Estelle Hoy offers a wry exploration of the seductive allure of tropes and cliché in the art world and politics in this novella, which documents the story of Pisti, a leftist Hungarian activist and her anarchist collective based in Paris. In the course of one night in a Belleville apartment, old friends and new lovers converse about contemporary politics, activism and art, violence, and queer issues. The book is also an experiment in writing, teasing the reader with namedropping and appropriation. Whole phrases are lifted from other texts and woven seamlessly into the narrative. Based in Berlin and Paris, Hoy is a feminist writer, socially engaged artist, political activist, and academic.
Like swooning over and over again. It’s an amazing book for me, a reformed Semiotexte fangirl. Yes it’s ‘pretentious’, but snobbery can be a good thing. I will probably never forget reading this, I could live inside this book and thats where the danger lies. It’s kind of about politics, but moreso about political difference and what animates the lives of artists. All these characters seem real, and maybe I’m revealing my education there. It’s a sexy text in the way people usually sneer about “sapiosexuals.” It could be a film.
Estelle Hoy – a star in today’s new-narrative galaxy – re-enacts Kraus’ focus on performing to a chamber audience, a la Acker: In this case, 24 hours in a Paris flat with a crew of arty anarchists. Hoy specializes in post-hipster lingo, with parts perhaps sliced from other texts into the speed-narrative. As arch spoof, that rhetoric dings (compassionately) these earnest radicals, with the memorable Pisti character commanding center stage. It also shifts to touching mode with narrator Elke cringing introspections: “I have this susceptibility to self-examination that borders on defeat.”
Is Elke a stand-in for Estelle? It’s the Hamlet-like question again: Who is the “I” here? Hoy pinpoints her ploy: “It's blurred autofiction/theory with ficto-criticism. I also think it's a meta-text that swirls around on itself. I mean, nothing even happens, which is kind of the point.” But the reader is on the edge of their page to find what doesn’t happen next, to hear the brittle dialog (some in script form), and to a-ha the art-damaged characters/types. Even these seem composed of partial identities, turning the Marxist trope of “false consciousness” on suspicious Marxist minds. Pisti gathers, fractures and smooths these isms and more into one rosé and oyster-filled play.
The perfect amount of pretentiousness and yearning for life, liberty, and the pursuit of sex, drugs, and booze. Everything I believe in, everything I live for. It’s the perfect pocketable novel. Could read it forever and ever <3
wow! good. was afraid of the names circulating around this text but they don’t clutter it, and it manages to balance its own references with a playfulness/ lack of pretentiousness, experimenting with the act of evocation and poking fun while never losing earnestness . it knows itself— and that is quite rare, I think, in a text; a text that can contain its (our? As writers and readers?) own desires. thank you to emilie for pointing me towards it and After8.
WOW WOW WOWWWWW I've been following Estelle Hoy's art criticism in the international art press for some years now but never got around to reading this book. I drank this book like a potion. This woman is the best voice in art and criticism that's come out in decades. I strongly recommend it. She is a genius, simple as that.
There is no story, just a large skip bin of philosophical dialogue to dive into. Questions are hidden and answers are none; a lot to chew on and pass between the right and left cheek.
I like the pretentiousness, I like the theatricality. For a book that disperses complex ideological conundrums, mainly through dialogue, it entertains the reader by the impossibility of the characters. The public sex, the oysters, the throupling, whether intentionally or not, are there to keep the reader engaged until the next thought bomb drops. Elke is familiar, which instills horror in me; the quest to discover uncomfortable truths in your environment and yourself proves to be neverending. So this shit cycle doesn’t end even by my mid-30s?
Pisti is such a strange character; she feels cold and borderline psychopathic. Her broken Hungarian is cringe-inducing, and her attempts to provoke a reaction are pathetic. She is a contrarian - a deeply unlikeable person whose passion and conviction you can’t help but be curious about. To internalize this feeling of harmonious disgust and admiration without swinging wildly between them is the ultimate test of maturity.
“If I could figure out freedom, the cost of freedom, I could figure out anything.” Elke’s first step is to be honest with others and herself. I agree that there can be no negotiations around freedom without complete transparency - the freedom of one always comes at the cost of the freedom of another. The act of unveiling and prioritizing is essential for censoring your desires for the sake of someone else - otherwise, you will lose your resolve to the fog. But far too many people get stuck at the stage of honesty, slipping into gross self-indulgence. It’s like their inner anxiety is satisfied by turning true to themselves - but once that is done, there is no fuel left to change.
You sacrifice the freedom of your loved ones to use the gained freedom to give freedom to others. Now, who is the true revolutionary?
I’ve read this pocket book at least 5-6 times since first purchasing it a few years back and each time it’s a new rush. The language is so packed and layered by art criticism, anti-establishment jargon, obscure musical reference and poetic influence from writers like Simone Weil and Jenny Holzer, it must be re-analyzed over and over again to soak in the wealth of stimuli. On first read it seemed like a pedantic monologue pummeled by its’ own realism, elaborating on the anarchist group’s ideology that is somewhat led by pride (both Pisti’s and Elke’s) and which manifests in debate over what level of complicit you may be in the destruction that is both innate and outer. Elke, fatigued by the state of affairs in her world, is accused of being a lazy activist and a bourgeois sympathizer for working at the university. There’s a central demand for evidence of justice here. The book is so dense due to how contrived the arguments and justifications are in the quest for liberation, not because of the length of the novel which is brief in comparison.
It’s too much to explain. Must be read, fantastic book, perhaps a pretentious abuse of English but fantastic regardless if it’s your niche– and it should be your niche because it’s so delightful and inventive. Pisti recreating scenes from Georges Bataille’s depraved novels, mapping out elaborate assassination attempts on the floorboards of a Parisian apartment, thieving Muscadet from Carrefour and inciting argument, she’s a character from a very selective imagination. Very Berlin-esque from Estelle Hoy.
One of my particularly favorite exchanges in the book is when Elke is smoking a cigarette in the stairwell, she has an exchange with Jean about her daughter, and he asks her why she stays in an unhappy relationship for her sake: “Having a child forces you to censor your desires,” she says, and he says “You sacrifice yourself, just not for the political ideal?” to which she replies “The personal is political.” There’s so many other pieces of dialogue that stood out to me, but this one in particular is a favorite. Totally gorgeous book.
This writer is either a genius or insane. I'm thinking the latter. 10/10
The book is in its fourth print run, and now I know why. It's not common for me to write a review, but this author was recommended to me by an artist friend who thought I would like it. It's SO clever and fast-paced, but it has so much heart. It dives into hypocrisy and cliche with so much humor and smarts. As a big reader, I think this has become one of my top 5 books. Some of her other writings remind me of Clarice Lispector, the Ukrainian writer.
I'm Estelle Hoy's number 1 fan. I buy everything she publishes in books, magazines, exhibition catalogs, and all of it. I truly think she will go down in history as one of the 21st Century's most avant-garde, experimental, and foremost writers.
Girls are ruthless and brutal, nuanced like dentist drills of highly variable size and pitch, if I was Elke I would have left 80 rue de Belleville immediately