mars2k's Reviews (226)

dark emotional mysterious reflective tense medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven: Character
Strong character development: Yes
Loveable characters: Complicated
Diverse cast of characters: No
Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

I knew of Oscar Wilde, of course, but this was my first time actually reading his work. I found it difficult not to use the book as a means of analysing its writer. He was known for his wit but was he genuinely clever or just good at appearing clever? Maybe there’s no distinction. Maybe it’s foolish of me to try to judge the character of a man by the work he creates. Wilde himself rebuked the idea that art should be taken as autobiography, that works of fiction reveal something about the writer. Then again, he also wrote in a letter “[The Picture of Dorian Gray] contains much of me in it — Basil Hallward is what I think I am; Lord Henry, what the world thinks of me; Dorian is what I would like to be — in other ages, perhaps.” It’s hard not to read the story as a reflection of its author to some extent.

The Picture of Dorian Gray is so much gayer than I expected. Like, it’s difficult to even describe it as subtext. It’s right there, unmistakable despite careful censorship, from chapter one onwards. I have to admit, this kind of pining, withholding, and hinting at queerness appeals to me far more than the uncomplicated “representation” we tend to see nowadays. I acknowledge literature like this comes from a society in which homosexuality was criminalised and deeply stigmatised – the ambiguity I adore wasn’t just a stylistic choice, it was a necessity – but it resonates with me in a way modern queer media just doesn’t.

The story is dominated by the theme of influence (and its inverse, impressionability). It’s handled well for the most part but I don’t really understand the significance of
the book Lord Henry recommends to Dorian. I know that some scholars identify it as an ode to either The Yellow Book or Huysmans’s Against Nature, and that the idea of a “poisonous book” was accentuated in later editions in response to the controversy surrounding this very novel upon its publication. In other words, I know that Wilde was playing with the idea of an immoral piece of literature corrupting (read: queering) young minds. That said, Dorian is already affected by the picture painted by Basil Hallward and the mirror given to him by Lord Henry, not to mention Lord Henry’s words; the addition of the corrupting book seemed to overcomplicate what was otherwise quite an elegant concept.

The Picture of Dorian Gray is good. I wasn’t blown away by it, but the premise is solid and I was pleasantly surprised by how audaciously queer it is. I can see why it’s considered a classic. Definitely worth a read. 

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challenging dark informative medium-paced

“We do not want the crumbs from this society’s table, and we are not fighting for a place at it. We want to overturn the fucking table.”

Against Equality is a collection of essays, articles, and blog posts by radical queer activists countering the mainstream gay rights movement’s mission for “equality” (read: assimilation) and agitating instead for liberation. The book is split into three parts: The first section, “Queer Critiques of Gay Marriage,” is fairly self-explanatory in its agenda. The second, “Don’t Ask to Fight Their Wars,” argues against gay people serving in the military in the wake of the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy being repealed. The third, “Prisons Will Not Protect You,” tackles matters of criminalisation, both of queerness (as in homosexuality being conflated with child sexual abuse) and of antiqueer bigotry (as in hate crime legislation). It’s very much centred on the United States and, to a lesser extent, Canada, and is a time capsule of late 90s/2000s/early 2010s queer politics.

The anthology features a variety of styles from academic formality to off-the-cuff ranting, but the quality is pretty consistent. My main complaint is the repetitiveness, which I suppose was unavoidable – with multiple writers covering the same topics, the same arguments are inevitably going to be put forward multiple times, and these pieces weren’t written with the knowledge that they’d be collected into one volume so there was no reason for the writers to coordinate with one another.

I’d definitely recommend Against Equality to anyone who considers themself progressive. It isn’t perfect, but it’s worth a read. 

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dark reflective medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven: A mix
Strong character development: Complicated
Loveable characters: Complicated
Diverse cast of characters: Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

Border State is an intriguing little book. The evocative imagery conjures a world which is bleak yet beautiful. It’s almost gothic in places, reminiscent of Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart. We catch glimpses of narrative through the poetic haze, though even that seems to be distorted by contradictions and ambiguity. There’s a pervasive nihilism throughout which encompasses both philosophical existentialism and psychosis. It’s not for everyone but if you like kind-of-gothic literary fiction I’d definitely recommend it. 

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fast-paced

I suppose the main thing I want to say is this: I wish Salas Rivera had gone further and leant into his ideas more. The very first poem in the collection (titled “notas sobre las temporadas/notes on the seasons”) opens with the line “en el español no nos damos naturalmente. / in spanish, we don’t naturally occur.” It uses the absence of the letter X in the Spanish language as a way of commenting on the exclusion of nonbinary people not only in gendered languages but also in society and culture more broadly. It’s a pretty basic observation but it’s a good starting point. Then the poem abruptly pivots to talking about lions transforming into snakes? The concept gets lost.

