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Consensual
An exploration of sex, death, misanthropy and sadism. CONSENSUAL is perfect reading for the End of the World. Sex and violence are the order of the day, as they should be. A.D. Hitchin delivers Peter Sotos-levels of controlled fury, with equal parts skill, elitism and misanthropic disdain dripping off each page. When you open CONSENSUAL, be aware you are consenting to something you may not be prepared for. Hitchin's work separates wolves from sheep. - James Porrazzo, founder No Lives Matter Bareback riding, psychotic sadness, online hate, real-world anonymity, gloomy shadows illuminating the Lost Prophets sex scandal, identity games, human arrogance and anxiety, consent and the lack thereof, death as isolation - these are just some of the uneasily aggressive themes and frontiers which A.D. Hitchin confronts in this collection... A tangled, gnarled post-Burroughsian blend of Jonathan Swift, Laurence Sterne, Lenny Bruce and Francois Villon. - Joe Ambrose, Tangier Tsunami, Chelsea Hotel Manhattan, Serious Time A sexual, sacrificial, spectacular tour through the darkest recesses of his psyche... the words of A.D. Hitchin will rip your senses raw. - Billy Chainsaw A.D. Hitchin cuts samples from the space of possible desire in vivid prose recalling the best of Burroughs or Ballard in its willingness to anatomise without humanist illusion. Consensual, it should be said, is also deeply erotic, reminding us of the strange shapes of our own need. - David Roden, author of Posthuman Life: Philosophy at the Edge of the Human (Routledge, 2014) Consensual explores the depth of the human psyche, doors accessed only by the few that possess an inner wisdom. Here you'll find the various shifting themes of erotica, subjugation and fear, and reach a new enlightened perspective - a shift in consciousness - with New Laws to be broken - above and beyond the primitive roles mankind or God has permitted... - Jerome Alexandre, Deadcuts"
78 pages, Paperback
Published February 29, 2016
70 people want to read
About the author
A.D. Hitchin
8 books32 followersA.D. Hitchin is a writer and editor whose work spans both the commercial and the counterculture. He began his career on the avant-garde scene and his use of the cut-up method has been discussed by academia and appeared in many magazines, websites and publications, culminating in co-editing the CUT UP! anthology, the first of its kind. Hitchin marked his move away from more cryptic, abstract work with the publication of CONSENSUAL in 2016, described by one reviewer as 'reading for the end of the world'. Following a series of spiritual experiences beginning late 2017, Hitchin cancelled his planned follow-up book and withdrew CONSENSUAL from sale, instead choosing to embark on a decidedly different path more in keeping with what he describes as 'a new incarnation'. Hitchin has performed at various London galleries, including the Underdog Gallery and The Horse Hospital, where he also exhibited and sold his artwork. Commercially Hitchin works with publishers in a variety of areas, including acquisitions, structural editing and ghostwriting. His most recent work includes writing the text for Prince: Purple Reign, a colouring book-cum-biography, released on Plexus Books in December 2017.
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
December 19, 2016
Vitriolic, Painful But Important
Hitchin delves into the filth of society, he rummages in the bowels of (in)humanity; mankind, in plain sight, is stripped of any sense of virtue, revealing the primeval puss underneath the glossy and false mask that every individual so sorely wears. Here, Hitchin, unapologetically, defines, poetically (with cutthroat brevity) the suffocating angst of man with a misanthropic gaze. His prose is sharp, concise and brutal. At times, though, there's a certain embrace in the indulgence of taboo; morality is of opinion, never does he make the reader question characters' motives, he denudes their actions with a cold, clinical and eloquent voice. Consensual is a malignant tome that only reflects the banal and insipid modernity that is the very construct of our own destruction. It flows so well like Styx in a bunker's gutter, only that the bunker itself is our very own living room. It's books like these that are important to read as it forces us to signify the horrors within us all. Where paedophilic celebrities are deluded gods, where sex becomes a notion of our self-loathing, where necrophiliacs find true love and the hashtag vacuousness reigns supreme...yes, this is strong and powerful stuff, perhaps best for those who enjoy absorbing transgressive literature with tones of Soto's, Sade and Cooper.
