Portrait of an Artist as a Scientologist: The Last Temptation of Beck

 The Last Temptation of Beck: The Untold Story of a Pop Messiah by Josephine Riesman

The Last Temptation of Beck cover

Author Josephine Riesman

Like the author, Josephine Riesman, and many of the other fans featured in the intriguing book The Last Temptation of Beck: The Untold Story of a Pop Messiah, I was an early adherent of Beck. I fell in love with his strange visions, loving the sound of “Loser” and “Beercan”. However, once I began to listen to his b-sides for these songs, I absolutely loved his work. Songs like “Soul Sucking Jerk”, “Got No Mind”, “Corvette Bummer”, and especially “Fume” really spoke to my adolescence as well as my interest in expanding the confines of alternative music. Beck’s music was strange, funny, and unique, standing out among a crowded music store filled with crunchy grunge power chords and riffs. Although I loved his experimentation, I especially loved his acoustic work on One Foot in the Grave, Stereopathic Soulmanure, and A Western Harvest Field by Moonlight. I loved how raw and experimental they were, allowing listeners into the odd process that Beck used to construct (or maybe de-construct) these idiosyncratic songs. The first section of Riesman’s book takes us through these thrilling times to see how Beck not only developed his musicianship, but also how he evolved from a strange hip-hop loving folk and blues musician into the party boy who had two turntables and a microphone. Riesman’s reporting, though, doesn’t just focus on Beck’s life and career. Rather, she takes the fans’ perspectives, reminding readers how exciting and different Beck’s music was, and how it spoke to those who were different, those who didn’t fit in with the typical crowds in schools or who were searching for new and different sounds. She introduces us Truck and Donna, two fans who ended up creating Beck fanzines and websites in the early days of the internet. It was amazing to learn how both of these fans eventually gained access to Beck, although in different ways. Riesman’s reporting allows us to see not only how indifferent Beck initially was to success, but also how uncomfortable he was to fame and attention. I actually liked how Riesman includes multiple narratives that detail Beck’s biography and career development with his fan’s perspectives and interests. Also included in these chapters are a focus on Beck’s family, including his mother, his Scientologist and musical father, and his Fluxus-performance artist grandfather, Al Hansen, whose own life seemed to be shaped more by myth and memory than reality and history. Riesman skillfully constructs chapters with these competing narratives to allow readers to learn more about the enigmatic Beck, and how guarded his background is. While Riesman indicates part of this was due to Beck’s discomfort with the limelight initially, she also suggests that his eventual engagement with the Church of Scientology also has something to do with his changing public persona that remained cautiously guarded.

Although I don’t know much about Scientology except from Lawrence Wright’s incredible book Going Clear (which was cited throughout some of the chapters), it’s clear that Scientology has had a disruptive impact on many people’s lives. Riesman provides some background about the origins of Scientology, as well as their growth from a strange sci-fi group to an IRS recognized religion, without getting into the strange and sordid details. I was actually impressed with how concise her reporting is. Although there have been rumors about Beck’s involvement with Scientology and some evidence provided from Riesman, no of it seems to indicate a definitive explanation for Beck’s later music nor his personal life. I too agree that Beck’s music, especially after Sea Change seemed to become somewhat vapid, with occasional good songs here and there. Nothing ever reached the consistent whole album of records like Odelay or Mutations. It can be difficult to continuously reinvent oneself or find ways to keep music fresh and appealing. We’ve seen this with many other artists who struggle with remaining relevant while still trying to maintain creative control from record labels. Could it be that Beck was under pressure to craft more hit singles rather than pursue his passion and interest in exploring new sounds? Was the record label looking for more of the same, banking on safe, formulaic music rather than exciting experimentation? Riesman seems to suggest that Beck’s father, David Campbell, and other Scientologists were more to blame, as Beck began to be viewed as a pop music messiah who might also be able to recruit new members with his infectious and popular music. She cites the role of actors like Tom Cruise who attribute their popularity and success to Scientology’s principles. It’s an interesting premise, but one that Riesman is never able to completely nail. Much of the evidence she relies on is based on events, interviews with friends of friends, and other kinds of speculation that I found somewhat questionable. At the center of the Riesman’s claims are the tragic deaths of Jeremy Blake and Theresa Duncan, two artists who had connections to Beck. Jeremy Blake, a digital artist, worked with Beck on the cover for Sea Change, while his partner Theresa Duncan proposed that Beck star in a movie she was planning to direct that was a 1970s set in NYC take on Alice in Wonderland. Duncan and Blake both died at their own hands in July 2007, and there’s been speculation that their deaths were the result of harassment by Scientology, with Riesman implicitly blaming Beck for their deaths. It was pretty shocking to read since there was no clear evidence of harassment. Riesman documents that Blake and Duncan grew increasingly conspiratorial and paranoid, eventually withdrawing into a strange apartment in NYC. While Duncan blamed Beck’s eventually exit from the planned film for the project’s failure, it looked to me like the possibility of the changing tastes in films. Films like these are especially hard to find funding for, and I would imagine that a first time female director might face additional challenges to making a 1970s remake of Alice in Wonderland set in NYC. I wondered if possibly Duncan and Riesman were attributing the obstacles that this project faced to other outside forces. This also made the implications of Beck’s involvement in their deaths even more frustrating since there was no clear evidence to show this. While Scientology does have a history of harassing its perceived enemies, and Riesman provides examples and the kinds of labeling that the organization uses for those who pose a threat, it’s not clear why Beck or Scientology would mark Blake and Duncan as suppressive persons or why they were considered fair game especially when they didn’t really seem to attack Beck. Riesman does suggest that Beck possibly wanted out, but was pulled back in to Scientology, but again, there’s not real definitive evidence.

This kind of hearsay was also used to document Beck’s breakup with his longtime partner Leigh Limon, who helped style Beck during his transformation from urban slacker to a retro-styled entertainer. As Riesman documents, Limon eventually grew distant from Beck as he continued to tour the world and she remained at home. She made attempts to spend more time with him, but he remained aloof and distant. Riesman notes how Beck’s father and mother became more of a presence in his life as he became more famous, and suggests that this was the reason for Beck’s distance from Limon. However, as Riesman also noted with pre-fame Beck, he was always aloof and distant, struggling to interact with others and often seeming spacy or disengaged. I wondered too how much fame and the pressure to maintain hit records and tour constantly may have challenged him and affected his relationships with those he was close with. He seemed like he was unconcerned about fame, and listening to some of his earlier independent releases, he didn’t seem like he wanted to make pop music, but rather pursued his own idiosyncratic passions and interests. We also have to remember that this was around the time of Kurt Kobain’s death, where alternative music was experiencing a kind of identity crisis, with calls to keep things real and not sell out. Could Beck’s success also have created his own identity crisis? Riesman’s reporting says that Beck accused Limon of cheating and substance abuse, apparently fed to him by other Scientologists while he was touring Japan. While this is also a possibility, I wondered why Beck would believe accusations like this, especially about a loved one, without verifying. I ended up empathizing with Limon, whose job, home, car, and other possessions were all owned by Beck. She was swiftly evicted and struggled to get back on her feet. Riesman didn’t interview her, but provides details about what she is currently up to and how she saw Beck at a concert, but didn’t talk to him. Limon’s experience, as well as those of some of Beck’s other early supporters, were troubling and sad, yet it’s not completely clear whether Scientology factored into these breaks or not. Even if they did, I don’t necessarily think they caused the deaths of Blake and Duncan. I would need to review more of the facts to make any clear indication, and while Riesman creates a compelling narrative, it seemed like the facts operate more around correlation than causation.

