Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love is one of those novels that kept me turning the page just to see what strange atrocities awaited on the next page. The first sentence is so surreal and beautiful:
”When your mama was the geek, my dreamlets,” Papa would say, “she made the nipping off of noggins such a crystal mystery that the hens themselves yearned towards her, waltzing around her, hypnotized with longing.”
I read the first half of the book in one sitting, flipping the pages and shaking my head in awe at the layers of strangeness weaved into the book.
The book is a story of both the past and the present of the Binewski family: Aloysius and Crystal Lil and their freak children. The story in the past begins 5 years after Aloysius’s father’s death (whose ashes are welded in an urn to the top of one of the campers). The once-successful carnival is faltering, recruitments are hard to find due to the war, and after Crystal Lil tries her hand at skywalking and falls, the pair marry and decide to create, quite literally, their own freak show: “The resourceful pair began experimenting with illicit and prescription drugs, insecticides, and eventually radioisotopes.” The results of these experiments are the Binewski children, who became the stars of the carnivals. The children who didn’t make it still have a place in the carnival: their remains are displayed in glass jars in a museum-like homage.
The story in the present begins after the events that are to unfold throughout the novel. Olivia, the albino dwarf narrator, is a grown woman with a daughter of her own. Crystal Lil is a senile and deaf apartment manager of the complex where both Olivia and her grown daughter have apartments. Miranda, the daughter, does not know Olivia is her mother. These three are the only surviving Binewskis.
Two things struck me immediately about this book:
First, the obvious allusions to Shakespeare’s play The Tempest. The book begins with a quote from Prospero and a few chapters in, we find the name of Olivia’s daughter is Miranda. If I were writing this for a literature class, I would analyze the connections between the play and this novel, but I’m not! Mwhahaha! I am, however, putting it out there for anyone reading this who needs a research paper topic for a literature course.
Next, this book, like a play, is divided into books, or “acts.” Geek Love has four Books: the first sets the scene for the rest of the story to unfold. The principal characters are introduced, both past and present, but the reader isn’t quite sure what’s going to happen. The first book ends with Olivia looking at old Binewski family posters and comparing a photograph of her estranged-daughter to seek family resemble. The second and third books both start with a scene in the immediate present before sliding back in time. By the fourth book, the story in the past has been resolved and the reader witnesses the resolution of the frame narrative.
Another note on structure is that each chapter is named, with chapters focused on the present started with “Notes for Now” which is a good way to handle the switching of time. It would get too repetitive, I think, to keep indicating the time shifts in the text, so using the chapter titles is effective. All of the chapters have bizarre titles (not surprising given the rest of the book) and are relatively short. The chapters during important parts (the end of Book 3) are slightly longer.
I like the short, named chapters, and was considering doing something similar with Calliope. Another thing I noted was how Dunn handled the large cast of characters, since this is something I’m having some problems with my novel-in-progress. All of the concession venders are “red-heads” – sometimes the red-heads are singled out, but most times they aren’t. This is similar to how the general circus employees, or “rousties” are handled in my book. Like Dunn’s characters, the Calliope is divided into two distinct groups: the performers and the non-performers. The focus is mainly on the performers, but I’m always aware of the other group hanging around in the shadows.
Although all of Geek Love is told from one narrator’s POV (Olivia), the inconsistencies in the narrator make it hard to really get a handle on the person telling the story. This is part of the charm, but also a distraction. I’d definitely have to consider Olivia as an unreliable narrator. I’m trying a different tact with Calliope: multiple POVs. Since the majority of the story takes place in the same time frame, with a few exceptions, this works to create a full picture of the circus. This wouldn’t have worked with Dunn’s book since the principal characters are no longer able to tell their own stories.
Regardless, Geek Love is a fascinating read and well-worth the occasional moments of confusion. I’d definitely recommend it, especially for the Shakespeare student wanting to write a modern interpretation type paper. Enjoy!
I love this:
"Dove Self Esteem fund is proud to present this powerful 1 minute short film revealing the illusions behind the "beauty" we see everyday in the media. It's a little reminder that even supermodels don't look like supermodels."
Granted, it's put out there by a company trying to sell its products (Dove), but it brings home an important thing to remember: beauty is often manufactured, a carefully constructed image. This video illustrates a model before, during makeup, and after photoshop touch ups. Reading the message board gives an insight to the reaction this campaign is seeing from regular people. It's not perfect, but it's a nice start to encouraging people to feel comfortable inside their own skins.
Women are especially vulnerable to the pressures to look a certain way. Who doesn't know at least one woman who refuses to leave her house unless she is properly made up? This is not a tirade against beauty; it is, in itself, an ageless art. Think of the Japanese geisha, the Egyptian queen Cleopatra, Renaissance beauties with waist-length ringlets. Advertising campaigns and the prevalance of a visual media funded by corporations have turned our notion of beauty into a two-dollar whore on a Saturday night: a slick illusion with a crack-habit -- it will inevitably fall apart.
