Chris Kraus with "I love Dick" and "Lost Properties" at AWF17

Thanks to Amber from Parnell Library for this spirited (as befits its subject) post relating her best Writers Festival experience.

Chris Kraus (photo Reynaldo Rivera)

For me, Chris Kraus was definitively the highlight of the Auckland Writer’s Festival this year. However, it wasn’t the Saturday “I Love Dick” session that won it for me. It was the free event “Lost Properties” that left me feeling like I’d really *encountered* Chris Kraus and which was engaging, inspiring and funnily enough, valuable.

Saturday’s talk was fine. I thought Kevin Rabalais was a total let down as chair - painfully well rehearsed to the point of being robotic, though truthfully in itself this was fairly entertaining. The questions were fine (standard) and Chris was great (obviously) but I felt like she deserved a less stiff counterpart!

Nevertheless, there were highlights: Chris read a piece from her novel Torpor that was spectacularly uncomfortable and witty and strange. She talked a lot about her life as a filmmaker (average successes) and how she pretty much accidentally began to write for a living, following these average successes and after instigating the bizarre correspondence that makes up I Love Dick. She mentioned the influence of commedia dell’arte, which immediately had me drawing parallels between the extravagant archetypes in I Love Dick and those of Aphra Behn, The Country Wife, etc (for those that may have studied Restoration era theatre at university!). As she basically writes theory-heavy, intellectual soap operas, these comparisons deeply enriched my appreciation for her work (if I can say ‘soap opera’ and ‘deeply enriching’ together in a sentence).

There was mention of a phone-based BDSM affair that made it to the pages of her novel Summer of Hate, her Kathy Acker biography (I can’t stand Acker but I’m excited to read it) and the pilot for the television adaption of I Love Dick – which, starring Kevin Bacon as ‘Dick’, may seem dubious but nonetheless boasts an all-female writers room.

And then there was the discussion of all the other things that are great and infinitely relatable (as an arts or humanities student, as a woman, as a person who dates) about Chris Kraus’s work: living and breathing theory but feeling isolated by academics and “intellectuals”, the abnormalities of romantic relationships, really deeply loving the terrible adolescent art of men you’re interested in. And, most pertinently: the idea that by ignoring you, it’s possible for a person to become “the perfect listener”, an audience for which you can perform perpetually. Obviously, the whole “lonely girl phenomenology” thing means a lot to me.

However, I maintain that Chris’s “Lost Properties” session was even better – if you can imagine such a thing!

It was an uncommonly informative lecture with a unique perspective, encompassing living creatively (ardently, critically and innovatively) whatever it is that you’re doing, especially if what you’re doing is dealing with the “certainty of hopelessness” that haunts any arts or humanities graduate, ie serious debt.

Kraus discussed why it is exactly that there are so many arts and humanities graduates nowadays, why the hell we think we need four years of formal training to write about or create art, and what we’re supposed to do when we find ourselves “overeducated and underpaid”. If you’re not completely cynical, there was a lot to give you hope and a lot to inspire you, as well as a lot to concern you - for example, threats to student loan forgiveness schemes.

If you couldn’t make it to her sessions, don’t worry – she’s as compelling on paper as she is in real life, and as accessible to those who live by theory as she is to those who are vehemently anti-theory. Read some of her writing and experience her for yourself! While the book which lent its name to the second session, Lost properties (produced for the 2014 Whitney Biennial), is out of print – you can (and should!) borrow many others from Auckland Libraries here.

"Must Not Reads" at AWF17

Amber from Parnell Library also went to hear the "Must Not Reads" session at the Writers Festival, where a panel of writers presented their choices of writing you should never read. Here's the post she wrote for us about it  -- definitely not a "Must not read"!

As someone who loves – LOVES – to complain, I was pretty amped for "Must Not Reads". What I imagined was four writers griping for an hour, unstructured, just bitching. I wanted to hear what they hated and who was a total waste of time and just a terrible writer and really sexist, derivative, totally phoned in etc.

It wasn’t really like that at all, but it was still pretty good. Chaired by Rosemary Tan, the four panel members were: Brannavan Gnanalingam, Roseanne Liang, Bill Manhire and Stephanie Johnson.

