“I jerked off thinking of him, repeating aloud I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, until I came (my ejaculations got stronger and stronger as I rediscovered the sacred character of sex).”
My fourth Guillaume Dustan work (in translation), and I can comfortably say I love his voice. It is incredible to be able to read about complex gay men who own and assert their faggotry—especially HIV-positive gay men in the 1990s who love sex, drugs, and dance music. The mentor I can only have through literature.
Nicolas Pages is a love story. Dustan seemingly sets off to write about his failed affair with artist/writer Nicolas Pages, but the text repeatedly morphs form and structure as his love flowers. In the end, it is as much a love story about writing, dance, sex, music, drugs, clubbing, faggots, his family, exes Nelson and Stephane, as it is about Nicolas. I really appreciate his challenge of respectability politics by writing without reserve. A provocateur. It is a text filled with personal philosophy, extensive reference, humor, sexuality, literary criticism, politics. It is pornographic, not just for his abundant and explicit writing about sex, but also for his deeply personal explication of his own humanity.
“We all have difficult lives.”
This is certainly Dustan’s most ambitious of his first four books, in content and form, and I am not sure it is so approachable for an unacquainted reader. I’d start with his earliest work first.
There is so much to write, but I’ll end it here with some lines I really like:
“It’s ultimately from dance that I derive my authority. From some of my writing, too. Ta, ta, ta, ta, ta, ta, ta, ta…”
“No good DJ ends without a last delicate caress after the lovemaking.”
“I hated my body, that body that wanted men. I hated my dick, my balls, which were perfectly normal, but which I would have liked to be enormous to prove to others that it was not true that I wasn’t a man. My thick body hair was a kind of supreme joke. I seriously believe that if I had a really small dick and no hair, I would have committed suicide.”
“I think that everyone should do the same thing: recount your life. Get to know yourself. Give yourself a form. Put yourself in order.”
“I also wanted to write about sex for militant reasons related to the situation after AIDS. Because of AIDS, sex had become evil. I couldn’t accept that.”
(((Also, I wish the editors/translators had done another read to catch typos/errors in translation, just as I had wished so for the first volume containing his earliest work—alas, there is probably a tiny budget and it is likely a miracle this translation exists at all. They should ask me to do a read through before publishing the next Dustan work.)))