The only poem which really stood out for me was “(fenomenología)/(phenomenology).” Other than that, they all kind of blended together, and they just didn’t land for me outside a few interesting turns of phrase here and there. I think I might have enjoyed the book more were my Spanish not so rusty – the Spanish versions of the poems seemed to flow much better than the English ones. 

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informative inspiring medium-paced

It’s hard not to view this book primarily as an insight into Lenin’s psyche and temperament. I don’t want to delve too deeply into psychoanalysis but each page is so laden with hunger, antagonism, and mistrust, it’s difficult to set that aside for the sake of the theoretical content. Lenin has a black-and-white worldview with a pessimistic bias; Marx and Engels are saints while everyone else, it seems, is some kind of “opportunist” or “philistine.” It sometimes comes across like he’s using Marx and Engels as a shield, in that he goes on and on about what they believed and never plainly states his own beliefs without invoking at least one of them for justification (/deflection?) It’s an interesting move considering his ego – he very much strikes me as an “if you want something done right, do it yourself” kind of guy.

The State and Revolution, as the title suggests, concerns the role of the state in the development of a communist society. I’d come across the concept of the state “withering away” but had never really grasped it until now. From what I understand, the idea is that the proletariat will seize power and use the state apparatus to nationalise every industry, thereby eliminating the capitalist class by replacing private ownership with public ownership. Since the state no longer serves its intended purpose of protecting property and generally serving the interests of the bourgeoisie, it is functionally something entirely new, to the extent that it doesn’t really make sense to call it a state any more. What’s left of the state gradually becomes redundant and obsolete and thus ceases to be maintained. (MLs, how did I do? Not too bad for an anarkiddy, eh?) I don’t entirely agree with this strategy but I can at least appreciate the rationale behind it.
Lenin is deliberately noncommittal regarding how long it will take for the state to wither away. On one hand he’s adamant that it’s inevitable, but on the other he does seem quite attached to this idea of a “temporary” transitional state, arguing that it’s vital for administrative purposes and for the “suppression” of both potential bourgeois rebellions and workers who refuse to pull their weight. I’m sceptical about his advocacy for an “armed proletariat” in that I’m not sure how a state-approved paramilitary differs from a conventional military or police force – what Lenin is advocating sounds like a police state to me. In general he seems a bit too keen to enact violence, whereas I see violence as an unfortunate necessity (if, indeed, it is a necessity in a given situation). If all you have is a hammer...

The State and Revolution is, in a word, authoritative. Lenin clearly knew what he was talking about when it comes to Marxism, and I can’t deny he’s got some charisma. I feel I gained a more robust understanding of Marxism, though the writing was quite repetitive and filled with petty aspersions. It’s not something I’d go out of my way to recommend but if you’re already planning on reading some of Lenin’s works, this is a good place to start. 

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hopeful medium-paced

Fully Automated Luxury Communism is something akin to solarpunk by way of Elon Musk hero-worship. The book is full of that characteristic techbro vagueness – a lot of statistics but not a lot of substance. There’s an admittedly rousing sense of optimism throughout but FALC itself is too ill-defined to be enticing and is based largely on hazy promises and platitudes.

Bastani references Mark Fisher’s concept of capitalist realism on multiple occasions yet he himself seems to be utterly taken in by it. He struggles to describe a post-capitalist future which doesn’t resemble, well, capitalism. He pulls a bait-and-switch with communism and socialism, and then he seems to conflate socialism with nationalisation. He doesn’t want to do away with nation states or electoralism or market economy. It’s unclear where exactly communism fits into his idea of FALC.
He’s excessively hung up on this idea that communism isn’t possible yet or wasn’t possible until very recently. The thing is, you need to make it possible. Sitting around waiting for communism to come to you is such a waste of time. I know it sounds harsh to call it counter-revolutionary but I don’t know how else to describe it.
Bastani wants to create a post-scarcity world within a capitalist framework, seemingly not understanding that capitalism is what manufactures that scarcity (or the illusion of scarcity) in the first place. The world produces enough food, for example, to feed the entire population, it’s just that capitalism prohibits distribution which isn’t conducive to profiteering; capitalists would rather withhold or even destroy surplus stock than let it be handed out for free to those who need it. Bastani’s approach is completely backwards.

In general, he has a habit of disregarding anything which doesn’t fit his presupposed conclusions. Technological progress is always presented as fundamentally good – even when he does investigate logistical concerns, he refuses to consider ethics. How can you dedicate an entire chapter to the science of gene editing and not acknowledge the elephant in the room that is eugenics? His naivety would be quaint were it not so insidious.
To be clear, I am not accusing Bastani of pushing some hateful agenda, only highlighting the limitations of his writing. It seems to me as though he either hasn’t given these topics enough thought or he’s choosing not to address scepticism because it would dampen the confidence and cheer he’s trying to inspire. Either way, I’m not impressed.

