with anger management to the grief and guilt of losing a parent. I’ll definitely revisit some of these essays, and I could even imagine using some of them in a writing class to help students understand how to reflect on and make meaning from challenging experiences and situations. I’m looking forward to eventually reading Tacky and reading more of King’s future work.

 

Your Favorite Band's Favorite Band

 Shouting Out Loud: Lives of the Raincoats 

by Audrey Golden

Shouting Out Loud book cover

Author Audrey Golden

Many thanks to Grand Central Publishing, Da Capo, and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Audrey Golden’s comprehensive and insightful Shouting Out Loud: The Lives of the Raincoats. This was a fascinating book about a band that I’ve heard of, but never really listened to. I’m glad that Golden’s interviews and archival work with the members of the band have prompted me to seek out The Raincoats’ work and learn more about their influence on many bands in the 90s and beyond. Like The Raincoats, Shouting Out Loud is hard to categorize as a specific genre of music writing. Golden has a great introduction in which she lays out her methodology for gathering the artifacts and interviews and organizing and analyzing them. Furthermore, members of the band, particularly Ana da Silva, had a rich archive of material from the band’s formation and initial run of shows and recordings from the late 70s and early 80s. Da Silva’s artifacts, along with those of other members and fans, provide excellent visual documentation that Golden also includes in her book. Golden explains that this synthesis of oral history and archival work allows for a rich layering that blends the various perspectives that memory brings with the artifacts that remain from that time-period. I also loved that Golden references Bakhtin in the book’s introduction to identify that The Raincoats’ music is part of its own unique chronotope, that is both shaped by the specific time and space of its time and has gone on to further influence other artists, particularly Kurt Cobain, Tobi Vail, and Kathleen Hanna among others. This is a really fascinating way to approach music scholarship, to show both how music is influenced by and further influences others.

The book is organized into 3 sections that examine different stages of the lives of The Raincoats. The first section examines how Gina and Ana met in the late 70s in London. Golden provides considerable context to different factors that led Ana and Gina to meet. I grew to appreciate some of these deep dives that provide a fuller context. For example, Golden details some of the history of Hornsey College of Art and how it was the center of leftist protest in the 60s and 70s. She also dives into squat life in 70s London, and how houses abandoned after WWII led to a creative scene in art and music that helped lead to British punk’s birth. This was cool to see as The Raincoats early years intertwined with not just the more well-known bands like The Clash (and the 101ers, Joe Strummer’s pre-Clash band), but also bands like The Slits, who seemed to influence Gina and Ana to form The Raincoats, X-Ray Specs, and This Heat. Not only does Golden’s research and archival work provide a richer context, but it helped to show how some of these other bands were more influential on the sound and spirit of The Raincoats and other bands of the time. Sometimes British punk’s origins are simplified and distilled to explain how The Ramones played England in the mid-70s, and that led to bands like The Clash and The Sex Pistols forming in order to play faster and louder than The Ramones. However, Golden’s analysis shows that British punk was not only tied to music, but also visual and performance arts, and was much more nuanced and expressive, providing voices to female artists who have often been pushed to the back of these short-sighted histories of British punk.

In addition to documenting The Raincoats’ formation, the first life of the band also examines their travels to other countries, in particular being the first punk band to play in Communist Poland, where music and expression were limited and regulated by the government. Again, Golden’s deep dive into the context of this time period provides an important layer to the story of The Raincoats to explore not only the kind of values they had exploring free expression and art, but also the kinds of artistic risks they took. This section of the book also examines their relationship with Rough Trade, the record store/label that recorded and put out their records, and their efforts to work with a drummer, which seemed to be a recurring theme throughout the book. Throughout this section, I also learned much about the process of recording songs and developing the art for their records. Although Rough Trade was an artist friendly organization that ultimately split profits with their bands, the band was still challenged with recording their work and maintaining their distinct sound and vision when working with engineers and producers who didn’t always share the same vision and values. Again, Golden’s contextualization of the music scene and industry in the late 70s and early 80s helps to show how both the need for a kind of commercial audience and the kinds of patriarchal influences in the engineering and production aspects of the music industry presented unique challenges to The Raincoats.

