back in the good 'ol days, when goodreads was a much smaller (and some would say better) place, the #1 top ranked reviewer was a woman called ginnie jones. she claimed to be a very old women in pasadena (her avatar remained a found image of a frazzled pencil-chomping booknerd) who spent all her time reading, reviewing, and tending to her very sick husband. ginnie was an elusive bird: she'd rarely comment on others' pages and would almost never answer private messages. but she was part of our little group and her erudition and breadth of knowledge was, well, unbelievable. she'd post several terrific reviews per week and in the following threads would discuss, elaborate, and accept heaps and heaps of praise and accolades.
on a hunch, a certain goodreader googled a chunk of a ginnie review and discovered something: her review was a hybrid of two reviews previously published in separate obscure sources. and she wasn't the author of either of 'em. as this news percolated through the group, and people googled more and more, it was discovered that nearly every one of her reviews was plagiarized. and she was sneaky about it -- she'd change personal information, dates, locations, and any/all facts so as to make it seem that she was the author; and she'd cobble up to four reviews into one vote-drawing superreview.
it all went public and a brutal controversy erupted. (yes, i understand how totally nerdy this all sounds) - a monster thread (at last count the messages were in the high 400s) exploded all over ginnie's, at the time, most recent review and then someone discovered the motherlode: a review which ginnie had plagiarized about a book on the ethics of plagiarism! amazing! so ginnie deleted the monster thread and a GR club was started in order to discuss different aspects of the controversy -- topics: 1. the nature of plagiarism 2. is ginnie real? 3. which articles were plagiarized from which sources? 4. is internet plagiarism on a social website as egregious/unethical as plagiarism in/of a written text? while there was much dumb anger and shit-tossing, conversations frequently dipped into genuinely interesting epistomelogical/existential riffs on identity, authenticity, reality... it was cool.
a huge seam split up the middle of goodreads dividing those who felt that a) ginnie should be excused b/c she's old and lonely b) ginnie should be excused as online plagiarism of this nature doesn't matter, c) ginnie should be excused as she's obviously someone who needs vast amounts of votes and praise to fill whatever hole exists in her 'real' life, and d) those who felt betrayed, hurt, and kinda repulsed by what she did. and it wasn't pretty. name-calling. account deleting. friend kicking-offing. and, finally, intervention by the goodreads gods which resulted in ginnie's banishment from the site.
and then Garygate. 18 months later a figure emerged on goodreads who seemed too ridiculous to be true. gary carpetbombed everyone's threads with preposterously punctuated comments with such a sense of flamboyance, bravado, and hyperbole he makes me look like mike reynolds. no shit. his avatar (a guy standing in his bathroom staring directly into the camera) and profile information were carefully examined so as to determine if gary was simply an (extremely) enthusiastic booknut, or just some asshole having a laugh. and so, again, a monster thread and group (the 'who is gary? what does gary mean to you?' club) followed in which several gary related topics were discussed.
and then it got weird when one of us changed our avatar to gary's and cloned his profile page. within 30 minutes there were 4 or 5 garys all claiming to be the 'real' gary. it was, at once, strange and confusing and funny and stupid and, yeah, a little bit profound.
and exhilarating to watch as it unfolded in real time. hit refresh and you'd have a slew of comments from gary, gary clones, a woman claiming to know gary in real life (revealed to be another goodreader who had created a false identity), those who were trying to figure it all out, those who were just kicking back & enjoying the show... and it was then i understood the nature of the internet. y'see, i was born in 1974 and remember using the Vic 20 and Commodore 64. i remember my dad coming home one night with the atari 2600 and playing Pong for weeks on end, my head exploded by the concept that i was controlling a jumble of pixels on a computer screen, that that white bar was me! and that 'i' was moving around to prevent some more pixels from flying past me. rudimentary, of course, but a big deal back them.
i was a kid right before this crazy computer explosion and find myself too old for it not to blow my fucking mind, but not so young that i'm one of those geezers who just can't get the interwebs. but watching ginniegate and garygate unfold, i saw the internet for what it is (for me, at least): the ultimate postpostmodern detective story. had bolano or borges made it into the 21st century, surely they would've written tales of online espionage (borges nearly did with the aleph). to sit alone in a room, a cave, a plane, a bunker, a lighthouse, and watch a drama unfold in real time on a screen which simultaneously plugs in dozens of 'people' who could be anyone (and claim to be anyone else), anywhere, and could do anything...? amazing. (of course all this wonderful and mysterious online anonymity is soon coming to an end)
so sluts. a hybrid of borges and bruce labruce. a novel in the form of comments/reviews left on a male hustler website in which, through multiple narrators, we piece together the tragic, LMAO, and frequently frightening story of an underage junkie hustler called brad and the web of dementia that spins out as a result of his real-life and online exploits. we follow those who seek out the 'real' brad online and in the flesh, we read threats by brad's pimp/torturer 'brian', we track a journalist for a gay magazine who may or may not be himself, brad, and/or brian. people fall in and out; a webmaster frequently intervenes; people stalk brad's known hangouts and fuck him, beat him, cut him, impersonate him, castrate him (or do they?); an HIV+ porn star makes a brief appearance claiming to have fucked brad, to have killed brad, to be brad, and then is (possibly) murdered himself. there's a lot of pomo pyrotechnics here -- but cooper never shows his poker face, never winks an eye, never allows one of his unreliable narrators piled atop unreliable narrators to reveal the puppetmaster. it's all surface, it's all a game. and the game is perfectly played.