Despite these fallacies, Riesman has crafted an exciting book about an enigmatic figure in the music world who has undergone many transformations (or Mutations) not only musically but also stylistically. I loved learning more about Beck’s early beginnings in LA and New York, and how his strange blend of folk music and hip-hop gradually evolved to become such a fascinating mix of styles. I also loved learning about his family, especially his grandfather and mother, who each participated in the art world that possibly shaped Beck’s own vision and styles. Nevertheless, Riesman also reports on some of the questionable behavior from Beck that led to fallouts, estrangements, and other breaks that seemed to come from nowhere without warning. Whether it was scientology or some other variable, Riesman seems to have her mind made up. I appreciated her reporting, but I had my own questions about these claims. Nevertheless, this was a fascinating read, and it spurred my renewed interest in Beck’s music and life. Highly recommended! Many thanks to Atria Books and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy. 

Excavating the Past to Analyze the Present: The Savage Mind: an American Legacy by David Treuer

 The Savage Mind: An American Legacy 

by David Treuer

The Savage Mind book cover

Author and anthropologist David Treuer

Pete Hegseth, the embattled Secretary of Defense, recently announced a new spectacle for Americans. While his stewardship of the largest department in the government has been marked by firings, sharing classified information, leaks, and presentations that border on bizarre. Yet he made the announcement that convicted killer Nidal Malik Hasan, whose brutal murders of 13 people at Fort Hood in 2009 rocked the country, would be executed by firing squad. Hasan’s execution by firing squad will mark the first carried out by the military since 1945, but what is even more shocking is that Hegseth said he plans to broadcast the execution, making the death available to watch live for Americans. Hegseth, who purports to be a Christian and regularly invokes Jesus’s name in his speeches, has claimed that broadcasting the execution will act as a deterrent, despite no evidence that public executions or other forms of punishment deter people from committing crimes. As one of the most brutal attacks committed on an American military base, Hasan’s violence surely stands out, and its also possible that Hegseth’s purported religious beliefs call for the kind of old testament idea of an eye-for-an-eye type justice, not necessarily the same turn-the-other-cheek philosophy that Jesus and early Christians espoused. Rather, it’s a brutal and barbaric reminder of what David Treuer deems The Savage Mind, a mindset that “is American violence” that often used violence as a policy to remind others of America’s uniqueness, its power, and its strength. I couldn’t help but think about Treuer’s book when Hegseth made this awful announcement since the call to broadcast a live death follows on the heals of countless social media videos showing militarized henchmen chasing suspected immigrants, breaking windows, slamming people to the ground for an obvious reminder of America’s power. It follows on the taxpayer funded spectacle of the UFC fights at the White House, where opponents not only fought one another, but also dehumanized one of its former residents. David Treuer’s reflective and timely new book The Savage Mind: An American Legacy comes at an important time, when it seems like “the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world…The ceremony of innocence is drowned;” In fact, Treuer quotes Yeats’ poem to remind us that this kind of violence and upheaval is part of a cycle, and in the words of Gil Scott Heron, it “ain’t no new thing.” Nevertheless, Treuer’s The Savage Mind is one of those books that I’m going to start recommending to all my friends and family. It’s an important and urgent book, and much like his earlier book The Heartbeat of Wounded Knee: Native America from 1890 to the Present invites readers to reconsider their conceptions of stereotypes and ideas from the past that persist in the present. However, unlike the hopeful and sanguine tone of The Heartbeat, where Treuer identified stories of resilience and survival across Indian reservations and tribal communities in America, The Savage Mind examines the frontier and the history of American violence that has contributed to making American what it is. As I was reading The Savage Mind, I couldn’t help but also think about Eddie Glaude Jr’s recent America, U.S.A. and how his tone towards the ideas have shifted from his earlier book Begin Again, which took a hopeful tone in reexamining racism and false myths. While violence, racism, intolerance, and political divisiveness continue to be at the forefront of the news, Treuer’s book reminds readers that this is part of the frontier mentality that has helped to push not only the physical boundaries of America’s geography but also extended the boundaries of what is acceptable to attain these advantages and privileges. Both books call for readers to reexamine the past, but to also consider how past myths, stereotypes, and belief systems have encouraged the present divisions and inequalities that continue to persist. The Savage Mind, like America, U.S.A., is also an important book to read to not only consider what is happening today, but how we can make changes that promote more healing and acceptance, to lessen our divisions and work towards promoting more equality.

While it’s not always an easy book to read, I love how Treuer frames the book as a kind of letter or dialogue with his children, interrogating his own complicated feelings as the son of an Ojibwe mother and a Jewish immigrant father and what America’s history of violence, slavery, stolen land, and bad faith treaties, among other disparate practices means to him. Like Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between the World and Me, Treuer presents the history and his own ideas like a dialogue with his children, framing his experiences, family, and concerns not only as hopes and fears for his children, but also a part of the multitudes of American life.

I loved the way this book was written, with careful consideration for each line. I also learned that Treuer studied with Toni Morrison (he calls her Professor Morrison) while he was an undergrad at Princeton, and I can see that influence in each line, carefully wrought word choices with repetition, inversions, and the kind of mirrored syntax that creates a reflective and critical mood in readers. He also referenced one of Morrison’s greatest quotes that I was not aware of: “If you can only feel tall if someone else is on their knees, then you’ve got a serious problem.” This line resonated with me, especially in how so much of the current administration’s approach to governing requires that kind of submission.  I found myself going back over lines to think more about the history, events, and ideas that Treuer was excavating and analyzing. Although he’s trained as an anthropologist, as he recounted on his first day of class with Professor Morrison, she informed him that he wrote better than most anthropologists, which was good. Although Treuer examines history and current events throughout the book, the personal parts recounting his memories of working with Professor Morrison or learning how to fence while at Princeton were some of my favorite parts of the book. He even makes a reference to his kids as his “best thing,” which I found both heartwarming and brilliant in later learning about Morrison’s influence on his writing. Treuer connects these experiences, feeling like an outsider, possibly experiencing a kind of imposter syndrome, with his own desire to challenge the stereotypes of Indians. There’s also a great story about meeting Clifford Geertz, arguably the most significant figure in 20^th century anthropology, and not allowing Geertz to get a word in, challenging him about fencing. As these stories entertain, Treuer eventually brings readers back to the violence, and how its not just embedded in American culture or the frontier mindset, but possibly even a part of human nature. From examining Geertz’s analysis of deep play in Balinese cock fighting, where the roosters are extensions of the man, to Freud’s cynical later work Civilization and Its Discontents, Treuer provides evidence of the influence of the frontier on American and European conquests to expand land and property at any cost, even if it means denying the humanity of others.

