<$BlogRSDUrl$>

2.28.2005

books, books, books 

should anyone prefer a less long-winded account of the books i've been reading, i've just added my first 42 word book review to the online journal horse less press (which also features a lot of interesting poetry, for all you poetry-inclined lj friends). should be good practice. i could probably use a little editing...

octavia e. butler's imago 

this week's book was imago, the conclusion to octavia e. butler's xenogenesis series (also known as lilith's brood).

it's tough to describe these books without making them sound like garden-variety, sci-fi dork stuff. there are aliens... there are humans... they take place-- following a nuclear war-- in an alien reconstruction of pre-industrial earth... all of which might turn off 40% of the folks who bother to read this journal (and perhaps turn-on the rest, hahahaha). but focusing on such details gives you no indication of what a nuanced writer butler is, or the magnitude of the world she creates. what begins as a garden-variety distopia emerges as a fine-tuned, infinitely evocative investigation of power, identity and assimilation.

as i've said before, her writing is not strictly allegorical, either. science fiction is no mere catalyst. lilith's brood is a fun and entertaining story, albeit a disturbing one. the mix of genre, psychology and, uh, "speculative" anthropology is not hierarchical. the narrative is not something to move beyond, and its implications are no mere afterthought.

imago is the story of jodahs, a shape-shifting, genderless extraterrestrial who thrives on symbiotic unions with, and subsequent manipulations of, other species and lifeforms. the aliens in the trilogy's universe exist only to co-exist; they must physically assimilate the attributes of another species, as well as maximize their genetic productivity through the permanent alteration of their chosen subjects. butler's alien is a parasite as well as a remedy. a being that can make a human grow back an amputated leg, for example-- but not without making him/her a little less human in the process. jodahs is an "ooloi," the most powerful, and least "human," manifestation of its people. it is also the first ooloi borne to a human mother (one of several parents) and is therefore dangerous and potentially unpredictable.

butler's uncanny realism results from her unwillingness to resort to pro/antagonist binary modalities. her universe is infinitely perspectival; each character-- each element even-- is afforded the respect of a flawed singularity. as a result, there are no heroes or villians to be found. accordingly, she increasingly pushes the boundaries of potential empathy, forcing the reader to consider stranger and stranger subjective viewpoints. like a good sci-fi writer, she carries one's brain further and further into the cosmos.

imago may well be my favorite of the trilogy because of its strict focus on its central character. throughout the books, the oolois are always the most eerie and difficult element. they are caring and needy and manipulative. they provide for their human "mates" a physical ecstasy that is equal parts sexual and psychedelic (i swear to you this is not as dorky as it sounds). and jodahs is no exception. the book chronicles its entry into adulthood, and the stakes of its engagement with human mates along the way.

butler gives intense, refreshingly contemplative consideration to the relationship between care and control in her subjects. and she manages to do so in a way that is accessible enough to be of value to a reader. it is easy-- though not entirely neccessary-- to draw parallels between the fears, needs and pre-conceptions of her characters to those of a personal romance, family or community. i am reminded, for example, of the often-unmentioned superficial dimension of relationships-- how physical attributes often constitute the attractive/repulsive element that leads to an engagement-- erotic or otherwise. butler is cool enough to lay bare certain bitter pills of cultural predjudice, but there is no detachment in her analysis. with no assumption of objectivity, her results remain sufficently "embedded" on an emotional level to avoid descension into fatalistic banality.

as a document avoiding knee-jerk, pedantic allegory-- without sacrificing legitimate socio-political contemplation, butler's trilogy is genuinely, artistically inspiring (and OH HOW RARELY will i use a word as awful as "inspiring"). in addition, the act of visualizing the world she creates-- the jungle-like post-earth, the abject-erotic "sensory tentacles" of an ooloi, and so forth-- adds an additional aesthetic dimension to the novels. in this sense, it is a refreshingly informative read for a visual artist. i emerge from the novels not only with a greater sense of my stake in daily engagements, but also with a new understanding of the very imagery that might constitute such engagements. butler's xenogenesis books have effectively amounted to an experience i will never forget.