The middle section focuses on the 2^nd life of The Raincoats, and not only examines what the members were up to after they disbanded around 1984, but also how their albums and music eventually made its way to the US and ended up in Olympia, WA, home of Evergreen State, whose students included Bruce Pavitt, Slim Moon, Kathleen Hanna, Corin Tucker, and Carrie Brownstein, among others. It was at Evergreen where Pavitt eventually discovered The Raincoats and began playing them on his radio show. It was so interesting to see how a band’s influence spread over analog methods pre-internet, and how a band could have such an influence on others. Eventually, Kurt Cobain came to discover The Raincoats, and his story documenting his meeting Ana da Silva in London was included in the liner notes for Incesticide. This 2^nd life of The Raincoats was also fascinating since Kurt’s proclamations about the band helped to renew interest and eventually led to new distribution deals and tour plans with Nirvana, that sadly never materialized after Cobain’s death. Furthermore, it was interesting to learn more about the record industry as DGC signed The Raincoats, but the band again were challenged by the commercial aims of a major label like DGC who were looking for the next Nirvana. In addition to the influence on Nirvana, Golden also examines how The Raincoats influenced other bands from the 80s and 90s, including Sonic Youth and bands from Kill Rock Stars. While sonically there may be differences, it was more the ethos and spirit of The Raincoats, making music and art in their own distinct voices and challenging the dominant systems of the music industry, that appealed to so many artists and fans in the 90s. Although their initial plans for touring ended after Cobain’s death, The reformed Raincoats were able to tour later in the 90s and create new music while also re-releasing their original albums with new distribution deals. I also found it interesting to learn how democratic they remained in decision making for their original albums, keeping in contact with other musicians who contributed to their earliest albums.

The last section focuses on the 3^rd life of The Raincoats, which seems to take place within the last 25 years or so. This section also focuses on the band’s legacy, but also how the current members have continued to keep active in the art world and continue to produce and record art and music. It also examines their influence on more recent musicians, and how much of their work has become collaborative with other bands and artists, especially as they seem to continually be in search of drummers. There’s a fascinating story about their quest for a producer for a new album, that eventually leads them to John Cale. Given the similarities with some of the earlier Velvet Underground work and Cale’s unique artistic vision, I was a little surprised to hear about his production requirements. Yet, I think it also showed how The Raincoats continually faced challenges from producers and engineers to try to record their unique sound. Furthermore, it seemed like this anecdote reinforced the strength and intuition of the band to maintain their vision and voice. Furthermore, it’s interesting to see the band’s inclusion in art retrospectives in galleries and museums that capture not only the birth of punk, but also clearly emphasize women’s unique roles in this art and cultural movement. Golden emphasizes here that these elements are not separate strands, but rather intertwined threads within punk, clearly demonstrating how The Raincoats strengthened those bonds between art, culture, and music. I loved learning more about how Gina and Ana continued to make music on their own, frequently learning new instruments and using new technology. There’s a quote from one of Gina’s daughters towards the end of the book where she summarizes her mom’s ethos as “there’s never been a question of, ‘Could I do it?’ The mantra is always, ‘You’re trying to do something you’ve never done before? Well, why not!’…Because of my mum and dad, my brain has been wired not to question whether I could do something, but to try to figure out how to do it. And that’s super punk.” I loved this quote since it provides a great way to think not only the spirit of punk rock, but more importantly the influence of The Raincoats that helped to shape much of the music from the 90s and beyond. To paraphrase Q-Tip, it’s like this book is about your favorite band’s favorite band. I highly recommend this look at the influence of The Raincoats, and I’m so grateful to Golden for her layered and detailed look at not just the band but the various influences both on and from the band. 

Tracing the Jam Band Explosion of the 90's: Sharing in The Groove

 Sharing in the Groove: The Untold Story of the '90s Jam Band Explosion and the Scene That Followed by Mike Ayers

Sharing in the Groove book cover

Author Mike Ayers

Big thanks to St. Martin’s Press and NetGalley for sending me an advanced copy of Mike Ayers’s fun and insightful book Sharing in the Groove: The Untold Story of the ‘90s Jam Band Explosion and the Scene that Followed. Admittedly, I’m not a jam band enthusiast. I never really got into the scene, went to any shows, nor owned any of the music. It was all around me in college, but I never really got the happy sounds or extended guitar solos. Yet, I found Ayers’s book to be a fascinating read not necessarily into the music, but rather the scene and the ways that record companies may commodify a trend to try to monetize it. Furthermore, I found that I learned a lot more about this scene, its origins, and how it expanded over the course of the 90s, frequently resisting the attempts to corporatize the music to produce radio-friendly singles. Ayers’s book serves as an additional perspective on the 90s touring/festival movement that Bienstock and Beaujour wrote about in their excellent oral history of Lollapalooza (Lollapalooza: The Uncensored Story of Alternative Rock’s Wildest Festival), also published by St. Martin’s Press. Both books take the oral history approach and feature interviews with not only band members, but also managers, producers, and others involved in the touring and recording process. It’s interesting to consider how these music movements both germinated and grew in the pre-internet days of the 90s. While Lollapalooza and “alternative music” grew out of 80s punk and college radio, eventually absorbed into the MTV heavy rotation, the jam band scene was like an alternative to alternative music, also growing out of colleges and the remnants of the hippie touring from 70s bands like the Allman Brothers and the Grateful Dead. In fact, many of the subjects of interviews in the book mention how alternative music was growing in popularity and MTV required videos to break big, but many of the bands in the book just kept moving ahead with their own styles, appealing more to their fans’ desire for a show, as opposed to radio-friendly singles. Yet, the tension between art and commerce, where bands often require financial support from record companies to produce more records and tour, seemed to play a part in many of the bands decisions about making records and deciding whether to play the game or maintain their artistic goals and values. I didn’t necessarily realize this about many of the bands, but it makes sense why I’ve seen the popularity of bands like moe., String Cheese Incident, and Disco Biscuits for concerts, but I never really see their records in stores or hear them on the radio.

I learned a lot from this book, and I was really surprised to learn that some of the early 90s players in the Jam Band scene started Princeton, NJ, which is like in my backyard. I also didn’t realize that bands like The Spin Doctors and Blues Traveler were considered Jam Bands, since I don’t really think of them as having longer jams. Both bands experienced commercial success in the early to mid ‘90s, but their popularity grew out of playing live shows in NYC and NJ clubs in the late ‘80s. Ayers traces other regional bands that shared a similar ethos and appreciation for 70s rock music like the Allman Brothers and The Dead, as well as some of the chemicals that fueled their music and touring. College towns in Virginia (Dave Matthews Band), Georgia (Col. Bruce Hampton and Aquarium Rescue Unit, Widespread Panic), and Vermont (Phish) also helped to birth musical acts that eventually began expanding their touring and connected with other bands who shared a similar ethos. I loved reading about these connections, since it showed how tape trading and touring engaged a core audience and allowed for the discovery of new bands. I kept thinking about Stephen Blush’s book American Hardcore, which documents how bands like Black Flag and Bad Brains toured North America and helped to create hardcore and alternative bands throughout the country. The interviewees discuss how exposure to shows and shared musical interests often led to new bands, often in college towns, and that following tour routes from bands like Phish and Dave Matthews Band allowed later bands to build the momentum that these earlier bands established.

Furthermore, I was excited and somewhat surprised to see that Medeski, Martin, and Wood were considered part of the Jam Band scene. I usually think of them as more of a jazz or funk band, but I remember some friends in college who were into Phish were also into Shackman, the 1996 album from MMW. As the book explains, Phish began playing MMW’s music in between sets, which led to their fans becoming more interested in their work. I actually remember seeing MMW in Philly in the late 90s, and it was an eclectic scene, with a lot of big, expensive winter coats. The music was awesome, and for me, it was an experimental kind of show, where the musicians explored sounds and tones on their instruments. I still remember how Chris Wood played his bass with a slide and how cool it sounded at the time. The chapters that focused on MMW were some of my favorite as they were kind of working outside of the jam band scene, traveling to Hawaii to make Shackman in a shack with only solar power, something that I never even knew. There were also some great chapters about other jazz/funk bands that were associated with the jam band scene, and this expanded my playlist to include bands I’ve heard of but never really listened to like Greyboy Allstars and Galactic. I love it when I’m able to discover bands and artists from reading.

The chapters are relatively short and are primarily composed of interview snippets from the band members as well as managers and others who contributed to the jam band scene. Some of the chapters focus on particular bands, like Blues Traveler, Spin Doctors, moe., and Medeski Martin Wood. However, other chapters focus on aspects of the bands’ lives and their intersections with record companies. Again, this was a fascinating look at how the record companies tried to capitalize on these bands’ popularity, but also struggled to categorize and market them in a business that often relies on fitting bands into specific genres for marketing purposes. Throughout the latter half of the book, this seemed to be a theme as bands either struggled with success (Spin Doctors, Blues Traveler), or struggled to meet the rigid expectations of record companies (Phish, moe., God Street Wine). This was a fascinating look at how music scenes develop organically, but also how record companies try to manufacture and reshape bands to fit a mold, which can sometimes bring about the demise of the band.

