A friend of mine at work has been annoyed with me for not having read anything Tsiolkas, and since I don’t watch TV I haven’t seen ‘The Slap’ or ‘Barracuda’ – which she says I would particularly enjoy since it fits with some of the themes I research about schools. I probably ought to have seen the film that was made of this in 1998 – I knew Ana Kokkinos when I was growing up and I had meant to see the film at the time, but this was all when I had become totally disillusioned with film.
This reminded me of a punk version of ‘The Graduate’ or of ‘The Dangling Man’. This, like them, has that sense of ‘coming of age’ but of also being stuck between life stages. Although, no one asks Ari if he wants to get into plastics. The problem here is that it isn’t clear what his pathway to the future actually is. The alcohol and drugs he consumes in this 24 hour period would kill a horse. But the reader isn’t left with a sense of ‘liberation’ following all this excess, but rather of near total entrapment. The narrator tells us he feels the effect of the dope, or the acid, or the quick, or the brandy, or the whisky, or whatever else he is snorting, sniffing, sculling, injecting, swallowing – but the impact of all of this on him is so minimal it is hard to know why he even bothers.
And you can say much the same of the sex. This is Tsiolkas’s first novel – published when he was 30 – but the sex reads like something an 18-year-old might write. Every single person the narrator looks sideways at wants to fuck him senseless, and pretty well does. You know, it’s all a bit like that line from Howl “or purgatoried their torsos night after night / with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls”.
Actually, now I think of it, I could have written that line as my review to this book.
I can’t help giving a sociological reading to this. The narrator doesn’t want to be anything. He doesn’t want to be Greek (a wog), Australian (a skip), Gay (a faggot), an accountant, a university student. He does say at one point that he would like to go to Greece for a while, but what he would do there or why he might go isn’t made clear – and he probably doesn’t know either.
He certainly doesn’t want to do any of the things that would traditionally lead him to transition to ‘being an adult’, but it also isn’t clear he can continue being an adolescent either. There’s a sense all of this is about to change, that we are in the eye of a storm, but it isn’t clear how he is going to come out the other side. Like I said, he gets everything he wants in this book, everything comes to him almost unbidden. But he is left anything but sated. The man he loves has sex with him for the first time towards the end of the night – I can’t remember if this is the third or forth sexual adventure of the book and within 24 hours. I kept thinking, if I had that much alcohol I’d be dead for a week. But even just reading about the sex made me feel sore – I know the guy is meant to be 19…but all the same.
This inability to transition to becoming an adult is a condition of late capitalism and that makes this book different from The Graduate or The Dangling Man I mentioned earlier, and he captures that difference perfectly here. One of the things Bourdieu often says is that people who have no options often make a virtue of the only choice they end up having open to them. That is, rather than being upset that they only one choice available, they make themselves believe it is the only choice they would have made anyway. And that too could be a nice summary of this book. He doesn’t want to go to University – well, he couldn’t’ go even if he did want to, since he failed high school, he doesn’t want to be an accountant, which is also convenient since that’s not open to him either. Perhaps more interestingly he doesn’t want to be a Marxist – not least since that doesn’t look like it offers a path to the future either. He doesn’t want to be anything, but it isn’t clear he can be anything.
He doesn’t want to be Greek – but as an ‘Irish-Australian’ I can tell you that I don’t really feel ‘Irish’ and I certainly don’t feel ‘Australian’ either. I think an unspoken part of the migrant experience is that you end up not belonging anywhere. This is a book of nowhere lands. He doesn’t want to be a poof, he doesn’t want to have sex with effeminate men, he wants ‘real men’, but as he is discussing what that means it becomes clear that’s not really an option open to him either.
Mostly, the only time he feels okay, is when he is listening to music on his headphones. There are times when he is listening to music with others when he feels almost happy, but mostly, overwhelmingly, he is happy when he is isolated and excluded within the pleasure of the mix tape he plays on repeat play on his Walkman.
He is the atomised subject. Other people are mostly only useful for the drugs they can bring, or for the sex you have with them, and even that is mostly a race towards ejaculation.
This book is also a kind of ‘fuck you’ to the Greek community in Australia. I’ve just read on Wikipedia that the book was rejected by a publisher because they felt it was both racist and homophobic. And while lots of people probably smile smugly and knowingly over that (a book written by a Greek homosexual, at least, I assume he must be homosexual), the publishers reading isn’t as completely insane as you might think. There are lots of clichés being paraded here – and the difference between a cliché, a stereotype and a racist or sexist objectification is often more to do with intonation than characterisation. Goffman’s ‘minstrelisation’ comes to mind.
The novel is often powerful and rarely over-written. There are bits where he gets carried away with the form of his sentences and it all becomes a little too smart, but never quite smart-arsed. At least, I didn’t think so.
I want to end with something else that I thought about while reading this. During the week a friend of mine here posted a thing on Facebook that said, ‘The fact I don’t hate men shows sexuality isn’t a choice’. It made me smile. Lots of this book involves the narrator becoming aroused when looking at men, the bit that struck me was him seeing some guy sleeping with his t-shirt up a bit and exposing his belly. It made me think that I’ve never looked at a man and thought, ‘god, I wouldn’t mind having sex with him’. I certainly can’t say the same thing about women – and the ‘provocation’ hasn’t needed to involve a naked belly, either. The point being that so much of what we take as choice about our sexuality so rarely seems to be anything of the kind. I think this is a book people should read for that alone, in many ways – the unbidden nature of desire.