Posts Tagged ‘Trouble on Triton’

The Passion of New Eve

July 16, 2011

I feel so sad writing this, but after reading this book, I’m striking Angela Carter from my queer pantheon/sheroes list. It breaks my heart. I have vague plans of setting up flying buttress altars in my bedroom with books from authors like Dennis Cooper and Kathy Acker on them, candles, dried herbs, and other relevant stuff, to remind me every morning and every night that there are good things in the world, and Angela Carter’s work was third on the list. Uh, the list was three people long.

She just did so many of the things that resonate with me: she took feminism very seriously, she had an absolute wingnut imagination, and she was confrontational with those things. She did a lot of work with fairytales. She didn’t tell you how smart she was, she showed you.

Here’s the thing. As allegory, it’s brutal and effective, in large part because of its bluntness: Evelyn is a jerk. He dehumanizes his partner and bails when she gets pregnant. Radical feminists turn him into a woman; part of the indoctrination to womanhood is Ludovico technique screening of the works of Tristessa St Ange. Once Evelyn becomes Eve, she’s kidnapped into a brutal, polygamous parody of a heterosexual relationship, in which she and seven other subservient women cater to every whim of an inarticulate primitivist poet. Eve experiences sexism/the other side of patriarchy firsthand. The inarticulate poet- Zero- decides to kill Tristessa, the movie star, but he and the seven of his wives who aren’t Eve die in the raid. We also find out during the raid that Tristessa is a trans woman. She’s brutally ungendered and then murdered. Eve- pregnant with Tristessa’s child- moves on, into California, into the Earth’s vagina, back to the beginning of time, then leaves America in a boat.

Tristessa is at the center of the novel. If we conceptualize her as the embodiment of patriarchal beauty culture, everything else works as allegory: Eve[lyn] has a soft spot for her from the beginning of the novel. Part of Eve’s training to be a woman is being indoctrination into patriarchal beauty culture; the poet, inarticulate as he is, understands on some level that he’s been made to feel insecure by the same patriarchal beauty culture. She also provides the seed for the baby that’ll eventually, I don’t know, complete Eve’s transition to womanhood, or something. On one level it works very well! It’s smartass satire, which is a pretty effective, indirect way of talking about women’s oppression; in this way, Angela Carter is ahead of the polemics that a lot of other feminists were writing in 1977: she’s saying, “this shit is complicated, so let’s sharpen it up and kill someone with it.”

But by making Tristessa a trans woman, and focusing on her as a product of this ultimate male narcissism- created and perpetuated as much by men in Hollywood, invested in their own culture and privilege and power, as by herself- Carter places at the center of her novel the same straw woman argument that gave us Michfest, Janice Raymond, Bitch, and the narrow definition of women’s liberation that continues to liberate a very few women. The scene in which it’s revealed that Tristessa is a trans woman- was The Reveal already a cliche at this point? I don’t know- leads to thirty pages of the most brutal ungendering, both in the world of the novel and in the text itself, that I think I have ever read. We find out about Tristessa’s junk and immediately Carter’s (or perhaps Eve’s; I tried to read the novel as Eve’s unsophisticated understanding of transsexuality, instead of Carter’s, but much like the racist language Eve uses early on in the novel, that analysis/loophole doesn’t lead anywhere that I can figure out. And I wanted it to) pronouns change. Tristessa is mocked, beaten, sexually assaulted twice in two different ways, her house and art are destroyed, she’s forced into a mock wedding, and then she’s literally ungendered- stripped, head shaven- and unceremoniously shot. In the world of an Angela Carter novel, this cartoonish level of violence is normal- sexual assault is rampant here, in the context of talking about the sexual assault many women experience- but the language, the speculation, the narrative discussion of Tristessa’s sex is so brutal, mean, and located in such an ungendering cultural position, that it just broke my heart. Like outside of the text. My actual heart in my actual ribcage; it fell, my mood deflated, and I had to admit that Angela Carter’s analysis is viciously acute about everything except me.

