Semiotext(e)

The Little Black Book of Grisélidis Réal: Days and Nights of an Anarchist Whore

admin — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By Jean-Luc Hennig, translated by Ariana Reines

Writing a review for a book like The Little Black Book of Grisélidis Réal is not a simple task by any means. On the one hand, I want to be as straightforward as possible and simply give my impressions of this one particular piece of writing without going into the issue of prostitution and whether or not it degrades women. On the other hand, it seems impossible not to when taking into account the fact that Réal was a world-famous and revolutionary “whore” and writer who argued that prostitution was not only a choice, but a free-will decision. In my opinion, all sweeping generalizations ever do is discount legions of women whose experiences don’t fall in line with a particular argument; it’s as if they’re being told they don’t exist. So I stay out of it the best I can, though I am supportive of sex workers—no matter the circumstances or choices that led them to their line of work.

For such a fascinating title, The Little Black Book doesn’t pack much of a punch. The book is basically a series of interviews between Réal and journalist Jean-Luc Hennig, as translated by Ariana Reines. Réal’s “whoring” is discussed in great detail, though none of her anarchist activities are. She mentions writing papers and being politically active quite casually several times, though it’s usually only in reference to one of her clients asking about papers she has posted on her bedroom walls. The last portion of the book is quite literally Réal’s little black book, in which she’s written down the names of all her customers, what they’re into sexually, what they look like, and how much they pay her.

Nothing that Réal says in the interviews is politically charged in any way; there are no arguments about prostitution, no defending of her life’s work. For the most part, it’s just account after account of client after client. Did you know that many men secretly like getting a finger up their ass when receiving oral sex? Did you know that men need to be pampered and mothered and showed affection when seeing a prostitute? Yes, no? Don’t care? Me either. I was hoping to get a feel for this woman, the famous Grisélidis Réal who was a survivor and took to prostitution in order to support her children; who earned her living on her back until she was in her sixties.

But you never really get a sense of her; just hints of her personality. I would have liked to learn more about her opinions on her work and her life and less about her depressing decades long relationship with a severely abusive man and the boring sex she endured for years with men who Réal believed simply needed to fulfill their sexual desires—because apparently sex with a woman is a God-given right, and men will be damned if they go without.

In several interviews, Réal contends that the men that come to see her have something wrong with them; that normal men do not go to see prostitutes. She says that prostitution is lonely, heartbreaking work. She says that “fundamentally what [men] want isn’t to hurt you or kill you or bore you; what they want is for you to be nice” so in turn the women “must be totally amorphous, emptied of their substance, emptied of all their strength…” I don’t know why a women would defend and even champion a line of work and lifestyle that requires that of women, but then, prostitution is a complicated issue. After reading The Little Black Book of Grisélidis Réal, I can say—mysterious anarchism aside—that Réal was a complicated woman.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, March 4th 2010

The Importance of Being Iceland: Travel Essays in Art

admin — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 16:40:00 +0000

By Eileen Myles

Semiotext(e)

Eileen Myles’ The Importance of Being Iceland: Travel Essays in Art begins with travels in Iceland. Myles writes about her own writing and research on art and culture in the little island country. From there, it moves in any number of ways, yet always comes back to an affirmation of life for all of its complications and trials.

Myles is an intensely alive and proud woman, lesbian, and artist with a widely varied and beautiful personal history. She ran for president in 1992, lived in a box in Manhattan for a week, was close friends with Allen Ginsberg, and has been lauded as a post-punk and modern poetry hero. Many parts of The Importance of Being Iceland are written in long, fluid, stream of consciousness paragraphs. The writing is lyrical and smooth while also unsettling. Whenever I’d been reading the book for more than twenty minutes at a time, I felt like I was emerging from a dream.

