Obsess much?

In my last blog I wrote a bit about American Psycho. It was a  book that profoundly changed my reading habits, and it has stayed with me unlike any book (that isn’t about vampires, hehe). As I mentioned last time, I’ve been unable to reconcile the moments of great satirical humor with the lengthy scenes of abhorrent violence. I understand the need for violence in novels. I’m not generally disturbed by it, but I found Ellis’s work to be mortifying. I alarmed a friend one day reading it on his couch with the panting and the stopping and starting of my reading. Why? Why? Why? Well, I’m on a quest now.

The quest is twofold.

1) I’m going to dive into the world of disturbing literature and figure out if I can find a book of relatively equal literary merit that is more disturbing than American Psycho.

2) I plan to read every bit of criticism on Ellis and American Psycho. Then, I’ll reread the book, formulate my final theory on it, and publish a paper! Yeah! Now, I want to do that before next Christmas.

So, on Saturday night, after both the Christmas Party and my team won the SEC Championship, I decided to do a few Google searches for “disturbing” books. I wanted to do a search for the most f**ked up books, but I doubted that would yield what I wanted. I had to weed through quite a bit of silly recommendations, many of which were Stephen King novels. (I understand that he’s not a horrible writer, I just want to find books that may be of similar literary merit, and I don’t think there is much literary criticism about Pet Sematary.) In any case, I’ve compiled a short list of possible contenders. As follows:

Possible Contenders for Books More F*&^%ed Up Than American Psycho

1. The Painted Bird by Jerzy Kosinski

2.  Bighead by Edward Lee (not sure at all that this is a good choice for the list, but wrote it down in a hurry)

3. Last Exit to Brooklyn by Hubert Selby, Jr. (He is the author of the famous Requiem for a Dream)

4. Johnny Got His Gun by Johnny Trumbo (Immortalized in the music video for “One” by Metallica)

5. Geek Love by Katherine Dunn (a finalist for the National Book Award)

6. The Room by Hubert Selby, Jr. (Perhaps one is more disturbing than the other? After watching the film, I have faith that his novels adhere to my criteria.)

7. Blindess by Jose Saramago (He won the Nobel Prize for Literature; how’s that for literary merit?)

8. We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver (Not sure this is exactly up to par as far as literary merit, but it appeared on several lists. I’ll make up my own mind.)

9. The Road by Cormac McCarthy (It was recommended in O Magazine. Not sure this is even worth it.)

10. The Girl Next Door by Jack Ketchum (This appeared on several lists and is based on a true story…)

11. The 120 Days of Sodom by the Marquis de Sade (I figure that I should read some old-school disturbing literature, too.)

12. Das Parfum by Patrick Suskind (I’ll read the English translation, thank you.)

13. Hogg  by Samuel R. Delany (My bet’s on this one.)

Well, there you have it. I suppose that I should formally formulate my criteria. I know that I’d like the novel to have some literary merit. I’m not sure whether I should exclude novels based on real events, which would eliminate We Need to Talk About Kevin and The Girl Next Door. I’m also not sure whether I ought to allow a book to go up against American Psycho if it lacks the ostensible violence that Ellis provides. For instance, can psychological horror produce the same effect, or worse, than the type seen in American Psycho? 

I’ve already embarked on this quest, and I’ve chosen to start at the beginning (a very fine place to start). Yesterday we had a family outing to Barnes & Noble. Sophie picked up Fantastic Mr. Fox by Dahl. We loved the movie, so it’s Sophie’s nightly bedtimre story for the next few nights. (Maybe not too many since Montanna read at least SIX chapters last night!) Montanna picked up Everlost by Neal Shusterman. I picked up The Painted Bird. Forgive me, graduate school, but I’m not a big fan of Forewards. I’ll read the book and I may come back to it later; yet, last night, I found myself absorbed by the Foreward (called “Afterward”) by the author. There are a few things I found intriguing. First, the author never mentions his birth country, just that it was in Eastern Europe. Second, in his discussion of why his book is fictional and not autobiographical (despite accusations to the contrary), he says this: “A fictional life, on the other hand, forces the reader to contribute: he does not simply compare; he actually enters a fictional role, expanding it in terms of his own experience, his own creative and imaginative powers” (xiv). I like that.  (Sorry, no awesome “I’m a literary scholar” comments from me.) Furthermore, I loved reading that, while in America critics found his work to be too disturbing, too violent to be true (in the case of those who claimed he was autobiographical), those in his own country disliked the book for opposite reasons: “They blamed me for watering down historical truth and accused me ofpandering to an Anglo-Saxon sensibility whose only confrontation with national cataclysm had been the Civil War a century earlier, when bands of abandoned children roamed through the devastated South” (xxii).  He also discusses how the people in his country hated him for “vilifying” them as a nation, as a people. He relates being beaten up by old women with umbrellas and nearly beaten by two men who assail him in his apartment. He manages to outwit these two with a camera and a revolver. He says, “They seemed to have stepped out of the pages of The Painted Bird, and for a moment I felt very possessive about the pair” (xviii). I find that moment incredible. To think, he was fearful for his life and the artist’s sensibility took over nonetheless. I love it. After reading a bit of the novel, I can see why he was afraid of these two.

I’m about 70 pages in, and I must say, that the novel is disturbing. The main character is a seven year old boy, separated from his parents at the beginning of WWII in the hopes that he will be safe hidden amongs peasants rather than with his anti-Nazi, ethnic, educated parents. Things do not work out as planned, naturally. Each chapter begins with the boy’s current living arrangement. In the first chapter, there’s Marta. The second, Olga, a peasant witch doctor. The third chapter is a sort of interclanary chapter, in which he wanders from Olga to his next destination. The third (person), a miller. The fourth, Lekh, a bird catcher. The fifth, a carpenter. The sixth, a blacksmith. So far what has amazed me is the absolute superstitious and folkloric religious ideas thrust upon the boy… maybe thrust isn’t the right word. He’s subjected to these ideas and tortured by them. Needless to say, in my own bizarre way, I’m looking forward to more.

Advertisement