Hitchin delves into the filth of society, he rummages in the bowels of (in)humanity; mankind, in plain sight, is stripped of any sense of virtue, revealing the primeval puss underneath the glossy and false mask that every individual so sorely wears. Here, Hitchin, unapologetically, defines, poetically (with cutthroat brevity) the suffocating angst of man with a misanthropic gaze. His prose is sharp, concise and brutal. At times, though, there's a certain embrace in the indulgence of taboo; morality is of opinion, never does he make the reader question characters' motives, he denudes their actions with a cold, clinical and eloquent voice. Consensual is a malignant tome that only reflects the banal and insipid modernity that is the very construct of our own destruction. It flows so well like Styx in a bunker's gutter, only that the bunker itself is our very own living room. It's books like these that are important to read as it forces us to signify the horrors within us all. Where paedophilic celebrities are deluded gods, where sex becomes a notion of our self-loathing, where necrophiliacs find true love and the hashtag vacuousness reigns supreme...yes, this is strong and powerful stuff, perhaps best for those who enjoy absorbing transgressive literature with tones of Soto's, Sade and Cooper.
December 26, 2016
I didn’t believe William Burroughs’ claim that his writing career began with the death of his wife; figuring he already was a writer who (inadvertently or whatever) shot his wife and thereafter became more gratified that he was one, coming into himself and so forth, through the investment in his art. He chose the right profession; it rendered him absolution as well as serving as a relaxant, similar to a syringe of heroin. Burroughs could be his wry self, the most important aspect of the choice, explaining, through his prose, who that person was. Hero worship is stultifying yet we still need examples to keep us going. Burroughs was viewed as the father of cut-up writing, a style which A.D. Hitchin has been associated.
When reading a book, my only question these days relates to the impact of its imagery. Does it make me want to take up serpents and so forth? Today, the ante is upped, pathetically so, with authenticity down; how could it not be, given the industrial arts complex? A swathe of literature has become limp, not only limp, but chopped up and placed on a conveyor belt, a mechanized horror show. “Packaging, people!” the foreman yells down at the workers from his elevated platform.
I read Consensual without stopping and enjoyed it, crunching my own apple from the garden, listening to his young Florentines tell stories in their basilica just as Boccaccio’s did. It worked. The vignettes created their own film set: Across the street from the church was a funeral parlor with Balthus street scene in between; upstairs, a studio apartment where a young girl’s leg draped over a chair, inviting violation. My favorite was Thanatose and Eros, longer than the others, telling a gripping story of an unrequited love fulfilled in the nick of time before a funeral procession.
Every Tom, Dick and Harry is going to read a book, especially a book like this, and either “interpret it” or discard it. I’m a jaded old fart, probably not target audience material, being thoroughly inured by sex. I didn’t read Consensual in that context. Its explicitness was prerequisite, however, representing an appropriate challenge, like one of the questions at the Mont Python Bridge. “What’s the mating call of an unladen sparrow” kind of thing. His book follows a lineage, and not necessarily literary, although that too. Heraclitus started it with his theory of flux, the first theory of relativity. Meandering through time, there was William Blake. As a lad, I was enough star struck that I carried around a copy of his Book of Urizen, got all militant and up in people’s faces with it. So I read Consensual as a gnostic text. And I don’t care if I’m the only one in the world to see it that way.
“Abraxas speaketh that hallowed and accursed word, which is life and death at the same time.”
The author provided me with reason for reading in code, however. He writes well so I paid attention. As one of his characters note: “After a while you become kind of dissociated from your body. . .” And then: “These “values” that we claim to cherish are really just fairy tales . . . “
Of course, there remains cyclical discovery and reinventions, re-expressions of the same wheels, representing the process of author individuation and either their commitment to conformity or vision of that same wry eye. To have the makings of a real writer these days and be thrown into its community, becomes formidable. Success does not involve one’s schooling but relates to disposition, tenacity and ability to withstand torment. Bukowski said you need to go to the track. I say you need to get caught, to be exposed, then bitten by the dogs of hell: Judged and discarded by society’s mongrels with nowhere to go but up. It’s probably the same thing.