Stephanie began with a truly retro passage from a Harold Robbins book (forgive me for forgetting particulars) that featured all of the elements of your standard vintage popular fiction love scene: breathiness, women begging to be hurt and saying things like “you’re so strong!” to their dour male suitors. It was gross and I’m glad I mostly read Goosebumps and Horrible Histories as an adolescent – although, her story about a cousin who used to charge other kids money for finding and reciting the dirtiest bits in these kinds of books was very impressive.

Stephanie Johnson

This was followed by a fairly predictable but quite understandable pick: Fifty shades of Grey– Roseanne Liang’s choice. Bill Manhire was invited to read out an appropriately carnal passage which naturally is scorched into my memory and will resurface periodically until I die – thanks for that, Bill.

Roseanne Liang

Brannavan Gnanalingam chose V.S Naipaul’s A bend in the river, drawing comparisons to Heart of darkness and reasoning that if it were written by a white man it might have been seen a little differently – ie it might have been assessed as racist in its depiction of Africa as a fundamentally violent and ill-fated expanse. And that it probably wouldn’t have been nominated for the Booker Prize either – apparently Paul Theroux had a hand in ensuring A bend in the river didn't win (due to its lazily racist slant), which I found confusing because in my very minimal experience with Theroux I found him to be scornfully racist?

Gnanalingam also cast aspersions on one Ian McEwan book in particular which again I cannot remember – stating that that if you like McEwan you will not like his books. Gnanalingam got as close to the kind of popping off I was hoping for, so I’ve decided I have to read his books – he seems like a great guy, and I always found McEwan a bit boring.

B. Gnanalingam (photo Candy Capoco)

Bill Manhire complained mostly about small annoyances like poems being butchered for garden advertisements and newsletters – rearranged to look all nice and properly “poem” like, totally obliterating any of the original structure. I can definitely get behind this kind of grievance. He also mentioned The Three Christs of Ypsilanti: A Psychological Study by Milton Rokeach which no longer feels quite right to him morally. I on the other hand added it to my “Must Read” list (yes it does seem rather cruel to stick together three psychiatric patients who all think they’re Jesus, but it also sounds like a great read!).

Bill Manhire (photo Grant Maiden)

Stephanie’s second choice was Zealot: the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth by Reza Aslan, which apparently ruined the last fragments of long abandoned Christianity she was clinging to. She talked a lot about it, but really all I could think was: “Boohoo?”

Roseanne’s second choice was Lena Dunham’s Not that kind of girl, which felt like “fair enough” until she admitted that it was over the molestation controversy, which the other panel members judged as seeming very far-fetched and willfully dense (an opinion to which I generally adhere, although in the the context of the book it’s endlessly debatable) and to which she sort of went “Yeah, like I liked it and I used to like her but then that happened so… idk?”. If I was looking for something to classify as phoned in, it would be that choice of  “must not read”.

There were some classic arguments raised throughout the evening – the death of the author, whether or not we need to care that our literary and cinematic heroes might be pedophiles or racists, whether “trigger warnings” are ridiculous (Hi Stephanie – they’re not! Love from a delicate millennial).

All in all, it was a pretty enjoyable evening, but I’d have appreciated some teeth – so it’s lucky that I love to complain!

Teju Cole, Roxane Gay & Ashleigh Young on "The Art of the Essay" at AWF17

Amber from Parnell Library shares her experience of hearing Teju Cole, Roxane Gay and Ashleigh Young talk about the art of the essay.

 I attended "The Art of The Essay" with the highest of hopes and the shiniest of eyes. I love Roxane Gay and I love Ashleigh Young. Having only recently been introduced to Teju Cole by way of his presence at the Auckland Writer’s Festival this year, I was thrilled to see him - because I believe that anyone that mentions Italo Calvino as a source of inspiration is immediately worthy of my time. And most importantly: I love to read essays. More than fiction, more than poetry, about as much as I love reading short stories. I had expectations.

Teju Cole

The panel members did not disappoint me! And the turnout was very impressive – apparently the queue was huge even at 10am, in anticipation of a 10:30am start (confession: I say apparently because I was late – in fact the very last person admitted, thank god).

The first question of the hour was ‘Where to start?’. Teju Cole began by affirming the importance of having the time and privilege to actually sit down and write an essay (and yes, this does always need to be mentioned!) and when the adage “starting with the end” was raised, Ashleigh Young admitted that actually, for her it’s more like looking for an answer, or attempting to write her way “out of bewilderment”. Roxane Gay says that for her, striving to be “dazzling without being ostentatious” is the primary goal, rather than having an end in sight.