I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect with this book, and I was amazed at how it straddles many different genres and styles- it’s part memoir, part historical analysis, part instructions to his children, and all heart, where Treuer helps readers understand the implications of The Savage Mind and the legacy of American colonialism, stolen land, broken treaties, starvation, paternalism, and the other forms of physical and symbolic violence on Indians, the enslaved, and others denied rights, opportunities, and equality. I was amazed at how deftly Treuer moves from the past to the present to personal connections, whether it was through his parents’ or grandparents, his brothers or cousins, and how these experiences all serve to represent elements of The Savage Mind and the frontier, the purportedly unknown land and space that allows for lawlessness, greed, and the rapacious development of the manifest destiny. As Treuer demonstrates throughout the book, this kind of cyclical violence is often condoned through the calls for progress and growth, and is often justified as part of the entitlement of this progress. The Savage Mind is a book that all Americans should read, and its an especially important book for students to read to confront many of the myths about American exceptionalism that often skirt the kind of systemic violence and displacement that have bloated our land. I was aware of many of the events, but Treuer’s analysis and revisiting these events throughout history, both American and world history, allows readers to reconsider the consequences of colonialism and imperialism and the calls for expansion and domination, especially from a cultural and human perspective that we often do not confront in textbooks. Whether it was learning about Columbus’s crimes against humanity or Andrew Jackson’s attempts to exterminate Indians in America (and how these laws and Jim Crow laws influenced the Nuremberg Laws in 1930s Germany), The Savage Mind offers much for readers to consider and reconsider. Although there is a lot to confront and wrestle with throughout the book, Treuer framing these historical atrocities challenging situations as a letter and dialogue with his children also brings readers into the conversation, making it feel more dialogic and inviting them to not only consider the perspectives and experiences of others, but also to empathize with them and our shared history of violence, even if we may not have experienced the violence in similar ways. Furthermore, Treuer ends the book with stories of hope and redemption, sharing how the Big Drum Ceremony originated for his Ojibwe tribe. Interestingly, it was brought to the Ojibwe by a Dakota Sioux woman who survived an attack by the US army and received a vision of the ceremony during her time hiding. Part of the vision instructed her to share the ceremony with the Ojibwe, who had fought with the Dakotas for years. Although the Dakotas shared the ceremony, it became an Ojibwe tradition where members who were touched by violence led the ceremony. Treuer explains it much better, but he spends time with two Ojibwe veterans who recount how the Big Drum Ceremony has helped them heal their trauma from war. It’s an incredible story of healing, and especially how community like the Ojibwe tribe can help to shoulder grief and sorrow so that individuals do not need to feel this heavy burden. Treuer once again weaves the past, the present, and the personal to offer insights into how we continue to feel the ramifications of the past, but this experience is much different from the incidents of violence that are continuously revisited on American people. Rather, it’s about healing, peace, community, and recognizing our shared humanity. It’s a beautiful ending to a complicated legacy of violence, stolen land, broken treaties, and mistreatment. And while Treuer doesn’t call for forgetting and moving forward, he does recognize the significance of community in helping to forge forward. The Savage Mind is an important and engaging read. Thank you to Little, Brown and Company and NetGalley for allowing me to preview and advanced copy of this amazing book. Highly recommended! 

Necessary Reading for Today: End Times Fascism by Naomi Klein and Astra Taylor

 End Times Fascism: And the Fight for the Living World by Naomi Klein and Astra Taylor

End Times Fascism book cover

Author and journalist Naomi Klein

Author and filmmaker Astra Taylor

In their new book End Times Fascism: And the Fight fort he Living World, Naomi Klein and Astra Taylor provide an important observation from Joyce Carol Oates about Elon Musk, where she questioned his lack of enjoyment or celebration on social media. Where other tech moguls like Mark Zuckerberg have proclaimed social media’s ability to bring us together, Oates observes how other social media platforms have devolved into a space for harboring grievances and complaints. It’s a fitting observation that Klein and Taylor lean into to raise questions about how these wealthy elites with seemingly more resources than some countries and many people can find so much of the world problematic that many of them seek to develop charter cities or autonomous zones of exclusivity or even isolated bunkers that will allow them to disengage and shield themselves from the rest of the world. End Times Fascism explores the hard shift in the tech industry from progressive ideas and thoughts towards fascism and dictatorships to how they have exploited millennialism and apocalyptic thinking and partnered with other fascistic political movements in America and around the world in order to demonstrate their need for exclusivity and shelter. After reading Gil Durán’s excellent new book The Nerd Reich, which also details the fascistic shift in Silicon Valley and its determination to accelerated the collapse of society to form their own autonomous enclaves and feudal systems, End Times Fascism provides a complementary if not a broader view in how 21^st century fascism and its links to technology and apocalyptic thinking are different from the 20^th century fascism that we’re often warned about and keep vigilant eyes in order to prevent its resurrection. These books are not only timely and relevant, but also necessary in helping to make meaning and understand the motivations of the individuals and groups who not only hold much of the world’s wealth but also are able to leverage that wealth to change the world, often to benefit themselves.

An important lesson Klein and Taylor explain at the beginning of their book is how this modern version of fascism differs from earlier iterations, examining its evolution as “humanity has entered an era of unprecedented, global-scale existential crises.” While in the past, we might trust our leaders in industries and governments to mount challenges to these crises, but today’s approach is much different and more self-serving. Furthermore, Klein and Taylor explore how this approach to accelerating the end and the apocalyptic thinking limits resources for others while allowing the world to burn. That is, with the end of the world fast approaching, there’s no need to help others out, but rather only to prepare for its imminent demise. This book not only highlights the apocalyptic thinking of Silicon Valley, but also their symbiosis with the conservative, right-wing political world to wrest more control and dominion over society.  

End Times Fascism is organized into 4 different sections that examine the history of fascism and millenarianism in the 20^th century and how it has led to an increasing belief in end times and the hypervigilance of these end times symbols. While it is still a little unsettling to see how many people are increasingly banking on the end of the world being near, Klein and Taylor’s book is also a reminder about how often this kind of thinking and belief system arises during manufactured crises and unprecedented events. In Chris Jennings’s End Times, he explores the Ruby Ridge standoff and tragedy, and how it arose from the millenarianism that permeated the Christian nationalism of the 70s and 80s, and how Hal Lindsey’s book The Late Great Planet Earth was among the best-selling books of the 1970s. Even though this kind of thinking isn’t novel, the apocalyptic thinking and hastening the end of the world remain a popular belief system for some groups of people. The second section details how Silicon Valley is working to hasten the end times and how AI and data centers in particular are proving to be part of the accelerant that is hastening the end for some communities. While there has rightly been considerable pushback against data centers in communities, it was shocking to read about Musk’s Colossus, a massive data center in Memphis. Named after a 1960s sci-fi movie computer, Klein and Taylor document Musk’s late-to-the game approach to AI, and how this facilitated his hasty and dangerous construction of basically a private powerplant to fuel his AI, which the authors also note has a reputation for generating racist and misogynistic content. As Duran’s book noted, many of the Silicon Valley’s companies are named after sci-fi and fantasy book characters, yet these CEOs and leaders often misread or omit the warnings and ironies in these characters, and it seems like Musk missed the irony of naming his vast AI data center after a murderous robot- man-made technology run amok and seeking to end humanity. It was shocking to learn about Musk’s secret deal with the Memphis city council that allowed him to unleash pollutants, toxic chemicals, and waste in neighborhoods that have often been the site of other economic and environmental injustices. Although there’s been more and more pushback regarding data centers recently, Klein and Taylor’s reporting helps to further emphasize the environmental and human toll that our use of AI has on communities and individuals. This book raises important awareness of these issues and frames the damage done to communities in a way that identifies its toll on individuals and families, making this an important read. It’s also one of the many travesties and atrocities that are perpetrated around the world in the name of technological progress and efficiency. While we may think our lives are improving, Klein and Taylor remind us of those voices and victims who are often stifled, maligned, or silenced by the powerful and affluent.