So in this novel Angela Carter explicitly excludes trans women from her feminism. The central plot, wherein Eve becomes a woman, doesn’t set off any alarms; as I said when I wrote about Trouble on Triton, men- people who are not trans women- becoming women, without having any investment in being women beyond, I don’t know, the superficial- I do think that’s an interesting thing to write about, and the kinds of entitlement that both Even and Bron feel are worth talkig about. I thought Samuel Delany did a good job with it, for the most part! But Carter, here, did not. The difference between Eve and Tristessa is basically that Tristessa felt on some level that she was a woman, whereas Eve did not; and as such, Eve is portrayed to be the real woman, and Tristessa as necessarily not. The only other difference I can think of is that Eve had access to bottom surgery and Tristessa did not; in fact, the surgeon who nonconsensually performed the “sex change” on Eve had previously refused to perform that operation consensually on Tristessa.

It just breaks down pretty hard if you’re looking for a reading that’s respectful of trans women.

And so I feel pretty hurt. I’m 32 years old and I’ve had my heart broken by so many people I thought I could look up to that I pretty much don’t look up to anybody I don’t know any more; most of the stories I write are, on some level, about a failed or failing search for a mentor. But I had thought Angela Carter, author of The Sadeian Woman, wingnut feminist genius with razor-sharp teeth who died young and was willing to confront pretty much everyone, had an analysis that included me. Turns out it doesn’t. It makes sense that this was written in 1977 since hating trans women was pretty popular among “feminists” at that time, but that’s not an excuse;

Trouble On Triton

July 13, 2011

Okay, I think I told you this story before, but Smoot was like “Who’s your favorite author? I want to read him or her!” and I was like “Kathy Acker, who is yours? Me too!” and she was like “Samuel Delany!” and then we each bought books by the other’s favorite author and then the next time we saw each other we were both like “Well, I couldn’t get into it, so I gave up.” It was pretty good.

Anyway, I read some stuff about Delany, including a recent interview he did with the Paris Review (which said, on its cover, “SAMUEL DELANY AND WILLIAM GIBSON INTERVIEW”- or at least, that’s what I thought it said, so I thought it would be the two of them in conversation, but actually it was two separate interviews. I still haven’t read the Gibson one ’cause I kinda don’t care), and I think getting to know him a little better gave me the context I needed to get over the “I already know what I like. Nobody can recommend anything to me because I am so smart that if it was any good I would already have read it” automatic reflex in my nervous system, eg the hipster system. But I did! I got over it and I read this and I’m super stoked that I did and then I went out and bought two more of his books but I haven’t read them yet.

So Samuel Delany: the blurb goes “gay black science fiction writer whose struggle with dyslexia informs/informed the way he makes sense,” I guess. Which is interesting! I’m not gonna lie, if you’re not a woman writer but you want me to read you (unless you write total trash that somehow I can’t resist, ROBOPOCALYPSE YOU FUCK), it’s not going to hurt for you to be a person of color or a homo or to experience some other kind of oppression. And I will tell you this, Trouble on Triton reads to me as queer literature.

“Oh but Imogen you say that about everything you like: ‘check out this queer subtext!'”

Fine, whatever.


My point is that just, okay. (Here are spoilers.) It took me a long time to understand that the main character, Bron, totally sucks, and I wasn’t supposed to like him. He basically spends all of his time justifying everything he does and writing off everything everybody else does; I don’t think it’s a coincidence that as the embodiment of a lot of kinds of privilege, even in the context of heterotopia (y’know, Foucault’s concept of heterotopia. Obviously), Delany chooses to make Bron tall white and blond.

So it took me a while to get that, and also the writing is a little bit knotty and it took me a long while to figure out the rhythm of it and, like, get with it. That happened maybe a hundred and fifty or a hundred and seventy-five pages in? Right around the time that the person Bron has a desperate, all-consuming, boundary disrespecting, selfish love obsession with sends him a letter saying “here are all the ways that you are a fucking dick.” THAT was what hooked me. Bron isn’t even an antihero- just a jerk.

