Reviews and Comments

Aged 12 or so, I read this book - along with another bunch of gothic novels and mickey mouse comics - and all that stuck with me was the memory of a needlessly tormented, addicting-to-read romance. Nearly 20 years later, the romance is there, it is needlessly tormented, and addicting too. Victorian morality is tiresome to read about - I cannot imagine to live by. Of course, it is also racist, colonialist, ableistic, and classist in ways that are (even) more extreme than our own. The obsession with marriage makes one want to escape into a hippie commune asap.

And yet, there is something so ineffably modern about Jane Eyre and Edward Rochester. Jane is independent, strong-minded and sarcastic. I am tempted to believe that even her religious talk is more of a language to express human feelings, thoughts and impulses that it is piousness. And Edward is such an imperfect hero: not handsome, throwing tantra over small things, not too noble to try a trick. And their banter and sexual tension are so believable and enthralling, they put many of the latest Netflix series to shame.

'For three days in a row, there is not a single victim in the entire precinct. No rapes. No murders. No rape-murders. No kidnappings. No child pornography made, bought, or sold. No molestations. No sexual assaults. No sexual harassments. No forced prostitution. No human trafficking. No subway gropings. No incest. No indecent exposures. No stalking. Not even an unwanted dirty phone call. Then, in the gloaming of a Wednesday, a man wolf-whistles at a woman on her way to an AA meeting. The whole city releases its held breath, and everything returns to normal'.

The quote is taken from the fourth and longest story in this collection, Especially Heinous: 272 Views of Law & Order SVU. I should say that this was the story I enjoyed the least, possibly because I haven't not watched a single episode of Law & Order (and have no burning desire to do so anytime soon). But I would say that it encapsulates what is so brilliant about Machado's writing: without ever falling into moralism or preachiness she relentlessly brings out the absurd and the unjust in society. To my mind, this one of the best quality a book can have.

There are several themes running through the collection. Sex, a lot of sex: good sex, bad sex, violent, explicit, queer. The female body: a haunted house with no doors but a hundred windows, as the beautiful quote by Jacqui Germany says at the start of the book. And myths and fairy tales, in the broades sense of the world: isn't Law & Order one of those? The Husband Stitch, Eight Bites and The Resident were my favourites.

I don't know how or why I didn't come by this book before, since it's such a classic. Even though I didn't know this was THE book, I was familiar with the plot: Charlie Gordon becomes a genius through an operation, until (mini-SPOILER, though you probably already know, too) the effects of the operation fades, and he goes back to being 'stupid'. The description of this parabol is fascinating, especially, in my opinion, on the way up. I don't know if a person like Charlie would relate, but it felt realistic, and quite frankly, heartbreaking. He goes through his memories, and, step by step, is forced to re-interpret them. More often than not he realises that people have been meaner to him that he could see the first time around. In my opinion, the author mastered the uneasy task to ascribe stupidity to his main character without being gimmicky or disrespectful.

For some reason, the downward half of the parabola didn't work for me in the same way, but I really think it was me and not the book, as most readers seem to have given in to tears at this stage. I also didn't love the way in which women and their relationships with Charlies are described but a) maybe it shows the book as a product of its times b) I suppose the point was to suggest that (extreme) intelligence goes hands in hands with loneliness.

I don't know how or why I didn't come by this book before, since it's such a classic. Even though I didn't know this was THE book, I was familiar with the plot: Charlie Gordon becomes a genius through an operation, until (mini-SPOILER, though you probably already know, too) the effects of the operation fades, and he goes back to being 'stupid'. The description of this parabol is fascinating, especially, in my opinion, on the way up. I don't know if a person like Charlie would relate, but it felt realistic, and quite frankly, heartbreaking. He goes through his memories, and, step by step, is forced to re-interpret them. More often than not he realises that people have been meaner to him that he could see the first time around. In my opinion, the author mastered the uneasy task to ascribe stupidity to his main character without being gimmicky or disrespectful.

For some reason, the downward half of the parabola didn't work for me in the same way, but I really think it was me and not the book, as most readers seem to have given in to tears at this stage. I also didn't love the way in which women and their relationships with Charlies are described but a) maybe it shows the book as a product of its times b) I suppose the point was to suggest that (extreme) intelligence goes hands in hands with loneliness.

Brave New World is on every must-read list, and it belongs there. Huxley's longsightedness is undisputed: as far back as 1931, he picked up on some of the most disturbing features of what was becoming our society, and showed their darkest side. I don't know why I couldn't get more into the story. Sometimes it's just a matter of timing. In fact, I remember reading it as a teenager, and liking it a lot more. Truth be told, I must have been on a sci-fi binge, because I definitely remembered it all wrong - I think my mind collated 1984, Fahrenheit 451, and Brave New World in a major, majorly inconsistent dystopia of its own. I don't know if it was just me, but I have the impression that our collective memory has boxed the book as a warning bell against the dangers of a world driven by escapism, sensual pleasure, and the obsession with being happy. I had completely removed the fact that 'the Savage' actually also comes across as fairly obsessed - with religion, purity, and purification through pain - is it just me, or that is also supposed to be a little creepy? As an aside, the representation of the 'uncivilised' as a sort of native Americans was hella problematic (yes, I know, it's easy to practice critical analysis from 90+ years in the future)