don't hate she hate me 

having read its "tomatometer", as well as an infinite number of best-of-2004 lists, it's disappointing that a more complex dialogue surrounding spike lee's she hate me has yet to emerge. i'm not surprised that it hasn't faired well critically or commercially. but it does seem unfortunate--and even downright lazy-- that, in a year when lars von trier's equally uneven, quasi-offensive dogville has become the contrarian "critic's-darling" of choice, lee's film has fallen to the wayside (although roger ebert has some interesting things to say about it). structurally, one might argue that she hate me is the inverse of dogville-- trier is a nihilist in the guise of a moralist, and lee is a moralist in the guise of a nihilist. both films are a bit of a mess, but i think lee's is the more interesting mess.

for once, the obligatory plot-description is a pleasure, on account of its wackiness... anthony mackie plays john henry "jack" armstrong (who's name is your first indication that all is not what it seems), a corporate whistle-blower who finds his bank accounts frozen after exposing widespread, enron-like corruption (*sidenote: the film's most literal and inexcusable homophobic moment occurs at the end of the opening credits, when george w. bush appears on an enron-stamped "three dollar bill"). jack then finds a new source of income when his ex-finacee, now in a committed relationship with a woman, shows up at his door offering him 10,000 dollars to impregnate her and her lover. from there, the story snowballs off in a million directions: jack becomes stud-for-hire to the rich, children-seeking lesbians of manhattan, we are treated to a long digression about watergate featuring a point-break-esque rubber nixon mask, there is trouble with the mafia, sexual tension with the ex, and a good old-fashioned courtroom-as-lecture-hall finale.

if you've made it through the above paragraph, i'll assume you can close your eyes at this very moment and visualize an array of knee-jerk reactions. and i'm sure that spike lee could imagine you imagining them, as well. if lee has been unfairly labeled as a belligerent button-pusher (and the complexity of the films i've seen of his make me think he has), then she hate me is a trigger-happy indulgence in that very act. and while that doesn't excuse its excesses, it does situate them in a different climate than the critical chorus would have you believe.

first off, barring the downright ugliness of its opening credits, the film isn't so much homophobic as it is profoundly and unusually phallocentric. not since 2001 has this much reverence been devoted to a big, black phallic-member. as i watched "jack" (again with the double meanings) bring each of the film's movie-star-attractive lesbians to their inevitable hetero-climaxes, a question emerged: is this a parody, a cruel joke, a fantasy or a commetary???

and, for me, the answer is all of the above. what is most distasteful about the film-- at least to most of the critics i've read of it--is often what's most important to me in a film of any sort: its vulnerability. lee is radically subversive on account of his widespread overtness. his canvas of clashing cultural caricatures knows no bounds. and most alarmingly, he attempts to pull an agenda out of its mess. in the case of the sexual scenario, a million interpretations are possible: it points allegorically to a crisis in african-american fatherhood (later discussed in the film), it exposes the stereotype of black male potency for the thin cartoon that it is, it is politico-porn for its straight male audience on account of indulging that same stereotype, it reduces lesbians to a group of sad spinsters too afraid to want dick, it elevates those same lesbians as the pioneers of a new (and multi-racial) concept of the millenial family, and on and on and on...

lee's previous film, 2002's underrated 25th hour, concludes with a fake happy ending that would do douglas sirk proud. and without spoiling it, that ending concerns a very tidy, multi-cultural future too cartoonish to seem effectively attainable (both in the context of the film and the culture it came out of). if there is any logic to she hate me-- and certainly there ain't much if there is-- it makes a logical next step from 25th hour's conclusion. lee overrides the cautious pluralism of so many well-meaning indie films by exagerrating the sterotypes they fail to put to rest. everyone gets dirty in his film, including lee himself. if his film is homophobic, it is because lee has confessed his own prejudices with the blunt frontality he's afforded to eveything else. which is no excuse, of course-- but it's occasionally refreshing to find a film without "excuses." for all of its crassness and stereotypes, lee's two-hour-plus scrapbook of agendas left me dizzy with questions, problems, affections, and points-of-contention. its value arised not so much from the pedantic display that i viewed on the screen, but from the very nuanced interior dialogue it provoked as i got up from my seat.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?