See how studiously I’m avoiding pronouns? In order to justify, uh, something, or prove himself right about something- it’s not super clear, or maybe it is, but all I have is the impression that it’s extremely self-serving- Bron goes in to have his sex changed. And his sexuality surgically altered. Though there were points of language that I’d quibble with, the conversation between Bron and the sex-change surgeon was pretty interesting and for the most part pretty right on, in terms of a culture where there’s no stigma to pretty much any kind of social thing; the surgeon is like “sure, y’know, whatever,” and Bron is like “I NEED YOU TO MAKE ME A GIRL IN THE BRAIN,” and the surgeon is like “well, most of the folks whose sex we change here already feel like they kind of are girls. In their brains. You don’t?” Which again points to the way that Bron is more interested in being right than pretty much anything else- I know people like that!- which sets up a pretty interesting context for this instance of transsexuality.

I mean, Bron changes sexes, without actually being trans, right? There are shades of (what reads to me as) a kind of seventies feminist, like, if culture weren’t so busted there would be no trans people, which maybe Delany was putting there and maybe he wasn’t; I mean, maybe it’s true, and my point is just that well who knows, that’s not the most productive thing even to talk about. So anyway Bron becomes a lady and it doesn’t make her any less of a jerk and then the ending- again I am spoiling this for you- is this fantastic scene of Bron aaaaalmost realizing that she is a jerk and her problem isn’t with everyone and everything else, but is instead her own bull-headed conviction that she deserves everything good in the world and the fact that she doesn’t get it is this massive cosmic injustice… but then she can’t quite get it, so she just lets it go, implying that she’s just gonna keep putting coping mechanisms in place, instead of dealing with her shit. Ha! Fuck yes! Fuck a happy ending!

Right after I finished this I got out my copy of the Passion of New Eve, by Angela Carter, which I’d been meaning to read for forever because it’s another story of a man who’s forced to become a woman even though he’s not trans. And it’s from roughly the same time period, too- and Angela Carter, also, was totally a wingnut (not to mention a phenomenal writer), so I’ve read the first sixty pages of her novel. I mean, other stuff than the gender thing happened in Trouble on Triton, but maybe predictably that was what was most interesting for me. I dunno. I’ll let you know how it goes. So far the epicness and the way settings are established, deepened and then left behind is reminding me of Carter’s The Infernal Desire Machines of Dr. Hoffman, which was a pretty awesome book. Fuck Yeah Angela Carter. Mira said it was like a long fictionmania fantasy, except written by a sadistic feminist cis woman instead of a… well, I don’t want to say anything mean.

November of the Soul

May 29, 2011

Let me tell you about how I feel about the beginnings of some of the books I am reading.

The first hundred and twenty pages (eg, like, the first tenth) of November of the Soul: The Enigma of Suicide by George Howe Colt are absolutely fascinating but I keep feeling like a jerk when I go “I have to get home, I’m super stoked to read this cinderblock-sized tome about suicide.”

I read the first chapter of the Spiral Dance by Starhawk and wrote a lot about it in my witchy shit journal (which is made out of paper) and I’m not going to tell you what I wrote but I am pretty much into it and have been remembering that I really like feminist theory and am having a complicated relationship to the fact that so much busted stuff came out of seventies feminism and having to remind myself that a lot of good came out of it, too.

The first hundred and twenty pages of A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan are really well-written literary fiction and I can’t really deny that but I still don’t feel that stoked about it which is a shame because I’m bottomlining a book group discussion about it in three days and I keep wanting to go home and read about suicide or goddess religions instead. And what I really should be doing is writing some stuff I need to write, like, in a “moving forward with my life” sense.

I tried to read Thoughts Without a Thinker by Mark Epstein but it was boring because he just kept going “here is a thing in Freudian psychology and here is a corresponding thing in Buddhism.” I was like, I get it, where are you going with this? I’m sure he went somewhere with it, but I didn’t care enough to get to the answer.

