A vast and sprawling cut-up text that is part acerbic pornography, part humorous vignette, and part medical report, this book reads fast and furious through the dark realms of physicality. Crabes’ way with words and skill with the scissors shines through at every turn and there is something here to shock every reader.
Reading this book I am, however, reminded of a Ginsberg quote on the cut-up method—to paraphrase, ‘you have to have something to begin with’. Now, Crabes certainly has a lot of material, but does he have the real guts that deserves to be cut up? Is there something new and powerful that arises from the random juxtaposition of words on the page? On these points I am undecided. What I do know, however, is that the nature of these cuts leads to them running together and becoming a tad tiresome.
I think the problem is that where Burroughs has mastered the art of inserting the suggestion of narrative in random text, Crabes has opted for a wall of abstraction. There is no impetus forcing the reader on and we are sometimes left to feel like we are reading the same experiment over again. It’s a good experiment, and I enjoyed it at first, but at 250 pages we end up reading it an awful lot.
What Crabes does very well, however, is retain the forceful amd distinct voice that is so perfectly crafted as his own. Cut-ups have a tendency to obscure or obliterate the author leaving a cold, lifeless mass of text. This book does not suffer this fate, each page is unmistakably Crabes and the particular use of language hooks the reader into his sordid world of anal sex and prescription drugs.
All in all, I am undecided on this book. At first I thought I didn’t like it, but I found that it grew on me quite thoroughly. It is not without its flaws, but it is by no means a failure in its experiment. I think the only sensible course of action is to try the book for yourself and see where it leads you.
Copies of the book can be purchased here
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