 On matters of truth, there’s a fairly unanimous agreement that there’s not really any such thing. All three panels members are seemingly more comfortable writing around truths, and for multiple viewpoints and realities. For Teju Cole, who admits he doesn’t write “super personally” (and is mostly pretty serious), this is where the art of “productive discomfort” is utilized - which I take as meaning: not telling a reader what to think or how to think, but rather demonstrating for them the potential flaws in their beliefs. For Ashleigh Young, the approach is achieved through not quite being “present” in her stories; instead observing, describing, watching and filtering (something she says she is not quite sure how to feel about, but which I personally love about her work).

I think the very large crowd at this point can agree when the narrative power of the nominative plural “we” is exalted. Roxane Gay is asked whether or not she considers herself to be a “truth teller” to which she replies “No. I see myself as a writer.”

Roxane Gay (photo Jay Grabiec)

Roxane Gay speaks a lot of truth – a lot of unapologetic, uncomfortable, and alarming truth. But while she eschews the notion that everyone needs to be understood and listened to (“Trump fans: it’s just racism”) she maintains that she does take care to think outside of herself, and to consider how best to speak to those who do not share her views, or even are directly opposed to them. This is what I personally love about her - necessarily harsh, but charitably accessible.

Then, the host (Simon Wilson of The Spinoff ) asks - well, he asks Ashleigh and Roxane - about writing about “being fucked up”. There’s a bit of an awkward silence – I mean, *I* am feeling awkward and annoyed at least. Does occasionally touching on eating disorders, suicide, or depression -- among many, many other things – make Ashleigh Young “fucked up”? Is Roxane Gay “fucked up” because she lets us know what a constant struggle it is to be an outspoken woman, let alone an outspoken black woman, let alone – the audacity! – an outspoken black woman who doesn’t care if you think she’s fat?

 I roll my eyes so hard I give myself a migraine, instantly.

 Roxane retorts perfectly, “Isn’t that always the project?” (yes, yes it is – always!) and she and Ashleigh agree that actually it’s about discussing vulnerability, exploring empathy, just trying to be honest – “admitting to humanity” as Roxane puts it.

 The question “What have blogs done to the essay?” is swiftly answered with a fairly unanimous “Um…not much?” The dual forces of a) democratization and b) depreciation are touched on, with all agreeing that blogging and essay writing are very different things. For Roxane Gay, they’re more like a letter. Someone says that they consider form to be merely “a conduit for presence” which I totally agree with and love – so much that I really cannot remember who said it, though my bets are on Teju Cole. All panel members use and appreciate Twitter – not for writing purposes per se, but as a sounding board, a network, a little community.

 And then the host annoys me again – this time saying to Roxane something like “You get a lot of trolls on the internet, eh?” to which she concedes, “Uh yeah, yeah I do”. This is annoying to me because if you know Roxane Gay, you know she really does suffer “trolls” on the internet but it’s more like quite disruptive and horrifying harassment. Thankfully, Teju Cole steps in and does a much better job of being host here – reminding us that while it probably seems funny, it’s a huge part of Roxane’s life and beyond what the average Twitter user can imagine.

 Overall, I am incredibly thankful for the opportunity to sit and listen to these three very talented people. I left feeling like I  understood their writing a little more having seen them irl, in the flesh. All three authors chose excerpts to read aloud that were perfect: from Teju Cole, the essay ‘What It Is’, a musing on invasive metadata in the form of an incredibly strange and offensive CNN chyron, in which something is described as ‘Literally the “Some of my best friends are black” of #NotAllMen’ – a line I will never forget. From Roxane Gay, an essay from Bad Feminist, “Typical First Year Professor” (“I don’t save lives – but I try not to ruin them” is a brilliant understatement in my opinion). I’ve read more of Ashleigh Young than either Cole or Gay, and yet cannot summon a stand-out line from her piece “Witches” (probably something to do with her aforementioned tendency to not quite be *in* her pieces) but it’s a beautiful, bittersweet reflection on adolescence, innocence, and the corporeal form. 

Ashleigh Young (Photo Russell Kleyn)

However, I cannot say Simon Wilson endeared himself to me. I internally cringed at his treatment of Ashleigh Young and even more so of Roxane Gay. I’m not sure if it stemmed from a lack of familiarity with Gay’s work (in which case: poor planning) or the rather more loathsome “tall poppy syndrome”. Regardless, it nearly ruined it for me and left me feeling very apologetic on behalf of Auckland.