I also appreciated that Ayers provided an extensive list of the participants in the interviews at the beginning of the book since there are many people to keep track of throughout the book. This helped me better understand which musicians or participants were associated with which bands or record labels. One aspect of the book that I wish was slightly different was that some of the chapters included a brief introduction or contextualization that helped to frame the topic for the chapter. This was really helpful, but it was not included with every chapter. Furthermore, many of the chapter titles were taken from quotes from that chapter, but didn’t always frame the chapter well enough. While nearly all of the chapters were organized according to either a specific band or a theme, for a few chapters, it was challenging to figure out the theme. Having more of these contextualizing paragraphs or sentences would help frame the chapter’s focus. However, with 68 chapters, I can understand why every chapter might not have this kind of contextualization. The book primarily moves chronologically, so the book ends with the turn of the century and the emergence of digital technology, briefly mentioning how websites and file sharing like Napster a new way for bands to share their music and live shows to a broader audience. It also explores the emergence of the 90s festival scene and how many of these bands developed their own festivals, often outside of record labels’ support. This was also fascinating and somewhat humorous to read about- especially Phish’s various ideas of how to celebrate Y2K. Reading about the influence of technology was also fascinating, especially to consider how digitizing music reshaped record companies and the ways that people consume music, eventually leading to downsizing much of the music industry. It would have also been interesting to learn more about what some of these bands continued to do or whether some of these festivals continued.  However, I realize that Ayers’s book is expansive and follows many different bands, so it probably would have been challenging to follow up with all of the bands and their members. Nevertheless, some kind of afterword or epilogue about the jam band scene and where it has gone in the subsequent 25 years would have been an interesting coda to this fascinating documentary journey of the scene. Nevertheless, this is a great book that is full of fun and interesting stories, even for someone who is not too familiar with or interested in the jam band scene. I learned so much from reading this book, and I added to my playlist, finding some new bands to listen to. I highly recommend this book, especially if you are a fan of music and enjoy reading about how music scenes and genres develop and evolve. 

Folk Horror and Witchcraft in The Bewitching by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

 The Bewitching by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

The Bewitching book cover

Author Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Big thanks to Random House Publishing and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of the prolific Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s new book The Bewitching, a slow-burn gothic-styled folk horror mystery that tracks three interrelated stories across different time periods and cultures. This is the third book I’ve read from Moreno-Garcia, and I have a few on my to-be-read list. I loved Silver Nitrate, and also found Mexican Gothic to be a compelling story that challenged assumptions about race, class, and history. The Bewitching combines both elements of these great novels, but I found it to be slower moving than the propulsive Silver Nitrate. However, Moreno-Garcia’s The Bewitching, which takes place in 1930s and 1990s New England and 1908 Mexico, shares similarities with other New England writers like Shirley Jackson, Stephen King, and even H.P. Lovecraft, who features in the book. In fact, some parts of the book, where Minerva Contreras, a graduate student working on her dissertation, reminded me of “The Dunwich Horror”, but updated Lovecraft’s story to be more accessible and engaging. This part of the book reminded me of how Moreno-Garcia took the cursed film urban legend in Silver Nitrate and updated it for a new context, recasting the idea. Moreno-Contreras mentions the idea of syncretic beliefs in the book’s afterword, and The Bewitching is a book that combines elements of the New England witch stories with those of Mexican culture, which, as Moreno-Garcia notes, are a combination of both European and pre-Columbian Mexican cultures. I loved this aspect of the book, and how Moreno-Garcia not only references and draws parallels between the beliefs and cultures of these two different groups, but also how the book references horror writers from both the past and the present. Minerva is researching a writer who corresponded with Lovecraft, but never really received the same kind of attention, and through Minerva’s research, we learn about Beatrice “Betty” Tremblay and her forgotten masterpiece The Vanishing. This 1998 storyline that follows Minerva’s research that uncovers the backstory to Tremblay’s The Vanishing was my favorite of the 3 narratives that converge around Minerva’s discoveries. First, Minerva has excellent taste in music, and her song choices throughout this part of the book reflect some of the best of the alternative music scene of the 90s. It was also interesting to recall a time when email was a relatively new form of communication on campus, so this part of the book took me back a bit. However, as I mentioned previously, Minerva’s story is also somewhat similar to Lovecraft’s “The Dunwich Horror”, and it reminded me of the film adaptation even more so. Through her research, Minerva learns that Trembley’s novel based on the disappearance of one of Betty’s classmates, Ginny Somerset, an affluent student who fell in love with a local boy who worked in the college town’s factories. Lovecraft’s features a quest to find a book in a northeastern university (Miskatonic U, located in Arkham), but the film follows a female grad college student whose professor asks her to return the Necronomicon to the library. Moreno-Garcia’s story and the Lovecraft stories both feature a book and a mysterious, shady family that may have ulterior motives in exploiting the female co-ed population of the local university. I loved these allusions to Lovecraft and other horror writers—notably Trembley’s name is a reference to Paul Tremblay, and Minerva notices a plaque in her school that recognized a department head named Stephen Graham Jones. It was cool to see these kinds of horror references, but I also appreciated how Moreno-Garcia uses Trembley’s history to note often women horror writers are often overlooked for their contributions. Despite the challenges of researching her topic, Minerva continues to uncover Beatrice Trembley’s story and writings since other male horror writers have been overly covered, and because it seems like Trembley has contributed to Lovecraft’s stories as well as furthering the field of horror literature. It’s an important reminder of how often women are overlooked in this genre.