Although Klein and Taylor focus on the institutional, racial, economic, and political violence that has become more prominent with the rise of 21^st century fascism, their book also offers signs of hope through resistance. Although they report on Musk’s data center and the damage it has inflicted on the Boxtown neighborhood of Memphis, Klein and Taylor also highlight group and individuals like Keshaun Pearson who helped organize the Memphis Communist Against Pollution, which has collaborated with other organizations to fight the encroaching environmental pollution from these data centers. They also spend time discussing how communities and groups in Minneapolis supported neighbors and immigrants when DHS invaded its neighborhoods and murdered two citizens. For all the attempts to malign these victims and paint them as radical terrorists, Klein and Taylor highlight the kind of supportive communities and neighbors who put themselves as risk for the care and good of one another. It’s an important reminder of the connections that help to sustain us during these wild, violent times. It’s also an important reminder of the kinds of dichotomies and sides that are set up as our society continues to break apart due to polarization. We can choose the side of exclusivity, of rejection, of violence and condescension, or we can choose to be part of a broader collective, working to protect others against harm. While Klein and Taylor don’t necessarily frame their arguments in this way, they do end their book with a reminder of the doomsday clock, and how both the UN and Bulletin of Atomic Scientists raised concerns about the destructive powers of nuclear technology. Both organizations arose from the wreckage of World War II, seeking to prevent further wars and the use of destructive technology. While Klein and Taylor acknowledge the limitations of the UN and the frequent failures to recognize the destructive power of nuclear technology, they present important warnings and reminders of what lies ahead if we continue down this apocalyptic path while indiscriminately using technology without thinking. Klein and Taylor report on many of the interconnected fascist factions not only in the US but around the world, and although breadth of this coverage can feel daunting, it’s also important to recognize their coverage of the communities of resistance that have risen to challenge the encroachments on our rights. My thanks to Farrar, Straus, and Giroux and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of this book. Highly recommended!

Biting Superhero Critique: Automatic Kafka

 Automatic Kafka by Joe Casey with artwork by Ashley Wood

Automatic Kafka book cover

Author Joe Casey

Artist Ashley Wood

Many thanks to Image Comics and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of Automatic Kafka by Joe Casey with artwork by Ashley Wood. I didn’t know much about this 9-issue collection from 2002, but the robotic arm image on the cover and the title attracted me to it. Ashley Wood’s artwork in this collection is stunning, with a mix of surreal images that incorporate advertising, pop culture, horror, sci-fi and war imagery, while Casey’s story and writing veer satire and critique to the absurd. At times, I found the story a little hard to follow, but Wood’s images help to ground a complicated story that lampoons super heroes and pop culture through its absurdly entertaining tale of a renegade robot addicted to a substance known as nanotecheroin. The National Park Service seeks to reassemble Automatic Kafka’s old team of The $tranger$, who include Saint Nick, Helen of Troy, and The Constitution, all assembled by The Warning. The National Park Service is looking to bring Automatic Kafka back into service for secret missions, but Automatic Kafka has a lucrative life of product endorsements and hosting a frightening game show called The Million Dollar Detail, where contestants try to guess the missing detail to often fatal physical challenges.

Automatic Kafka is a fascinating, if not sometimes confounding, story that has all the hallmarks of a critique of the George Bush era’s amped up patriotism and pessimism. In particular, The Constitution is a gas mask wearing ultra-patriotic warrior, whose red, white, and blue nationalist tattoos bear a certain resemblance to some current officials promoting the warrior ethos. Similarly, Automatic Kafka’s shilling of products and hosting a violent and fatal television show mock consumption and the kind of entertainment we seek to possibly take our minds of the violence and bloodshed we witness on the news. It’s a kind of bread and circus that often distracts citizens from the real horrors that are abound. Additionally, it’s interesting to see how the comic uses seemingly innocuous government agencies to develop clandestine operations and programs like The $tranger$, and their willingness to revert to these options when it seems like society is falling apart. I’m not sure whether that was the intent of Casey and Wood, who show up in a kind of meta-fourth wall break, and explain to Automatic Kafka his real intention. I felt like there was some kind of deeper meaning or more trenchant critique of the world in the early 2000s that was often marked by increasing government surveillance and programs couched in a rise in patriotism and nationalism. Automatic Kafka is surreal and absurd, but also sharply critical and biting in its satire of consumerism, patriotism, and the government. Plus it has amazing artwork. It’s a story with sharp, acidic artwork that feels especially relevant today. Recommended!

 

 

 

Red X: A Terrifying Hybrid of Horror and Memoir

 Red X by David Demchuk

Red X book cover

Author David Demchuk

Many thanks to Soho Press and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of David Demchuk’s truly haunting and frightening book Red X. The book is part novel and part memoir, examining how both systemic and social violence against the LGBTQ+ community in Toronto creates terror and horror for those who are marginalized in society. Furthermore, Demchuk uses the notorious serial murders in Toronto’s Gay Village between 2010 and 2017 to further explore how the LGBTQ+ community often experiences further institutional violence when disappearances are not investigated. It’s a fascinating and troubling examination of the kinds of skepticism, violence and the lack of voice and agency that some of us do not experience on a daily basis. If anything, Demchuk’s story generated considerable empathy in trying to understand the barriers and threats that many in the LGBTQ+ community face on a daily basis. Nevertheless, this book was challenging, disturbing, and gory, making for an engaging, but complicated read. I ended up appreciating this book, not only for the horror elements, but also for its unique development that includes a synthesis of horror, history, folklore, and social issues. I also recognize that this is not a book for everyone, especially due to the gore, violence, and the sheer terror that many of the characters experience throughout the book. Nevertheless, reading the book pays off in many ways, as readers gain a sense of empathy and understanding about how groups that are often marginalized and sometimes historically stigmatized face incredible challenges and barriers to being authentic and free, yet also find community and support among their own.

Red X begins with the founding of Toronto, and how the different regions within the city were divided among the different social classes and ethnicities that arrived in the city. Through this kind of historical overview, we see how the Gay Village was eventually established and how minorities were moved towards the fringes of the city, left to establish their own enclaves, which the Gay Village did with “a hodgepodge of bars, clubs, bathhouses and pubs, small shops and restaurants clustered around the intersection of Church and Wellesley.” The book takes place across nearly 40 years around the Gay Village, and starts with the mysterious disappearances of young gay men at the height of the AIDS epidemic, when little was known about the disease, yet much was speculated about its origins and transmissions. Demchuk not only reminds readers of the kind of social fear that AIDS brought with it but also mentions how popular films shaped some of nightmares and fears of the time, mentioning that Ghostbusters and A Nightmare on Elm Street were both released around the summer of 1984. I can see how both films factor into the story, where Ghostbusters deals with the invasion of terror and horror in a metropolis, with many unsure of why the dead are coming back to haunt the living. In many ways, it’s the absence of these missing men that haunt those who shared relationships, support, and friendships with them. While in Ghostbusters, a team assembles to fight against these supernatural powers, there’s no such support for Toronto’s LGBTQ+ community. In fact, readers learn how hostile law enforcement is towards the community, taking bribes to avoid busting the bars and bathhouses that provide a sense of camaraderie and acceptance to this marginalized community. However, it’s A Nightmare on Elm Street that shares more of the supernatural elements with Red X, as we learn that the force that is absorbing and feeding on these missing men can arrive in their dreams. Much like Freddy Krugar, who haunts the young of Springfield’s dreams as retribution against their parents, we learn that Nicholas, the shape shifting wolfman, who we learn is also a barghest, a kind of devil dog, haunts many of his victims and their loved ones in their sleep. Nicholas is truly one of the most terrifying monsters I’ve come across in books recently, with the ability prey on the marginalized by attacking their fears. He also reminded me a little of Pennywise from It in that he attacks those who are weak and marginalized, sometimes offering a form of respite and comfort. He also has the ability to shape shift and take on various forms.  Nevertheless, I loved Demchuk’s ability to incorporate history, folklore, and his own personal experiences of his early fears and emerging sexuality to further explore the kind of fear, isolation, and community that all are an integral part of this book.