Fully Automated Luxury Communism does not live up to its title. It’s accessible, I’ll give it that. It’s not the worst book I’ve ever read but, whether you’re a seasoned leftist or someone new to radical politics, it’s not really worth your time. 

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inspiring mysterious medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven: Plot
Strong character development: N/A
Loveable characters: N/A
Diverse cast of characters: Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus: Complicated

I read Stages of Rot a few days ago but I’ve been struggling to write a review. Where do I begin? Perhaps I should start with this: what is Stages of Rot about? I could talk, as other reviewers have, about the circle of life and about change being the only constant – these readings are valid but somewhat lacking.
Yes, it’s about the objectification of nature, broadly speaking, but it’s also about the objectification that comes with death and objectification in life when living as a woman. Gender (specifically womanhood) is at the heart of this graphic novel, and any analysis which fails to realise that will only ever fall short in my eyes.
But maybe I’m going about this all wrong. Towards the end of the book, there’s a scene in which
the pilot has been captured and is being displayed as the crown jewel of an exhibition. Patrons are captivated by her beauty in a leering sort of way, wishing she would smile for them. When the entomologist realises she can speak, he asks her “Why are you shaped like this – like a woman? What does it signify?” to which she responds “Oh. I wouldn’t know.” There are a few ways to look at this. Maybe the pilot is making a sly reference to how she’s assumed to be naïve and unintelligent. Perhaps she doesn’t see herself as a woman at all, which is why she feels she “wouldn’t know” the significance of a female form.
I could write paragraphs and paragraphs dissecting that brief exchange, but to do so I would have to ignore what’s right in front of me on the page: pushback against the very concept of interpretation. So... maybe I should just let it speak for itself.

It’s easy to get lost in the philosophy of this book, but the artwork is just as enthralling. Sterte captures a simultaneity of cellular and cosmic, organic and technical, spiritual and visceral. Mundane animals like black-headed gulls thrive alongside extinct Orthoceras and alien fauna unknown to our taxonomy. The skies are filled with birds and fish alike, creatures that should not coexist but do so anyway. It’s truly surreal. The minimal use of text only heightens the ambiguity as the book audaciously refuses to explain what’s going on or construct an easily digestible narrative for the reader to follow.

Stages of Rot paradoxically invites and rejects interpretation, and I love it for that. I’d recommend it purely for the art, but I also think there’s more literary substance to it than some give it credit for. 

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adventurous funny hopeful inspiring lighthearted reflective relaxing medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven: A mix
Strong character development: Yes
Loveable characters: Yes
Diverse cast of characters: Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus: N/A

A Frog in the Fall is a mellow tale about a young frog’s journey of discovery and adventure. There isn’t much of a plot, but the stunning artwork and the tender snapshots of life in this fantastical world are what carry the story. The focus on small moments like the frog putting on his shoes is just delightful, as are the unusual sights like a mouse riding a cart pulled by a chicken. I adore the playful inconsistencies – some plants are sentient while others seemingly aren’t, and some objects are huge in relation to the tiny characters (like the great frog’s enormous pair of scissors) while others (cup noodles, umbrellas, vinyl records) are scaled down to their size. There’s no rhyme or reason, nor should there be. 

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adventurous mysterious reflective tense medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven: A mix
Strong character development: Yes
Loveable characters: Complicated
Diverse cast of characters: Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

“Greatness is a transitory experience. It is never consistent. It depends in part upon the myth-making imagination of humankind. The person who experiences greatness must have a feeling for the myth he is in. He must reflect what is projected upon him. And he must have a strong sense of the sardonic.”

I didn’t really know what to expect going in. I knew it was a science fiction classic featuring a young man called Paul on a desert planet that may or may not be called Dune, and I knew that there were big worms and something to do with spice – a rough outline, nothing more.
I think Dune can best be described as sci-fi for history buffs. It’s full of political intrigue, factions and dynasties, empire building, and so on, but also of note are the incessant spoilers courtesy of Princess Irulan. We are told who these characters are and what they will go on to do, to the extent that it sometimes feels like watching a reenactment of what happened or a dramatisation of a well-known legend rather than events unfolding in real time. At first I was thrown off by it but I adjusted and learnt to accept the writing for what it is instead of getting hung up on what I thought it would be.
Dune is, above all else, a story about expectations and adaptation. Having to adjust my own perspective in response to this curveball of a novel meant there was a neat parallel between my own reading experience and the experiences of the characters on the page having to adjust to life on Arrakis – a good avenue for sympathy and connection.