Minerva’s narrative initially alternates with the story of her Great Grandmother Nana Alba, and Alba’s story of trying to keep her family’s farm, Piedras Quebradas, together after the loss of her father. Alba’s story takes place in 1908 in Mexico after the death of Alba’s father, as her Uncle Arturo arrives to help with managing the farm even though he is more of a scholar and literary enthusiast who went to study at the university, plays piano, and speaks French. These alternating narratives were a little disorienting for me at first—there are many characters to become acquainted with, and there are these alternating stories that take place in two different time periods, with only Minerva’s and Alba’s family connection to join them. However, as both stories progress, the connections between the two stories become more apparent, especially as we learn more about mysterious disappearances on Stoneridge’s campus and around Piedras Quebradas. I don’t want to say more since there are some great twists and surprises towards the middle and end of the novel. This is also one of the strengths of this novel, yet I didn’t feel like the pace was as propulsive as Silver Nitrate. Rather, this was more like Mexican Gothic, where the action was a little slower, but the mysterious disappearances and strange characters as well as other strange events leave readers wondering about whether Minerva is losing her mind, facing incredible stress with her thesis, or if she’s possibly been bewitched by someone at Stoneridge.

Minerva’s chance encounter with a drunken frat-type guy outside of a party leads her to an encounter with Carolyn Yates, an elderly matron and board member of Stoneridge, who was also classmates with both Betty and Ginny, two individuals who Minerva is researching for her thesis. This encounter enables Minerva to access Betty’s private papers, which Carolyn has held onto for some time. While reading Betty’s journal and unpublished manuscript, readers are exposed to a third narrative, detailing Betty’s perspective and the complications that have arisen between Ginny, Carolyn, and two other men in their lives. We also witness Ginny’s gradual mental deterioration, and how reading this also affects Minerva, who begins to wonder whether she is experiencing similar strange events that plagued Ginny before her disappearance. Although introducing this third narrative brings in additional characters, I felt more aware of them since Minerva and Carolyn previously discussed them and provided some background; furthermore, this narrative furthers the overall narrative and allows us to question some of these mysterious disappearances on campus, especially one student who Minerva monitored as an RA. Moreno-Garcia’s strengths with weaving these various narrative strands into an intriguing and compelling tapestry is what makes this book a fun and exciting read. Although the story may seem a little slow at first, the second half of the book for both Minerva and Alba pick up and become both exciting and strange, in an interesting way, as they both encounter different forms of witchcraft, with Alba doing battle a teyolloquani, which I had to look up, and is a witch that sucks blood (from Nahuatl). There are some really amazing descriptions of this witch’s power, as it slowly makes its way closer and closer to Alba, eventually contacting her during sleep in a creepy and disturbing instance that reminded me of an extreme attack of night paralysis. Minerva also encounters forms of witchery, but her experience has more to do with apotrpaic marks (another word I had to look up), which she encountered in Betty’s papers. These two different, yet related, experiences with witches brings in the syncretic ideas that Moreno-Garcia talks about in the afterword, and shows more similarities than differences across cultures. As someone who is interested in culture and folklore, this was another great quality of the book that I enjoyed learning more about and discovering these similarities.

Overall this was a great book. I was slightly concerned with the pacing at the beginning of the book and the 3 dueling narratives, but Moreno-Garcia deftly weaves these strands together to make a meaningful and entertaining creation. Like Montserrat in Silver Nitrate, Minerva (also a telling name) is a strong, Latina character who brings her culture and experience as she navigates a new world of academia in New England, one that often neglects and overlooks female voices. However, Minerva seeks to make these contributions known, but also manages to recognize and acknowledge her Nana Alba’s folk knowledge and experiences as she learns more and more about how witchcraft affects the Stoneridge campus and community. This is a fun and exciting book, and one that I think could make a great limited series. Highly recommended, and I’m looking forward to catching up on some of Moreno-Garcia’s other books.