My Mother: Demonology: A Novel (Acker, Kathy)

This is my first Kathy Acker novel I ever read . Stunning . If you like her style this is a trip into her twisted land of dreams finding their way into reality .

This may well be Acker's masterpiece--a book in which all of her previous experimentation achieves its fullest transmutation into a fluid organic whole. *my mother: demonology* isn't a novel, so much as a state of consciousness enclosed between two covers--a book that's like a box of spirits which once opened are impossible to put back and instantly take possession of the unwarily susceptible reader. Supposedly, according to the publisher, "based loosely on the relationship between Colette Peignot and Georges Bataille," but so loosely one would scarcely know it unless they were told, and then only partly based thereupon, and ultimately not at all essential to comprehending the text--it is far more useful to describe *my mother: demonology* as an assemblage of dream, memory, fantasy, automatic writing, personal myth, political jeremiad, and literary criticism, organized around a centrally located x-rated deconstruction and reconstruction of Emily Bronte's *Wuthering Heights.* It's not especially useful to talk about this book in terms of plot and just a little less useful to talk about it in terms of theme, although there is a narrative and it is about something; texts such as this one are composed like pieces of music or expressionistic paintings--the structure is essentially non-linear, "organic" and "poetic" as opposed to "logical," predominately emotional rather than intellectual. You might say that, as a book, it's closer to prophetic vision than potboiler. There are clear echoes of Ballard and Burroughs in *my mother: demonology,* especially the former's *The Atrocity Exhibit* and the latter's *Naked Lunch,* but to Acker's credit she very nearly makes the techniques of her literary forebears her own, even if her archly playful self-identification as a literary plagiarist makes originality both unnecessary and impossible. The most impressive distinction of Acker's text is its virtually seamless weave of various states of consciousness often depicted--inaccurately--in literature as mutually exclusive. Her style is pastiche--it's perceptual collage but collage where the edges are soft-focus, where the pieces are so well-blended that Acker has managed to invent--and/or record--a new form of integrated literary consciousness the way Burroughs did in his final masterpieces, the trilogy that ended in *The Western Lands.* Acker, dead shy of 50, may not have lived quite long enough to step completely out of the long shadows of the idols of the literary line she was heir to, but she left this text as an indication of where she was and where she was going when she ran out of life. It's a shame she didn't have the chance to go further, but his will have to do and it's more than enough to establish her reputation as a major figure of the literary avant-garde, American-style, of which there are all too few. Inspiring.

This is my favorite Kathy Acker book--in fact, it is one of my all-time, absolute, favorite books of all time. It is just stunning, amazing, incredibly gorgeous, beautiful, awesome...by the end I was in a sweat, fainting, overwhelmed, thoroughly blown away by the incredible beauty and truth of this book. It will change you, open things up, a real SUBLIME experience. I could not recommened it enough.

First, the book arrived in great condition. Second, I enjoy it most when I read it aloud. Third, this is my first Acker book (I have another on my shelf though) and it is brilliantly yucky and disorienting. I have to read in doses; the imagery and whiplash presented in this book is so intense but very good.

Notes from September 9th, 1991: "Acker talked about taking a piece of writing and jamming with it, sampling it, altering it. A phrase, a word, a section. The way jazz is made . . .not interested in the assignment of meanings, of the formalizing academic way. Thinking of working with structures or getting to intuition are similar. . . " I know that I was exploring many formal things in writing when I encountered Acker (being interested in Georges Perec and Oulipo). I was writing haikus, pangrams, always starting with a structural idea in mind, also being familiar with Queneau's Exercises in Style. Kathy was pushing me to be more intuitive, raw, exposing the unconscious. She emphasized Surrealist types of strategies. She wanted us to write every word and every sentence in an interesting way. She wanted us to explore dreams. Dreams were a big deal with Kathy. I see My Mother: Demonology as one long extended dream. Kathy wanted us to break through with writing, to reach some key moment, some epiphany, or some crime, whatever. Jill St. Jacques explained this to me as exhausting oneself in thought, coming to a wall, then going beyond, and getting to another wall. I had been reading some books by Michel Leiris and I had finally got to Guilty by Georges Bataille. Also after reading Illuminations by Rimbaud, I realized what a big influence he was on me, and most of the poetry that I had written between 1987-1992. Surrealism and Rimbaud. The story that I wrote in 1991, "The Seasons," was referring to Rimbaud; and slightly to Jasper Johns. I also wrote a few things in imitation of Leiris. The next meeting Kathy talked about the writings of Blanchot and Borges. She talked about the "surface story" and what is it about. She made us think about how certain parts work together. Kathy told us to read parts of Rimbaud. I read many of Rimbaud's prose poems. Some of them are indecipherable. I wrote something in response to "After the Flood." It was like a mad lib, substituting words. Our take-home assignment was to take the poem, "Devotion" and to make a story out of it. I wrote something vague influenced by Leiris again. I forgot to do a few of the assignments so I decided to read whatever I had been writing. That would do instead. Once Kathy was totally bored with our stories. She said that we were not trying to be good enough. We need to really think about what we are doing when we write. She looked at us: "Why are we writing? Why write at all? Writers do not make money. Some writers are beautiful technicians but do not have any soul." Kathy gave us Paul Auster as an example. She talked about Blanchot's "Madness of The Day." Kathy played tapes of music in between what people read. Like two people would read, then a tape of NWA, two more, a tape of Nine Inch Nails, etc. Kathy Acker's next few writing assignments: "An ex-lover is dying. Describe what they say to you before they die." "Write an paragraph on what is happening in American fiction in the 1990s." "The only thing I want is all-out war." Kathy Acker, My Death, My Life (p. 233) Kathy made us read a section of The Unavowable Community and Madness of the Day by Maurice Blanchot. She talked all day about Blanchot, Bataille, and Klossowski. Blanchot: "The narrative voice is a voice that has no place in the work." Kathy talked about Acephele which was a group of writers that included Bataille and Laure. Much discussion about origins, identity, ouroboros, labyrinths, transcendence, eternal recurrence and the body. Blanchot: "Writing is the absence of the work as it presents itself." Another KA writing assignment: she wanted us to write a film treatment. She also suggested that we take a part of Justine and turn them into a film treatment. Kathy also did a similar thing with her treatment of Dario Argento's "Suspiria" in My Mother: Demononlogy (1993). I later saw another Argento film with Kathy. She seemed to know his films well. Next she wanted us to bring a foreign language dictionary of a language that we didn't have any particular proficiency in (I didn't take part in this assignment). She made us translate our original text into a foreign language. Then we translated it back into English without help of the dictionary. Kathy was always pushing us into creating nonsense. Does anything exist that is truly random and without meaning? It is a very hard process. Because words can be analyzed and interpreted. She liked the writing to veer off into babble. I think she was exploring the idea of a surface translation, like with some of the French stuff she did with Laure's letters to Bataille and earlier with the Persian poems.

I would give it a 0 if possible. Do not waste your time or money on this book. There was nothing redeemable about it. This book is an exercise in pretentiousness, attempting but failing miserably to achieve any meaningful substance. It grapples with themes and relies on shock value and “uniqueness”, but ultimately falls flat in its storytelling. The non-sequiturs contribute nothing of value, and the awkward structure only exacerbates the inflated sense of importance the book projects. Every character in the book is detestable and I formed no emotional connection to anything going on the book. The desire to “break the mold” is no excuse for the bad writing style that makes the book terrible to read. It’s a horrible read that fails to deliver on any front.

Not the best Acker, though real fans won't be disappointed.