Paul, our protagonist, is entirely shaped by the expectations placed upon him.
He takes on various names and titles over the course of the story (Duke Paul Atreides, the Kwisatz Haderach, the Lisan al Gaib, Muad’Dib, Usul) and these personas seem to supersede any true sense of self he may have once had. His identity fractures and frays at the climax; not only does he flit back and forth between multiple selves, he also refers to them in the third person and assigns them different motives and personalities (“You have the word of a Duke [...] but Muad’Dib is another matter.”) I don’t know if I’d insist that Paul is plural, but his selfhood is certainly compromised and complicated by all these assumed identities.
Of course, while I’m on the topic of identity, I have to talk about gender – this book is riddled with it. I wouldn’t be the first to point out that women exist in this narrative only as they relate to men, and that they’re portrayed as intuitive, emotional, nurturing, and, above all, passive. I also wouldn’t be the first to note the queerness inherent to the Kwisatz Haderach, a boy with access to powers normally possessed only by women, who can see “both masculine and feminine pasts” – “the male who can truly become one of us.”
Paul has a drug-induced epiphany late in the novel wherein he claims women are givers and men are takers, and that he himself is “the fulcrum” who cannot give without taking nor take without giving.
That moment serves as a good demonstration of Dune’s strange synthesis of essentialism and transgressiveness. And I must say, the fulcrum quote really resonated with me as a genderqueer person.

I’ve talked about Paul, now it’s time to talk about Baron Harkonnen.
He starts off as a vague force of evil that influences the actions of others, only becoming a fully fledged character after the betrayal of Duke Leto.
Herbert could not have made it any clearer that this guy is a villain we’re supposed to loathe. Not only is he a power-hungry capitalist, he’s also an incestuous pedophile and (even worse!) he’s very fat. Yeah, the fatphobia is... not great. And that’s not the only thorny issue here. Dune is inseparable from its Orientalist manner, genocide is treated as set dressing, and eugenics (though criticised) does seem to be granted some legitimacy within the narrative. I don’t want to dwell on these problematic elements but at the same time I can’t disregard them.

Does Dune deserve four and a half stars? Probably not. Am I going to give it four and a half stars anyway? You bet. It’s not beyond criticism (far from it) but I thoroughly enjoyed it nonetheless. I’m curious to see where the story goes from here and I’ve already ordered Dune Messiah, but I won’t be reading it just yet because I have quite a backlog of unread books to work through first. 

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informative reflective slow-paced

The first chapter of Orientalism was really strong (I’d give it four and a half stars in isolation) but chapters two and three struggled to hold my interest for the most part (I’d give them each three stars, for an overall average rating of three and a half). Said’s writing reminds me of Marx’s – it’s dense and dry but it’s well-researched and it’s clear that a lot of thought went into keeping the book as accessible as possible without losing that academic rigour.

The first chapter introduces the subject of Orientalism and explores its origins and manifestations, while the later chapters shift the focus towards individual Orientalist writers, using them as exemplary case studies. On that note, Said chooses to look at Orientalist literature exclusively, but what of paintings or architecture? When I think of Orientalism, I think of artworks by the likes of Gérôme, Lewis, or Weeks. To relegate that entire movement to no more than a passing mention seems odd to me. There’s also a focus on the Middle East and Egypt with not much said about the rest of Asia, though this is a little more understandable since the author, raised in Jerusalem and Cairo, is writing what he knows. I’ve seen some people accuse him of cherry-picking in order to push some kind of agenda but I’m not sure I’d go that far. What I will say is this: Orientalism is foundational but far from comprehensive. There were topics which I expected to feature prominently that were hardly acknowledged; likewise, there were angles which I hadn’t considered that Said brought up but didn’t delve into (you can’t casually mention teratology then move on, Edward, you can’t do that to me).

Orientalism feels thorough yet, at the same time, paradoxically underdeveloped. I enjoyed it overall and I would certainly recommend reading the first third, which is full of great insights. Here’s a quote:

“I use the word “arbitrary” here because imaginative geography of the “our land–barbarian land” variety does not require that the barbarians acknowledge the distinction. It is enough for “us” to set up these boundaries in our own minds; “they” become “they” accordingly, and both their territory and their mentality are designated as different from “ours.” To a certain extent modern and primitive societies seem thus to derive a sense of their identities negatively. [...] Yet often the sense in which someone feels himself to be not-foreign is based on a very unrigorous idea of what is “out there,” beyond one’s own territory. All kinds of superstitions, associations, and fictions appear to crowd the unfamiliar space outside one’s own.” 

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