Real beauty is all around us, every second of every day, but so many fall into the trap of believing that an illusion such as beauty can be purchased. It many respects, it can, but isn't there something empty about the charade? What do you think?
That Ray Bradbury's novel, Something Wicked This Way Comes, is part of "The Grand Masters Editions" comes as no suprise. This book truly is a masterful exploration of what happens when a boy becomes a man and of the dark and light that resides in each of us. The beginning felt a little slow to me, and if it wasn't by Bradbury and I didn't have to read it for the master's program, I might not have continued to pick it up to try again. I kept reading though and suddenly I found myself in the middle of the book reading into the wee hours of the morning, casting a wary eye about my apartment just in case one of those creepy carnival dudes had managed to crawl inside.
I like that Bradbury's Magic Carousel serves as a symbolic representation of eternal life - like Ponce de Leon's fountain of youth, the idea of being able to travel decades backwards in time has fascinated mankind forever. Bradbury takes a classic idea and transforms it into a dark carnival that feeds on the souls of the living (or, at least, on their fear) and secures a never-ending supplies of freaks for the show by tempting folks with the chance to be young again.
Quite a few people I know would be hard-pressed to say no to such a chance -- who doesn't know someone who says, however jokingly, "what I wouldn't do to be your age again?" On the other hand, who doesn't know a child aching and yearning to grow up so fast that he or she is a constant blur of motion straining toward adulthood? Part of what makes Bradbury's book work is his ability to tap into this notion of being trapped by time.
Like Blind Voices, Something Wicked has a similiar passage in which a character lapses into a monologue (in BV this is in the caravan with Haverstock's villian speech). Bradbury's rendition of the monologue seems to work, however, for two reasons:
1) the scene takes place late at night in the closed library and the three (Charles, Will, & Jim) are scared as they wait for the carnival people to come get them. Basically, Charles is thinking aloud and the scared boys listen in awe to the adult, their savior, speak of life, death, and other things children rarely get to hear adults talk about.
2) the long speech is in character for Charles, who, although this may be the most he's ever spoken to his son, readily admits talking to himself in the library and to his wife at night -- and Will has listened to the remnants of these speeches through the bedroom walls.
Besides, the stuff of the almost-monologue is so great: "The stuff of nightmares is their plain bread. They butter it with pain." It's easy to forgive when it pulls you further into the story -- this means that it is doing its job to engage the reader.
Another thing I loved about this book are the unique details: like the Illustrated Man (not tattooed, mind you, there's a difference). In the end, it turns out that his illustrations are meaningful, a fact hinted at throughout but made clear when the illustrations on his palms of the boys are revealed. These illustrations play an important role throughout. Mr. Dark reveals his disregard for traditional forms of evil-fighting when he throws a copy of The Bible into a garbage can.
Another detail is the focus on eyes -- finding truth in their glances. The boys can tell that the young boy who hops off the merry-go-round is the same as the old man who started the journey because of the knowledge in the old-man-turned-young-boy's eyes. The same occurs when Jim and Will run into the now-young Miss Foley under a tree in the park. Eyes play a role in the scene after Mr. Cooger has become a very old corpse and the freaks bring him back to life with electricity. The boys recognize the lightning rod salesman from the beginning of the book by his eyes, even though the man has been completely transformed.
Finally, I loved that the carnival's calliope played The Funeral March, only backwards. Will hears the song and knows it's familiar, but it isn't until later that he can place it. That detail alone hints at the darkness to come. Very excellent!
I think what I can take from this book is that all the details in a book matter -- they either need a function specifically-related to the plot and events at the moment or to hint at things to come. So, I shouldn't describe what my character is eating in detail -unless- that food item will later come back to haunt him.
I bet if I were to re-read SW I would notice hints and suggestions of what's to come later in the novel. I'm hoping that my novel-in-progress will do the same thing -- there are already things that I know will be reflected later in the novel. Also, from comments from my peer critiques and from my mentor, I know what other people reading my manuscript are thinking in places -- showing me that at least some of the things I am trying to do are working. Other things will reveal themselves later, I think, if I trust in the writing muse to lead me in the right direction - I don't understand everything that is happening in the book just yet, but I am confident that it will all become clear to me soon enough.
Regardless, I think if I can produce a novel even 1/16th as masterful as Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes, I'll be in decent shape and have a better understanding of the form so that my next one will be better. (SW was Bradbury's third novel, though he had a lot of writing experience with short stories before that. Also, this wasn't Bradbury's first exploration of the idea of a carnival turned evil - he published a short story collection called Dark Carnival before writing this novel).