And last of all: shout out to the man in the floral shirt who thought it was acceptable to walk up to the microphone HALF-WAY through Roxane’s essay, to stand around and fidget in preparation for his very tedious question. Seriously, thanks – it gave me something to bitch to her about at the book signing and I’d probably have been too shy to say anything otherwise. And if you were wondering – yes, you did annoy her! And yes – she did read more than she’d intended just to “fuck you off”. Which, for me, was the perfect ending.

Carmen Aguirre at AWF 2016: "Mexican Hooker #1"

Amber from Parnell Library tells us about discovering Carmen Aguirre and why she thinks you should too:




Are you put off by the title Mexican Hooker #1? If you are, you shouldn’t feel alone – it was a feeling I came across in more than one person whilst mutually flicking through the Auckland Writers Festival programme. While you shouldn’t feel alone, you should probably feel regretful, though, because this stiffness likely kept you from encountering the almost disconcertingly interesting Ms. Carmen Aguirre.

Often the first thing you will learn about Carmen Aguirre is that at a young age she was raped – it is unpleasant, it is painful to read about, painful to think about. It seemed confusing to people I encountered -- to give a book concerning your most abject memories a name so blunt, so tongue in cheek, so tacky, even. What is she thinking, a rape victim, referring to the sex industry in such a cavalier manner?? Perhaps those people are uncomfortable confronting their own misgivings about the differences between rape and sex. Fair enough.

However, you needn’t be uncomfortable, because Carmen definitely isn’t. She is incredibly matter of fact, pastoral even, as she relates to you her experiences with a diverse range of violence. In an hour with Carmen Aguirre, a person previously unfamiliar with her work (ie, me) will learn that she is a woman who has lived a life unimaginable to some (ie, most New Zealanders). A political refugee under Pinochet’s regime from the age of six (her family relocated to Canada) and a member of the Chilean resistance from 18, Aguirre’s life was always going to feature danger, trauma and the processes of “healing” – whatever that might be and however it would come about.

For Aguirre, theatrical training precipitated this healing process, and Mexican Hooker #1 is an account of the dual experiences of becoming an actor (a very early calling) and being propelled into the therapeutic work of reconfronting and reappraising her rape. Aguirre travels to meet her rapist, the infamous John Horace Oughton, a kind of ‘bogeyman’ figure in the Canadian cultural landscape known as the ‘Paper Bag Rapist’, and for many this begs some questions, mainly, "Why?" If you’ve read any recent coverage of Aguirre’s book, you will likely know her answer – “Because I’d like to meet the man I’ve been in a relationship with for my entire life.”

Her answer encapsulates what is so fascinating about her life, her holistic and realistic attitude towards her experiences, and what is so brilliant about her title. Mexican Hooker #1 is a title that Aguirre says she had to fight her editors for, and I was happy to hear that because I love it. Aguirre sums it up with candor: the title is what it is because she literally played a character named “Mexican Hooker #1”, because she found herself completely and utterly typecast with no roles for women of colour on stage or television other than those very similar to ‘Mexican Hooker #1’, and lastly, heartbreakingly, because when she was raped at 13, her rapist called her ‘hooker’ repeatedly.

If you think it all sounds a bit heavy, and are expecting an incredibly morose autobiographical depiction of a tarnished life, absolutely don’t. As well as being matter of fact, Carmen Aguirre is hilarious, and my favourite moment was her quip about those who write for catharsis, “If you are writing for catharsis, you are not writing – you are masturbating”. Her language was rather more colourful, but you get the idea. I happen to completely agree, and at that moment I fell in love with her.

So yes, it is ‘heavy’ but don’t worry -- she is not writing for catharsis, she is not gunning to make you cry. Aguirre’s story is also impressive, entertaining, and very true. Aguirre referred to herself as ‘a person who writes plays for brown people’ and recognition of the purposeful, material value of her work is important. She says (I’m probably misquoting, but never mind) that her parents always told her that if you are not working for your community, then you are not working in the right way. But while her story, and her writing, is important for victims of sexual assault, for women of colour, for actresses, for refugees, it is valuable to anyone. And if you're not intrigued by a woman who was part of a revolutionary movement and who can make you cackle within the context of confronting the issue of rape, then I wouldn't know what to offer you.

You can, and really should, read Mexican Hooker #1 and Aguirre's first book, Something Fierce.

--Amber