Tuesday, June 29, 2010

O Fallen Angel

What can I say, I'm a prostitute. Two of my favorite sisters on Frances Farmer is My Sister, Roz Ito and Angela Simione, are both in the process of reading and responding to O Fallen Angel, and they've written these amazing blog posts each of them which are these wonderful personal reads and reactions to the book, which I love, I love how visceral and emotional and personal yes their reactions are. And realizing how extraordinary and intimate it is to have READERS, to be READ. It is something like love, I think.

From Roz:

and I opened my bag to take out my daily planner and saw O Fallen Angel staring out at me and I remembered the most recent pages I'd read (halfway through now) about Mommy's love for bachelor dating reality shows while the wars rage on all over the "other" channels and I thought is this one fucking amazing novel of American protest or what, is this not a fucking amazing & urgent protest novel, with flashes of poetic line break embedded within, line breaks which are less about the cognitive turn that's emphasized in modernist & postmodernist poetry-of-the-page and more about the dramatic turn of the tragic ancient Greek soloist & the tragic ancient Greek chorus as spoken through the archetypal soloist, this turn of dramatic urgency that feels at all times too violent to be a mere turn, a mere "versus," but is in fact an acute example of the SWERVE, the SWERVE to both look toward & look away, the SWERVE to both exist & not exist in the horror of the real, the SWERVE of the national veering past & practically smacking the personal onto its face onto the ground, the ground at the base of a stinking crucifixion perhaps, and I thought this is a novel that is swerving & skidding its way to completion and as I sipped my coffee & clicked open my computer files I looked forward to the time when I would be able to return to its swerving & skidding, to the urgent skid-marked tarmac of its blistering, all-too-recognizable surface...


From Angela's (which I linked to earlier):

i have now read Kate Zambreno's book O Fallen Angel twice. both times, in one hot shot all the way through. both times out loud. and i'm going to tell you how wonderful it is very soon but i'm still letting it run through me, digest it and see the connections: Wal-mart and Wife Swap and Baudelaire. yes, Baudelaire! because your book finally slung that in to place, it now makes sense, the imaginary land we traverse. yes. "the banality of evil". these pervasive horrors. horrors with a little h. it's like trying to see the air. it's all around you, it's in you. how do you stop gulping it down?