Also like Pennywise, Nicholas seems to strike in 8-year intervals, which is when the book takes place, 1984, 1992, 2000, 2008, and 2016. Throughout the book, we learn about the various men who disappear, and about their own journeys from other regions in Canada and around the world, their fears and longings, and how Nicholas used this to engaging and eventually consume them. Nicholas also shares a book with his victims, encouraging them to write in it. The book is fascinating, as it contains the writings of others that Nicholas has encountered over time, and includes various languages and images that are not always clear to those who encounter it. The one thing that I wished about this book was that it would have included some examples from Nicholas’s book as it seemed like an odd, but compelling artifact from time. The book shows up and disappears from those who encounter it, and it is often described as possessing an odd, rotten smell, and also possibly appearing wet and rotten. This book, along with Nicholas’s appearances in random places at night, including dreams, often filled me with dread, but made me keep reading to learn more about what might happen to those with whom he comes into contact.

Each year in Red X focuses on specific men who disappear and their friends and loved ones’ attempts to locate them. Often the men leave behind their clothes or belongings, but no other trace of them remains. Since many of the men are marginalized, it sometimes takes days or weeks for others to notice their absences. I appreciated Demchuk using horror fiction as a way to highlight the kind of systemic inequality and violence that this community experiences, and how many times the violence and death that they experience is often explained away or blamed on their identities. It happened in Milwaukee with Jeffrey Dahmer’s victims, and  Demchuk notes how the victims of Bruce McArthur also experienced this kind of doubt, lack of investigation and resources into their disappearances and blame for their violent demise. It’s the blending of fact and fiction that creates a powerful narrative that does more than just tell a story, but highlights the kind of injustice and inequality that persists in society. Furthermore, Demchuk also includes his own reflections and experiences at the end of each 8-year period. At first, I found this somewhat intrusive, as it disrupted the narrative; however, as I read on, I appreciated his own insights into his fears, his complicated relationship with his parents and family, and his emerging sexual identity as a gay man, and how Toronto provided a sense of community for him. It was interesting to trace his identity development and see how he becomes more confident and secure in his sexual identity as the community grows and develops despite the continued threats and violence that it experiences. Furthermore, as the narrative moves towards 2016, Demchuk merges the fictional with his memoir, creating a hybrid horror story that was fascinating to read. Some of the characters who come into contact with the book and their missing loved ones in dreams reach out to Demchuk over Facebook to learn more about his research into folklore and mythological creatures like the barghests, creatures from Wales and Scotland, who served as a kind of death omen. I loved learning more about these creatures, and Demchuk uses this folklore in a creative way throughout the book.

Red X is definitely not a book for everyone, but I was glad that I found this book and that Soho Press decided to republish the book (it was originally published in 2021). I hope that more people will read it because it is a rewarding read. However, it does come with trigger warnings about the gore, terror, and violence, both physical and systemic, that the characters experience. Nevertheless, reading about this kind of violence and inequality made me more aware of the kinds of barriers and challenges that people in the LGBTQ+ community experience. Additionally, Red X is a great horror story that preys on many of our fears of isolation, rejection, and loneliness, while also creating a kind of hybrid narrative style that is unique to horror. Highly recommended! 

The Fire This Time: Eddie S. Glaude Jr's America, U.S.A.

 America, U.S.A.: How Race Shadows the Nation's Anniversaries by Eddie S. Glaude Jr. 

America, U.S.A. book cover

Author and professor Eddie S. Glaude Jr. 

Many thanks to Crown Publishing and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of the urgent and necessary new book America, U.S.A.: How Race Shadows the Nation’s Anniversaries by Princeton professor Eddie S. Glaude Jr. I read and thoroughly enjoyed Glaude’s book Begin Again about 5 years ago. I found that book, which uses James Baldwin’s works and ideas as a way to examine race and injustice in America in the 21^st century, to be both critical and hopeful in making the case that America has continuously faced issues of racial injustice, but that Baldwin’s writings and ideas can provide useful insight to examine these issues. Glaude never presents the ideas as solutions, but rather uses Baldwin’s life and experiences as like a lens for seeking understanding and contextualizing issues of race, injustice, violence, and inequality that we’ve experienced during the 21^st century. I really appreciated how hopeful the book is while maintaining a critical eye on the injustice. Furthermore, I loved how Glaude revisits Baldwin, using literature, essays, and criticism to explore how other great thinkers and writers have navigated challenging times. I wasn’t necessarily expecting the same thing, but America, U.S.A. takes on an entirely different tone and approach in examining the existential questions surrounding the coming semi-quincentennial (250^th anniversary) of the founding of the country. Nevertheless, like Begin Again, Glaude turns to other writers, thinkers, and activists, as well as the history of other celebrations of America’s founding, to examine how ideas of history and race have been co-opted, revised, or excluded in order to redefine the idea of America. Although this is a challenging and difficult book to read, it felt like the book I needed to read at this time, as I’ve been inundated with images of flags, stars, stripes, and Uncle Sams presented in a celebratory manner that don’t always seem to reflect my own complicated feelings about the country.

Glaude’s writing is clear and dynamic, not overwrought or dense. It’s not the prose of the book that is challenging, and if anything, the challenge and my own struggles with the book are necessary and contribute to a kind of growth and understanding. One of Glaude’s premises is that 250^th celebration of America has been taken over, and with executive orders demanding a fictionalized history that fails to acknowledge the role of racism in the country’s founding, Glaude questions what kind of history and celebration will take place this year. It’s his call to interrogate the past, to reckon with the injustices of slavery that continue to be pushed aside or swept under the rug that plague America, creating a kind of storybook nation that only exists for certain groups of people. To quote spoken word pioneer Gil Scott Heron, this hagiography of history “ain’t no new thing”; it’s been happening since America’s first celebration in 1826, when African Americans couldn’t vote or even petition their representatives, for those who were not enslaved. Glaude examines how America celebrated these varying anniversaries, and how often African Americans and their contributions to the country were often excluded from these celebrations.

Glaude examines the history of these celebrations in Philadelphia, which I found fascinating since I’ve lived in the Philadelphia region my whole life and did not know about some of the events and instances he discussed in the book. Furthermore, it’s important to note that much of Glaude’s analysis examines Frederick Douglass’s seminal speech in 1852 “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?” to further interrogate how history and celebrations of the ideals of America ring hallow. Douglass is an important figure to me. I graduated from the school where Douglass gave his last speech, and when I returned there a few years ago, I was excited to see a statue on campus memorializing not only his speech, but his contributions to society and Pennsylvania in particular. Glaude’s chapters not only present Douglass’s most famous speech as a reminder of how exclusionary the fourth can be, but also as a way to encourage readers to further interrogate history and the symbolism and meanings of what we sometimes take for granted as a day off to spend with friends and family at a barbecue or down the shore. Both Douglass and Glaude remind readers of how the “more perfect union” has failed to live up to its lofty standards set forth in the Declaration of Independence, where its initial lines clearly state that all men are created equal, endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, including Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. Glaude also presents a story about how Douglass was denied a seat at the centennial dais in Memorial Hall during the centennial celebration in Philadelphia. Apparently police did not believe that a Black man would have anything to contribute to the celebration. Although he was later allowed to enter the exposition, he was never allowed to speak at the centennial celebration. Glaude presents this story to explore how it is emblematic of how African Americans are often silenced or pushed to the side during these celebrations of America, U.S.A. He later notes instances when Dr. King petitioned Kennedy for more recognition of the contributions of Black Americans, but he and A. Philip Randolph only received an invitation to dinner.

It was also fascinating to learn more about the 1926 celebration in Philadelphia. I’ve visited Memorial Hall, and spent time in the Please Touch Museum’s exhibit about the centennial celebration, but I wasn’t really aware of the 1926 celebrations, probably because, according to Glaude, these were plagued by lower interest and attendance and more funding problems, often related to graft and corruption. Nevertheless, as Glaude documents, it provided an opportunity for A. Philip Randolph to speak, which Glaude notes is an interesting choice since Randolph was the President of the Sleeping Car Porters, who helped to organize key Civil and Labor Rights events. The chapters between these “celebrations” focus on interludes, demonstrating key events that continued to represent the conflict between inclusion and exclusion of African Americans in the portrayal of the history of America. It’s fascinating and important to think about the different ways in which American continued to promote its ideals as it grew to be a global power, yet failed domestically to live up to its standards of liberty and justice for some, but not all. There’s much to unpack here, and I learned much from reading these chapters. However, I think that the book also made me feel so many complicated emotions, and that is even more a reflection of how important and necessary this book is today, especially as we approach a “celebration” that feels so dour and funereal. The last few chapters that focus on the last 50 years are fascinating to read, and I could not put the book down. Part of it is that these are the years which I’ve lived through and learned about through experience. It’s fascinating to learn the different battles and conflicts that have emerged and shaped the ways in which history and our own understandings of the country have been shaped and evolved over time. For me, it was important to know the myths and fairytales we tell about the founding of the country are continuing to erode, and that there are many who are interested in continuing to learn more about and reshape the truth we present to students and others. Yet, it’s also disheartening to know that there are many others who wish to grasp onto the myths and fairytales that we learned as children, and that when confronted with the facts of history, continue to pervert the truth and perpetuate the lies, choosing comfort and complacency over the struggles and challenges of learning and change. Glaude’s book is an important book for many people, but I think that this book is especially important for educators and others working with young people. It’s not only important to learn about the complicated feelings about this nation’s history and why “celebrating” it comes with its own complications and contradictions, but it’s also necessary to learn the kind of propaganda war that is being waged by those with positions of authority and voice in our government and media. It’s important and necessary to recognize the kind of whitewashing they intend in bad faith and disinformation they continue to spew about the diversity in America. Glaude frames this battle as one of consensus versus conflict, where over the past century, America has moved to an idea of consensus about the role of African Americans, and this consensus often neglects the more radical or revolutionary voices, who more often than not, reflect the kind of revolutionary spirit that won freedom from England. Again, it’s part of the complex and complicated nature of our country. However, as Glaude notes, Trump has moved from an idea of consensus that presidents from Reagan to Obama exerted about African American history, to one of imposition and erasure. In the past year, the Trump administration has authored executive orders that sought to erase Black, Indigenous, and other non-white voices and contributions from museums, parks, military libraries, websites, and classrooms. Not only is it a way to shape the history that students learn, but, as Glaude notes, it’s a way to indicate who deserves freedom and citizenship in society. Although Glaude ends the book with the annoyingly whiny words of VP Vance, he also ignites a call for resistance and change, to not only reclaim history, but also to continue to push against the untruths and the unserious and unsettling presentation of the storybook version of America, U.S.A.

There’s more that I need to unpack and examine from this book as it really made me experience a lot of different emotions. There’s much to learn from the book, but I wanted to mention Glaude’s references to DuBois throughout the book as well. Glaude not only includes music to begin each chapter, like DuBois did in Souls of Black Folk, but he also shares DuBois’s acknowledgement that the problem of the 20^th century and beyond. DuBois declared that the color-line was the problem of the 20^th century, and Glaude acknowledges that this continues to be a problem in the 21^st century. It’s also important to call attention to Glaude’s references to DuBois, and that DuBois didn’t frame this as a problem of White people or Black people, but rather the division based on skin color and the oppression that results from this division. However, Glaude notes how DuBois’s color-line problem has evolved to the “desperate avoidance of self-awareness- its refusal to know itself fully, and the deadly consequences for people and the world that follow from that refusal. Ours is a time of shattered mirrors.” This line, and the shattered mirror reference from Baldwin at the end of the book, really resonated with me, and I felt like this demonstrated not only Glaude’s scholarship and references, but also his astute analysis at the ways in which the avoidance of race, injustice, and inequality continue to haunt us, leaving our homes with shattered mirrors that fail to reflect who we really are. Highly recommended and important book!  

 Hip-Hop Is History by Questlove

Hip-Hop Is History book cover

Drummer, author, and hip-hop historian Questlove

Questlove’s phenomenal new book Hip-Hop Is History is a must read for any hip-hop fans and music fans in general. Questlove starts by discussing the 50^th anniversary of Hip-Hop’s start, and how he was tasked with organizing the celebration for the Grammy Awards. It is an interesting story that begins to give readers who may be unfamiliar about the scope and depth of Hip-Hop, trying to organize all the different styles and contributors, as well as their egos and personalities, into a short, allotted time frame. I really enjoyed reading about the stress involved in this process, and this story provided an effective set up for the history of Hip-Hop, according to Questlove. While I don’t dispute that Questlove is one of the strongest advocates and most knowledgeable people about Hip-Hop, I did find some places where there were some omissions in his chapters. Thankfully, his list at the end of the book incorporated more artists and groups that I felt were deserving of more time. It’s also just a great snapshot of different eras in Hip-Hop. Interestingly, Questlove organizes the book chronologically, but also pairs each era in Hip-Hop with its drug of choice. I thought this was an interesting choice, but he makes a compelling point showing not necessarily how the drugs themselves, but the social impacts and influences from the drugs (including legality, police enforcement, prison, etc) have impacted the music. It’s why he spends some time discussing PE’s “Night of the Living Bassheads” in the “Back in the Incredible” chapter detailing the golden age of Hip-Hop from 1987-1992, and then exploring the influence of The Chronic, both album and drug, on the “While I Get My Proper Swerve On” (1992-1997). While I loved how Questlove discusses these albums and singles and how he conveys his own personal connection with much of the music in these chapters, he goes beyond just being a fan (or musical contributor) and delves into critical analysis of the music, the styles, and the rhymes. He brings in not just a historical perspective, but also a sociological perspective, examining issues happening in society and relating these events to styles and innovations in Hip-Hop. I was especially surprised to hear how critical and honest Questlove was in this book. He not only discusses calling out certain MCs (Da Baby), but also discusses not initially liking some music and questioning the work of other artists he looked up to (1991 albums from PE and Prince). I really appreciated his candor and honesty in discussing this music, but also appreciated how he sometimes revisited certain songs or music and gained a new appreciation. I think that this book not only provides a history and sociology of Hip-Hop, but also provides new ways to listen to music across different eras. I think that my favorite chapters were those dealing with the early to golden age of Hip-Hop from about 1979-1997. I related to a lot of Questlove’s experiences, remembering the first time I hear Wu-Tang or PE and feeling a kind of transformation—although he mentioned not liking the production values of Enter the 36 Chambers, I felt like it was the varied styles of the MCs that really drew my interest. I also remember having to sneak Hip-Hop into my house since my parents held certain assumptions about it. Now, my mom knows Snoop Dog from his work with Martha Stewart and my kids know Snoop Dog from his cartoon work. I was wondering where DITC fits into some of these chapters- especially Showbiz & AG, but for the most part, Questlove is a completist, and I know that he was trying to keep his list focused and representative of the best Hip-Hop. Although as the book progresses into more recent times and the chapters become shorter, Questlove provided me with some great points of entry for accessing today’s Hip-Hop. I loved how Questlove references artists like Kendrick Lamar who are going back to other eras from Hip-Hop to represent. It’s reassuring to know. This book is not just for music fans, but I could see teachers making excellent use of this book for their students. I would love to use this book to have students develop their analytical skills, researching different eras and identifying and explaining the differences between the eras of Hip-Hop—or taking the historical events and seeing how songs and artists from those eras dealt with or addressed some of the events. There’s so much to consider in this book. Highly recommended.

 

Documenting a King: King Kong: The History of a Movie Icon by Ray Morton

 King Kong: The History of a Movie Icon 

by Ray Morton

King Kong: The History of a Movie Icon book cover

Author and Kong enthusiast Ray Morton

Gigantic thanks to Bloomsbury Academic and NetGalley for allowing me to preview an advanced copy of Ray Morton’s comprehensive and ginormous detailed history of King Kong titled King Kong: The History of a Movie Icon. This is actually a revised and update edition of the book he initially published 20 years ago as the 3^rd version of King Kong, Peter Jackson’s adaptation, was released. This book includes additional research and information about the three main versions of King Kong from 1933, 1976, and 2005, as well as other offshoots including Son of Kong, the official sequel, and the Toho iterations where Kong battles Godzilla. In addition, Morton provides detailed information about the recent Mosterverse that includes Kong: Skull Island (2017), Godzilla vs. Kong (2021), and Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire (2024). He ends the book with some other appearances of Kong in comics, books, television, cartoons, and movies, including proposed films that never made it to the big screen. As someone who loves monster movies, especially the grand spectacle of giant monsters, this book was a great read. Furthermore, as someone who has grown to love the King Kong story, studying the film in college for some of the possible subtextual readings that its creator rejected, I also found that this book was a fascinating read, and I appreciated Morton’s detailed and loving research into the creation of the main Kong films from inception, to production, to the box office. It’s not only fascinating to learn that the story of a giant ape has been appealing to audiences for nearly 100 years, but also to see how these films have helped to drive innovative practices in film and special effects.

Morton spends the most time detailing the three Kong movies, and these chapters delve into all aspects of the film. It was fascinating to learn about how the first film script changed over time. I wasn’t aware that so many writers were involved in crafting the script, and that there was also a novelization that came out before the film, but also ended up out of copyright and in the public domain, allowing others to develop stories based on the novel rather than the movie. Nevertheless, Morton provides two storylines to allow readers to see how the script changed after subsequent drafts. He also provides a detailed chronology of the film’s production, with a focus on how the special effects were implemented for this film. Although it wasn’t the first film to use stop motion animation, expertly done by Willis O’Brien and Marcel Delgado among others, the film implemented it to such a degree that it changed special effects. I also loved reading about the challenges with filming the 1976 version of King Kong, which attempted to create a giant robotic Kong, but ultimately used this version more for promotion than actually in the screen. I also learned that Rick Baker played Kong in most of the scenes and reportedly had a difficult time working with the other special effects artist Carlo Rambaldi, who had previously worked on other Dino De Laurentiis films. Ever since seeing American Werewolf in London, I’ve been a huge Rick Baker fan, so it was surprising to learn more about his role and lack of credits in this film.

The book contains a lot of information about various Kong related projects, including a 1986 film, King Kong Lives, that I kind of remember. I’m sure that I saw it at some point, but as Morton details, the film was planned during the De Laurentiis Studio’s decline and string of failed films, so the budget kept getting slashed, which ultimately had an impact on the story and effects. It’s ultimately a forgotten film, but this chapter does detail how the studio system works along with the challenges that producers and effects artists experience when trying to make the unreal appear in films. The chapter about Peter Jackson’s version was incredibly fascinating since it provides background in Jackson’s career along with his development of the Kong project, which started before Lord of the Rings, but ultimately was made after LOTR (and probably would not have been made without the success of that franchise). I learned so much from this chapter, but I was most enthralled with the various technology and effects that Jackson and his team employed to create this version of Kong along with a realistic recreation of 1930s NYC. Morton does a great job explaining the process of how digital effects work. Like the other versions of King Kong presented in the book, Morton also details the various scenes and technology employed to make the effects appear realistic, which was also fascinating to read, although it is more of a reference and explanation than anything else. Nevertheless, I feel like I have a better understanding of the various uses of green and blue screen technology, among other technologies that have developed from 1976 to the 2005 version of Kong.

I also enjoyed reading about the Monsterverse films, and while Morton doesn’t hold them in as high regard as the other Kong films, I generally like them. As he notes, these are mostly fun films without much serious plot, and in many ways, Morton explores how Kong has developed an alternative backstory to his life on Skull Island, becoming an orphan as other creatures attacked and killed his parents, and eventually discovering a land in the hollow earth where other giant apes (and other creatures) live and battle. Furthermore, Morton traces the challenges that the production teams have in accessing the rights to these monsters, creating story lines where they meet, collaborate or battle, and exploring how technology was used to create their environments and likenesses. I really enjoyed learning more about how the directors and designers looked to other films, including the various versions of King Kong, for inspiration. It’s really cool to see how these more recent films both honor the legacy of Kong, yet also want to try something different or find inspiration from other films and styles.

This book is truly a great reference and resource for anyone who is deeply interested in Kong movies or monster movies in general. My favorite parts of the book were learning more about Rick Baker’s background in special effects and seeing how his work on films like The Exorcist, It’s Alive, and with John Landis eventually led him to work on the 1976 version of Kong. Furthermore, even though King Kong Lives was a failure, the film came out around the time that Evil Dead II, Manhunter, and Blue Velvet were also produced by the De Laurentiis Group (I think that Dune was also around this time too). It shows that De Laurentiis did have an important role in producing some important films, even if the film industry relies on intellectual property and sequels. In fact, this is a point that Morton raises when discussing Legendary Pictures and how financing shifted from studios to corporations and investment firms. Again, Morton helps to highlight much about the film industry and how Kong both represented and drove trends and changes in genres and styles. I was also surprised to learn that Peter Jackson apparently created a film idea for the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise in the late 80s, which I can only imagine what that might have been. I also loved learning about where the newer Kong movies were filmed. I recently travelled to Kualoa Ranch, where some of Skull Island was filmed. I didn’t realize it at the time since most of the focus was on Jurassic Park, but I could see some of the distinct spots after reading through Morton’s indications of the filming locations. Although the book has so much detail and information about all of the Kong movies, it does feel repetitive at times, especially early on when the chapters detail the plotlines and then detail the filming process, and then also details the special effects. I loved reading about how these effects happened, and I think the process was especially fascinating or all 3 of the Kong movies, but I found myself less interested in some of the lesser Kong movies like Son of Kong and King Kong Lives. If anything, including all of these examples helps to highlight the vast differences in quality and innovation among the different productions. Overall, though, this was a really entertaining and enlightening book, and I’m so glad that Morton has not only shared his love of Kong with the world, but has also populated the book with so many images and photos from his own Kong collection, sharing some of the unique merchandise that was used to promote the majesty and regality of Kong. Highly recommended book! 

Ain't No New Thing: Fear and Fury: The Reagan Eighties, the Bernie Goetz Shootings, and the Rebirth of White Rage by Heather Thomspon

 Fear and Fury: The Reagan Eighties, the Bernie Goetz Shootings, and the Rebirth of White Rage by Heather Ann Thompson

Fear and Fury book cover

Author and scholar Heather Ann Thompson

Many thanks to Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage, and Anchor and NetGalley for allowing me to read an advanced copy of Heather Ann Thompson’s detailed and compelling new book Fear and Fury: The Reagan Eighties, the Bernie Goetz Shootings, and the Rebirth of White Rage. I was floored by the events in this book, and I’m glad that Thompson has re-examined the facts of this case, including the lives of Goetz’s victims, James Ramesuer, Darrell Cabey, Barry Allen, and Troy Canty. While Thompson’s book accomplishes many things, one of the most important is to humanize these victims who were degraded and criminalized for being young Black men in NYC not only by the violent judgement of Bernie Goetz, but also by the emerging NYC tabloid press, The NY Post, which was acquired by Rupert Murdoch in the late 1970s. Thompson details how Reagan’s cultivation of white resentment through targeting civil rights and poverty initiatives from the 1930s through the 1960s led to his election and mandate to cut government waste, with the unstated consequences of easing taxes for the aristocracy and corporations. Whether it was magical thinking or just a kind of splashy statement that would silence critics, the trickle down economics never happened, and income inequality worsened as those in big cities and those who lived below the poverty line saw reductions in services and aid that helped with everything from accessing food, housing and education. Sound familiar? In reading this, it was hard to stomach the ways that conservatives have repurposed Reagan’s failed ideas, ignoring the damage it wrought to all Americans, but in particular the injustices and inequalities that deepened for Black Americans. However, while Thompson draws parallels between society and politics in America today and America 40-45 years ago, the main focus of this book is on how this context set the stage for the kind of vigilantism that Bernhard Goetz was allowed to perpetuate on 4 Black teenagers in a NYC subway in 1984.

While I don’t remember when this even occurred, I do remember some aspects of the trial, which occurred significantly after it happened. I also think that Wu-Tang Clan’s “Clan in da Front” helped to remind me about “Bernhard Goetz what he deserves,” shouting out the kind of injustice and violence that was a part of being young and Black in NYC in the 80s and 90s. Regardless, it was shocking to learn more about this case and the way that it played out in the media, which ended up shaping not only public opinion, but also that of the jury. A majority of the book details the actual shooting, its aftermath, and the trial, which took place nearly 3 years after the shooting. Thompson’s research and retelling lets us know about the lives of both the teenage victims and their shooter. It was interesting to learn about Bernie’s own troubles with authority, his inability to hold a job, and his disgust with NYC. Although his family moved to Orlando after his father was revealed to have inappropriate relationships with young boys, I was surprised that Bernie never moved there since he seemed to really despise the city. Furthermore, Thompson shares the challenges that the boys experienced as NYC slipped into debt and in particular the Bronx experienced a series of fires in the late 70s. The city takes on its own important role in Thompson’s book, noting how crime, cuts, politics, economics, race, and growing diversity with urban flight all played roles in heightening tensions and distrust among different groups of people. In fact, as Thompson presents the shooting and the trials of Goetz, we see how biases and beliefs were already shaped based on the perceptions of the events, rather than the actual evidence or outcomes. I was shocked to see the ways that these boys were convicted in public without any kind of trial. There was no presumption of innocence for them, and yet, the man who actually pulled the trigger, who shockingly went back to shoot Darrell Cabey, telling him he didn’t look so bad, was applauded, rewarded, and treated as a hero in the city, although not by all. The boys were repeatedly referred to as criminals, violent thugs, whose intention was to rob, yet they were not even tried or charged with any crimes. It was shocking, but also not surprising in the examination of the history of white rage and vigilantism, which Thompson presents more recent examples of Trayvon Martin, Ahmaud Arbery, and most recently Jordan Neely, whose killer was invited to watch the Army Navy football game with the president and vice president. Thompson also mentions other prominent extrajudicial killings, including acquitted murderer Kyle Rittenhouse, to show how Goetz’s trial and acquittal on more serious charges wasn’t a bug, but rather a feature of the American justice system that often allows for violence and a wide berth of “self-defense” for some citizens, but not others. Thompson’s book helps to highlight how Goetz’s trial was conducted not just in the courtroom, but also in the court of public opinion, and helped to leverage the kind of white rage and fear that presented him as a sympathetic figure to many in NYC, rather than the violent, paranoid thug he was.

The entire book was shocking, especially when we consider the consequences of Goetz’s decision to shoot these boys, and how it impacted their lives, as well as the lives of those around them. Darrell Cabey, who was paralyzed and as a result of injuries to his spine and lungs, experienced oxygen deprivation that led to brain damage, is given the most attention in the book. However, all of the boys experienced physical and psychological consequences as a result of Goetz’s violence. In one of the most shocking moments of the book, Thompson details Cabey’s family’s attempts to sue Goetz in civil litigation mainly to help cover costs of the constant care required for him. Darrell was not only paralyzed, but had limited memory, which required help with daily tasks and bodily functions. Goetz, now serving as his own lawyer, requested to depose Cabey (and his mom), believing that Cabey was faking his injuries and brain damage for money. It’s hard to believe that someone who purposefully shot an unarmed teen, leading to paralysis and brain damage, would be so cynical and callous. What was even more shocking was that the judge, after several reports from physicians detailing Cabey’s mental capacity, would allow this deposition to occur. I’m curious to learn other’s perspectives on how utterly inhumane and degraded Goetz is after thinking that someone would fake brain damage for money.

In addition to Goetz’s disgusting behavior, it was also shocking to learn that he not only went on the run for more than a week after the shooting, fleeing to New Hampshire, but also that he eventually turned himself in, making a full confession after waiving his right to counsel. Despite acknowledging the boys posed no real threat and that he intended to violently harm and kill these boys, Goetz was acquitted of murder. Thompson provides a postmortem that goes through the jury’s reasoning, based on interviews and one of the jurist’s memoir of the trial. I won’t get into those details, but it was shocking to see the kinds of inferences they make to lead to an acquittal. Thompson’s book is a shocking, but important read today, especially as violence, both institutional and physical, continues to escalate. In the last section, Thompson details the more modern analogues for the Goetz shooting and trial, and how other cases and more recently racial violence and white rage have been increasing under Trump. While it’s not the main focus in the book, it does serve an important reminder and as a warning about how marshalling this kind of resentment and rage can have violent and dire consequences. Truly an important book to read in 2026. Highly recommended!