Hello kind readers, this installation of GenderBen! Sees a new book review – though somewhat different to the usual fare. Firstly rather than one of the usual academic-y books I normally cover, today’s page-turner is a novel, and quite a new one. Everything Must Go is the debut novel of La JohnJoseph, who from what I can tell is a tour de fource of queer, campy, radical, postmodern dadaism – reminding me in some ways of a modern day Rose Sélavy (though this comparison in no way means to collapse Joseph’s gender identity to the cis crossdressing of Duchamp). Supporting an artist whose work (and perhaps existance?) explores and fucks with gender is the reason why I accepted the offer of reviewing this work, and felt it would be relevant to your interests, dear readers.
If you’ll forgive me by opening my review with a quotation from the work I’m meant to be reviewing, I think it sets the stage incredibly well in appreciating what you’re in for when you open this book:
“If you go about looking for sense, asking for logic, and putting your faith in reason, then you are asking for trouble and you will deserve it when two big thugs named Senseless Violence and Why God Why? drag you down and alley and beat you up.”
The narrative is tolld first person by the protagonist, Diana, and her journey to go about ending the world. How, why, and who with might be less important than you may think as this story is much less about what is said than how it is said. Diana and their view of the world is the grand constant. Practically any rule about time, space, place and possibility is broken, bent, or queered at some point along the line. Sex and violence are likewise turned inside out and upside down – queering morality as much as reality, so brace yourself if shockable.
This book has a surrealist streak unlike anything I’ve ever read before, which made it both interesting and memorable. However this does necessitate letting go of some of the fundamental qualities one may usually expect from a narrative, with little to no explanation of the surreal aspects of the story’s reality. This became one of the things I liked most however, as the casual, blasé way in which fantastical happenings were dropped into the descriptions of every scene added an additional cheeky, self-aware dimension to the (abyssally black) humour. This also made me all the more willing to utterly suspend reality, though this wasn’t for the sake of intrigues with the plot or the substance of the characters, but chiefly due to the beautiful use of language. Even when discussing rape and murder with a nonchalant ennui so confounding you can only smirk. Gobs of historical and cultural trivia are scattered around quite naturally that helped connect the world of the book to the recognisable. This was also aided by the delightful depth and variety in the descriptions throughout. I never felt like the range of situations and descriptions were self indulgent or random for randomness’ sake, which is impressive given how out there much of the content is.
On the back of the book, one of the comments reads “my brain feels completely sullied and violated. Do it again please!” Which is bizarrely accurate. Whilst still reading I felt like the experience that was this book might be somewhere between a stroke and an orgasm. It’s certainly horizon-expanding. Totally bewildering, definitely. I think it’s fair to say as well that a good number of people may hate this book. However, I imagine that the people who love it are amongst the most interesting, queer, and fabulous. This book was indulgent and a joy to read, if sometimes unbridled and uncomfortable!