Included in the book is an interview with Daniel Day-Lewis, an actor well known for his intense need to dive into a role and be in character constantly during a shoot. The two seemed well-suited to each other. Myles seems to live life with an intensity and awareness that others can’t or perhaps don’t. We hear about her time with a therapist, with lovers, and with family, but it is not a memoir in any traditional sense of the word. She discusses art, poetry, literature, and beauty, though it is not a set of critical essays.

The book has an intense amount of detail and incredible storytelling. Life and its varied experiences (including a Björk concert, flossing your teeth, and menopause) are examined and celebrated. The Importance of Being Iceland is profound and passionate. We are never forced to think a certain way about anything; Myles simply introduces us to her way of thinking and details her reasoning for why she thinks that way.

Written by: Kristin Conard, October 10th 2009

Pornocracy

admin — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 11:04:00 +0000

By Catherine Breillat

Semiotext(e)

A beautiful woman enters a gay discotheque where she encounters a curious man who will follow her and spend three evenings exploring sexual brutality. Sounds like the plot of an erotic thriller guaranteed to tease and please, but was instead the story behind French filmmaker Catherine Breillat’s novel, Pornocracy. Adapted from her controversial 2004 film Anatomy of Hell, it was one of her first novels to be published in English. Despite the steamy tale and intentions of exploring female sexuality, Pornocracy barely simmers, and rather than empowering, only leaves readers confused and bitterly wanting more.

Breillat is no stranger to revealing human sexuality in a different light. Accused of being a “porno auteuriste” in her native Paris, she’s written and directed films that explore the power of sex and how it can forever impact a woman. Some of her most popular films include 2001’s Fat Girl, where a 13-year-old witnesses her older sister having painful anal sex with an older Italian student. Six years later, The Last Mistress wowed audiences when an engaged suitor makes a final visit to his Spanish lover. Consequently, their ten years of lovemaking stirs gossip in Paris, only proving that old habits die hard. In Anatomy of Hell, a woman attempts suicide at a gay nightclub where she’s discovered by a male patron. She then asks the man to watch her for four days, during which she shares her views on sexuality. The novel’s version seems more enticing, but is sadly nothing more than a bore that only delights at the end. Although it’s shocking that such an accomplished and inspiring filmmaker could greatly disappoint, the first few pages easily explain why.

As a director, Breillat’s role is to show her audience a message through the usage of characters that all serve a distinct purpose. Pornocracy does the one thing that few writers accomplish: show too much without telling enough. Her language is strikingly poetic, almost wanting her readers to ignore this major flaw. In describing the sensual night, she states, “The teeth through those lips, those lips slightly moistened, glistening with saliva that, like the spider’s thread, can stretch as clear filament, filled with bubbles.” Breillat brilliantly takes a bodily fluid often ignored, or viewed as revolting, and makes an intimate characteristic of sexuality that can be seen in either gender.

The lack of dialogue makes the story less entertaining and more of a psychological analysis of a woman attempting to seduce a gay man. Many of her points are valid, but prove too overbearing and tiresome for a novel. She later writes, “…whatever their love or their hate, as their penises cannot fill the woman’s sex, which is made to expand for giving birth. No member can hope to reach the size of the son it begets. Thus their claim to fury is vain…” Breillat’s theory on how men tirelessly attempt to overpower women with their penises, but never achieve their highest expectations is intriguing. However, does this analysis fit in a sexuality textbook rather than a novel? If so, should a work of fiction solely entertain or stir an unexpected emotion from the reader, rather than attempt to educate? Either way, Pornocracy reads like a never-ending poem that looses its meaning after a few pages.

Breillat may be an excellent director who can tell stories of females’ roles when it comes to sex, but her novel didn’t serve its purpose in telling why a woman would pursue a gay man just to have a brutal affair. The scenery could only be guessed, dialogue was lacking, the characters seem more like a stream of consciousness than real people, and the story wasn’t believable. If given the opportunity, readers may want to vote on Breillat trying again with another novel that doesn’t read like a screenplay.

Written by: Stephanie Nolasco, October 16th 2008