In my novel-in-progress, one of the main characters is a bearded lady nicknamed Bargie. She's huge and hairy and kind of a mystery to me so I decided I could research (read: procrastinate) by learning more about that most illustrous creature: the Bearded Lady!
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First, I found a Guiness World Records entry detailing the owner of the Longest Female Beard:
"Vivian Wheeler of Wood River, Illinois, USA, grew a full beard after the death of her mother in 1990. The longest strand from the follicle to the tip of hair was measured at 27.9 cm (11 in) in 2000.
As a small child growing up, Vivian was always made to feel different. Her father insisted she started shaving at the age of 7 but this failed to stop the taunts. It was only after four marriages and her mother’s death in 1993 that she finally stopped trimming back the facial growth and let her beard grow."
Wheeler now tours with a travelling curiosity show in Illinois.
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James G Mundie's Sideshow Ephemera Gallery details the story of the Baroness Sidonia de Barcsy, a member of the hungarian aristocracy who grew a full beard after the birth of her son, Little Nico, a dwarf. Political unrest in Hungary forced the family to flee to Western Europe, where, since they had little work experience, the Baron realized his family would be a perfect match for the circus:
"Having quickly turned misfortune into opportunity, the de Barcsy family was a genuine sensation with circus audiences across Europe. It could hardly have been otherwise when one family unit contained all that a circus promoter could hope for: a bearded lady of grace and charm, a 28-inch-tall dwarf son billed as "The Smallest Perfect Man on Earth", and a powerfully built patriarch who often lent his 6-foot 3-inch 400lb frame to the task of strong man. For fifteen years the family performed all over Europe, but in 1903 set sail for the greener shores of America."
The American audiences liked the family even more than the Europeans. The de Barcsy's toured with the Ringling Brothers and other top circuses in the country. When, in 1912, the Baron passed away, Sidonia married a man who would be billed as "The Long-haired Cherokee Buck Man." Unfortunately, Buck was bad with money and gambled away the family fortune until Sidonia was forced to place a classified ad that read:
"Trio seeking rewarding position — sophisticated bearded woman, of royal lineage; midget son, who does card tricks and performs on or with small animals; and wild Indian man, trick roper. Temporary financial embarrassment requires small advance. Serious only need apply."
What circus owner could possibly resist an offer like that? The owner of the Campbell Brothers Circus could not and the trio travelled shows for another 8 years until Sidonia became ill with diabetes and Buck ran off with Dollyeta Boykin, a dwarf woman billed as "The World's Smallest Mother." Sidonia died in 1925 from diabetes complications, and the rather eccentic "Captain" Nico continued touring until he retired to Drummond, a small town in Oklahoma, after developing a fear of being kidnapped.
Mundie writes: "Nicu gained a reputation as a local character who freeloaded meals from neighbors and demanded that gawking tourists pay him fifteen cents to watch his trained dog smoke a pipe. Eventually monetary problems overcame him and he was forced to seek welfare assistance. This was especially ironic in light of statements Nicu's mother had confided to certain Drummond residents: that Nicu, himself now a baron, should rightly share in the sizeable estate of an uncle in Hungary, but important papers proving his birthright had been lost in a circus fire in Illinois."
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Female Faces: How Facial Hair Influences Women's Everyday Experiences by Debra Anne Beechy is an online version of a master's thesis in Humanistic and Clinic Psychology. A semi-bearded woman herself, Beechy discusses the experience of feminine facial hair, her difficulties in researching the topic, and her interviews with bearded women. The resources include links to a page about Jennifer Miller, a bearded lady, college professor, and founder of Circus Amok, a circus dubbed as "Fearless, Funky, Funny and Fundamentally Subversive."
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"'The world is full of women with beards," [Jennifer Miller] says. 'Or at least they have the potential to have a beard ... instead of spending the time, and the money, on the waxing, and the shaving, and the electrolysis and the plucking. We all know someone who plucks. Pluck, pluck, pluck, as if these women were chickens!' she cries.
'Hair is a symbol of power,' Ms. Miller says. 'You've got Hair Club for Men: they all want it! It goes all the way back to Samson and his big mane of power. That's why men don’t want women to have too much of it in too many places. So, here I am, a gal with a beard, prancing around the streets of New York.'
"Step Right Up! See the Bearded Person!", a New York Times article by Dinitia Smith
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Who knew Bearded ladies were so darn cool?!?
I just finished reading Blind Voices by Tom Reamy. Published after Reamy's death, this first (and only) novel has a lot of wonderful things going on and a cast of colorful characters. While the book was captivating and each scene compelled me on, I must admit I was rather disappointed when, toward the end of the novel, the villian, Haverstock, lapses into a melancholic musing that practically recaps his life history. Isn't this exactly how -not- to clear up messy details at the end of a book?
(The setting: some dank villian hideout in a reasonably central location.)
