“Westbrook is the elder sibling to the new maximum-security facilities in the tri-county area, part of the construction boom for those politicians without recourse to gambling revenue. I'm told there's a recipe for installing a correctional facility on the outskirts of town; the base ingredients include one hundred unemployed blue-collar workers and a mayor with steep alimony.”
In the middle of a riot at the New York Westbrook state prison, the narrator, referred to as “MF”, has barricaded himself in the media center awaiting the end.
“The tenor of my own shuffling off this mortal coil will be determined by whoever first breaks down my meager barricade here in the Will and Edith Rosenberg Media Center for Journalistic Excellence in the Penal Arts….”
Hearing the chaos outside, he tries to write his last blog entry or maybe part of the last issue of the Holding Pen or possibly even his memoir.
“I deserve it, and this is the truth, or a truth, and the one I claim….I am the architect of the Caligulan melee enveloping Westbrook's galleries and flats. Must the final issue of The Holding Pen be my own final chapter? Can any man control the narrative of his life, even one as influential as mine?”
The Holding Pen, an online journal of the literary work of Westbrook prisoners’, was conceived by the publicity hungry Warden Gertjens, who made MF its editor. MF, referred to as “the Widow Killer” and whose crime(s) brought him a verdict of nine consecutive life sentences, felt qualified to take on the editorial responsibilities, having received a superior education with the Jesuits. He holds the literary submissions to a high standard and exercises the right to modify or deny printing to any subpar work.
“Am I saying that I’m the Godard of contemporary prison literature? I’m not not saying it. Sitting here and typing these words as the violence thrums down the hall, with Death's arctic exhalations on the back of my neck, I can no longer pretend false modesty; the true fans of the Holding Pen expect no less. It is no longer the time for ‘being polite’; now is the time to ‘start getting real.’”
References to the Holding Pen and its editor begins to appear in various media platforms, in artistic works and in academic essays. As he writes his last entry, MF recounts episodes from his childhood in Sri Lanka, his career as the doorman at the upscale Manhattan’s Bearnaise apartment, his affair with his fellow prisoner McNairy, and his literary journey to stardom.
"You see, the artist stands alone. He stands alone from his people and at the same time among his people, not unlike the incarcerated man at once inside of and outside of society. You might argue because of this I have a doubled artistic temperament or at least a concentrated artistic temperament. I don't expect my critics or my lawyer…to understand; they delineated small lives for themselves, they never sought the edge of the cliff.”
“These carceral commons, if you'll allow a subjective bias, is an animal place, with the thinnest veneer of civilization, a semitransparent veneer through which I've spied the truth, through which- to borrow a phrase from my psychotropic-drug-addled friends in C Block- I've ‘seen through the bullshit.’ The arc of time bends toward nothing save for time itself.”
The narrator’s crime(s) and the cause of the riot were never clearly stated, but I simply did not care. A satire on the prison system, social media and popular culture, and literary fiction and criticism. A hilarious read.
“…we kill each other with violence…they kill us with banality.”