The Secret History of the World is a nice overview of lots of occult shit

So is To Ride a Silver Broom or whatever it’s called, by Silver Ravenwolf, although that one’s mostly just wicca stuff.

The first ten pages of Modest_Witness@Second_Millenium.FemaleMan(c)_Meets_OncoMouse(tm) by Donna Haraway WHO I LOVE are adorably nineties. That one only came into my life about an hour ago.

I still think I will finish that Samuel Delaney book but I haven’t picked it up in a month but I will, just trust me.

Angus, Thongs, And Full-Frontal Snogging

March 20, 2011

I know I told Smoot that I would read Trouble on Triton, but I hate that the words “rape culture” are sprawled glitter-spattered and blinking across the top of the tags cloud for this blog, so I think I’m going to read the entire Georgia Nicolson series by Louise Rennison. Remember? She was like baby Bridget Jones? I read the first few a while ago but fuck rape culture so.

Trouble On Triton

March 20, 2011

I have a friend who is cool. When I lived in Oakland and she did too she told me that I should read Samuel Delany. Well, we talked about books for a little while a couple times, and I was like “I just discovered China Mieville-” this was like six months ago, before I’d read much of anything he’d written- and she was the one who told me to read Iron Council first, and that Perdido Street Station is a total bummer. But she was like “Oh, Stone Gods was like Jeanette Winterson had heard of science fiction novels but never actually read one, so she decided to write one.”

I was like “oh BAM I kinda liked that book okay though” and she was like “yeah science fiction is kind of my shit” and I was like “oh okay I don’t really know much about science fiction except for what Mordicai tells me, and he lives hecka far away from me now! Tell me what I should know about science fiction!”

She was like “Okay duuuuuude Samuel Delany” and I was like “Oh, okay, I’ve got a copy of that enormous doorstop Dhalgren somebody sold to the store and I bought it ’cause I don’t remember why” and she was like “uh, okay, you could read that one, but it’s kind of a bad first one.”

I was like “okay” and we decided to have a two-person book group and then I moved to Portland Maine and she moved back to Philadelphia even though we’re both from New Jersey. But didn’t know each other when we lived in New Jersey. Also we’re both really tall.

Then she came to visit a friend who was living in my house in Portland for January of this year and they hung out a lot and we talked about books for a minute one time (she has an Ursula LeGuin-themed band project) and one night I came home from work after kind of a stupid day and they were watching Love, Actually and I was like “omfg are you guys watching Love, Actually” and they were like “we’re trying to get to know you better!” because I have a Love, Actually tattoo.

Which is true.

Anyway then when my tall friend left she left me a cute note like ‘let’s have a book club and maybe make out sometime’ and I was like ‘ok’ and she was like “Since you have such an enormous, indestructible metaphysical boner for Kathy Acker what Kathy Acker book should I read since I’ve never read her” and I was like “I dunno, probably one of the eighties ones where she was appropriating other people’s titles, like Great Expectations of Don Quixote. Probably Don Quixote ’cause I was just flipping through it looking for band names for the RPM challenge album I’m never going to finish and I thought ‘Kiss Your Mother the Raven’ was pretty good but Alex didn’t BUT if you’re going to read a Kathy Acker novel I want to know which Samuel Delany novel I should read because I know he’s your favorite and you told me the story about how he wears the same wrestling shirt to every literary event.”

And she was like “Ok Trouble on Triton” and I was like, “Great,” and I ordered it, and it just came into the book store, and KATHY ACKER WROTE THE GODDAM INTRODUCTION TO THIS EDITION LIKE A YEAR BEFORE SHE DIED (FOR YOUR SINS). Which just seems like a pretty sweet coincidence, you know?

Here is what I wrote on twitter for Valentine’s Day (it’s a modified Acker quote; guess which part I added):

Literature is that
which denounces and slashes apart
the repressing machine
at the level of the signified,