Good Guy: Well, Bill, why don't you waste some precious time and gloat about how incredibly attractive, er, intelligent you are.
Bad Guy: You know, Phil, that's a great idea. ... Did I ever tell you about the time -- ?
Ending, of course, with the G.G. triumphant over a whimpering B.G.
I suppose I should be happy that the ultimate ending did not depend on this stall to save the day, but I still gritted my teeth throughout the entire scene in Haverstock's caravan. I found the ending ultimately unsatisfying, but appropriate for the story told.
In some respects, it seems as though the rather open ending was designed to leave room for a sequel, but since this was written in the '70s and not yesterday, I have to give Reamy the benefit of the doubt that his decision to end where he did was a conscious one. Yes, several storylines went unresolved (Evie's relationship with Angel being revealed to the parents, the town reaction to Harold's murder, & whatever happened to poor old Kelsey out in the gin?), but the story of Haverstock's Traveling Curiosus and Wonder Show was mostly resolved (since Kelsey probably met an untimely end -- but who knows? Maybe he would have made a comeback if Reamy hadn't suffered a heart attack at his typewriter when he did.)
I suppose, then, the moral of this story is not that a writer must resolve every single issue raised by his or her novel, but that the story must end a) somewhere b) before you reach a state of t.m.i.* and c) before the reader falls asleep from boredom. By ending it where he did, Reamy left the reader wanting more, but not so much that her head started to spin from confusion. So, this, I'm thinking, is a good thing.
[* too much information. you know, like when someone tells you way more than you need to know in order to make clear a point that wasn't that muddy to begin with -- like now.]
Another thing: I found that immediately upon the introduction of Angel, the Magic Boy, I was reminded of Arturo in Dunn's Geek Love. Whether it was the fanfare surrounding each who, as the star of the show, brought in the biggest crowd or the first letters of their names, I didn't really know until I reached the passage where Haverstock, in his windy villian speech, discusses his experiments in biology and genetics that resulted in his fathering four children.
Ah hah! There's the connection: both novels touch upon the fears that science raises in humanity. Haverstock uses the gift and his knowledge of biology in order to alter the bodies of his children-to -be; the mutations in Dunn's novel are the result of chemical experimentation. Despite these differences, each touches on the same idea: the danger in intervering with nature's design.
In each case, these experiments result in disaster, whether via genetic freaks or death, of the freaks or of those in their way. This, then, extends to the appeal of the sideshow carnivals touched on in each of these novels -- the public likes to view the results of such mutation, but most of the "hayseeds" know enough to stay as far away as possible less they invite some higher power's vengance. Luckily, there will always be one or two characters brave, or fool-hardy, enough to breech the line between the freaks and the regular people so that stories such as these can exist.
The idea of the circus, on the other hand, touches a different part of the human psyche - the capacity for wonder at the marvels of the human body. Unlike a carnival, which depends on a grotesque fascination with nature's mistakes to bring in the cash flow, the circus, for the most part, presents a show focused on human talents, such as those of tightrope walkers, acrobats, and sword swallowers. While a big part of the circus is the ballyhoo that surrounds the show, casting question of which acts are real and which are false (such as Barnum's fabled white elephant), the circus attendee is guarenteed of seeing at least one act so stupendous that it transcends the normal threshold of human achievement.
The key difference is not that the lines of normalcy and the ordinary appear to be crossed, but that they are, and not by "freaks" persay, but by seemingly everyday people who just so happen to be supremely talented.
There is no magic in seeing a deformed human being in a carnival setting, only a dark sort of distate in the belly of the beholder. The circus, however, is full of magical occurences: children who walk on the sky, women with limbs of rubber, and cotton candy that melts in the mouth. A freak is a freak is a freak, but part of the magic of the circus performer is the internal knowledge that you could pass a circus performer on the street and never be any the wiser. A performer, in reverse of the child who dreams of running away to the circus, can leave the circus for another life, if he or she so chooses. The freak cannot.
The Calliope Circus, then, is a blend of the carnival and the circus. The Calliope has both talented performers and "run-of-the-mill" freaks -- perhaps the Calliope freaks weren't freaky enough for the carnival. Perhaps the challenge of this setting as the home of my novel-to-be is negotiating the balance between dark and light, the gay and the grotesque? My vision is of Daniel floundering in these same waters and struggling with the beauty and the beast that resides in each of us. Sure, the coming of age story has been done and overdone to death, but the theme has existed for all time: the crossing of the threshold and the awakening of consciousness. So why not? I won't be the last one to try it.
In a chat with the Writing of Popular Fiction program this week, the moderator of one of the chats, Victoria Thompson wote something that I've decided to adopt, as a sort of inspirational quote: "Publishers want something completely new and different that's just like everything else." What I could I possibly say to that, but "You're on!"
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