All Mr. Hitchin has to do is write his next book. I gave Consensual five stars as a slobbering fan, and an American nonetheless. To write reviews is highly conformist, filled with self-importance, but necessary. So I’ll remain polite here (and think I have been). That is, I will not inquire as to the exact anatomic location of Burroughs’ bullet, having penetrated Ms. Vollmer’s skull (even though the fans would want to know). I offer that this real writer has great promise and doesn’t necessarily need to be labelled or “associated with.” I can’t wait for his next one.
When reading a book, my only question these days relates to the impact of its imagery. Does it make me want to take up serpents and so forth? Today, the ante is upped, pathetically so, with authenticity down; how could it not be, given the industrial arts complex? A swathe of literature has become limp, not only limp, but chopped up and placed on a conveyor belt, a mechanized horror show. “Packaging, people!” the foreman yells down at the workers from his elevated platform.
I read Consensual without stopping and enjoyed it, crunching my own apple from the garden, listening to his young Florentines tell stories in their basilica just as Boccaccio’s did. It worked. The vignettes created their own film set: Across the street from the church was a funeral parlor with Balthus street scene in between; upstairs, a studio apartment where a young girl’s leg draped over a chair, inviting violation. My favorite was Thanatose and Eros, longer than the others, telling a gripping story of an unrequited love fulfilled in the nick of time before a funeral procession.
Every Tom, Dick and Harry is going to read a book, especially a book like this, and either “interpret it” or discard it. I’m a jaded old fart, probably not target audience material, being thoroughly inured by sex. I didn’t read Consensual in that context. Its explicitness was prerequisite, however, representing an appropriate challenge, like one of the questions at the Mont Python Bridge. “What’s the mating call of an unladen sparrow” kind of thing. His book follows a lineage, and not necessarily literary, although that too. Heraclitus started it with his theory of flux, the first theory of relativity. Meandering through time, there was William Blake. As a lad, I was enough star struck that I carried around a copy of his Book of Urizen, got all militant and up in people’s faces with it. So I read Consensual as a gnostic text. And I don’t care if I’m the only one in the world to see it that way.
“Abraxas speaketh that hallowed and accursed word, which is life and death at the same time.”
The author provided me with reason for reading in code, however. He writes well so I paid attention. As one of his characters note: “After a while you become kind of dissociated from your body. . .” And then: “These “values” that we claim to cherish are really just fairy tales . . . “
Of course, there remains cyclical discovery and reinventions, re-expressions of the same wheels, representing the process of author individuation and either their commitment to conformity or vision of that same wry eye. To have the makings of a real writer these days and be thrown into its community, becomes formidable. Success does not involve one’s schooling but relates to disposition, tenacity and ability to withstand torment. Bukowski said you need to go to the track. I say you need to get caught, to be exposed, then bitten by the dogs of hell: Judged and discarded by society’s mongrels with nowhere to go but up. It’s probably the same thing.
All Mr. Hitchin has to do is write his next book. I gave Consensual five stars as a slobbering fan, and an American nonetheless. To write reviews is highly conformist, filled with self-importance, but necessary. So I’ll remain polite here (and think I have been). That is, I will not inquire as to the exact anatomic location of Burroughs’ bullet, having penetrated Ms. Vollmer’s skull (even though the fans would want to know). I offer that this real writer has great promise and doesn’t necessarily need to be labelled or “associated with.” I can’t wait for his next one.
July 12, 2016
Full Review
Consensual is a slim volume at only about 80 pages, but it's well worth picking up. This short, sharp shock collection of prose is insightful, erotic, provocative, and shows A.D. Hitchin as a talent to watch in the future. It's obviously not for everyone, but to those who want an intense and challenging read, I highly recommend this book.
Consensual is a slim volume at only about 80 pages, but it's well worth picking up. This short, sharp shock collection of prose is insightful, erotic, provocative, and shows A.D. Hitchin as a talent to watch in the future. It's obviously not for everyone, but to those who want an intense and challenging read, I highly recommend this book.
March 6, 2016
If you took the brains of Bret Easton Ellis and the French philosopher Georges Bataille... then put them together with a sprinkling of Vladimir Nabokov... this book might come out of that sort of combination.
If you like books like "American Psycho". you'll love this. If you hate those kind of books, stay far, far, away from this.
If you like books like "American Psycho". you'll love this. If you hate those kind of books, stay far, far, away from this.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews