A biographical work of real fiction. A rant of candor. Maybe just an idiosyncratic novel. Whatever it is, under any other circumstances, Manifesto would seem like nothing more than a desperate, self-righteous attempt at capturing humanity. But it is real, it is simple (encased in a completely white cover without a spot of ink on it), and it is rare literary artwork that is nothing shy of brilliant.
The novel is promoted as anonymously authored, but a little digging on my part revealed its creator. I have agreed to respect his wishes to stay unidentified; he had this to say among other things: ”I do wish to remain anonymous. There are so many different reasons… I try to keep my life as simple as possible. I get to feeling so bad otherwise.” Those words seemed to come from the heart of a man who, on the phone, sounded sweet and nervously pleased to talk to me. However, that sentiment matched that of his work exactly.
One is almost required to understand the accompanying situation before reading this – the personality of this “anonymous” novelist, the absence of advertising (with the exception of a notorious red flyer sent to prospective readers and businesses). Any potential reader who picks this novel up must be prepared to let their mind ingest these words naturally and abstractly, which may be tough in a world where everything has to have easily understandable transition.
Manifesto accomplishes two things that books like James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces could not – using experimental format to show one man’s raw life. Opening up the blank casing, a very unapologetic page one sports nothing but black text that starts at the top of the page and small numbering printed on every bottom corner. There are no chapters and there is no chronology or even a plot. Words are broken up in lines or paragraphs and it continues as such for two hundred pages exactly without a break; not dumbed down, allowing the chance to experience truly innovative media.
The author himself accomplishes what thousands of writers spend lifetimes trying to depict honestly, some at the expense of their own sanity. He shows the nihilistic and existentialist thoughts suffered by America’s most broken malcontents. This gritty reality may alienate some readers, but for many it tugs at heartstrings and makes us wonder why we pushed our own parallel feelings to the backburner for the sake of fitting into society. It makes us question if we are fooling anyone with those efforts. It makes us really think why, and this book smartly doesn’t assume us incapable of making our own life assessment by offering morals or lessons meant to give us hope. The writing itself is completely bleak (a warning to the vulnerable), and the author basically tells us to find our own reason for living. Unlike most other literature, by the last sentence you are still wondering if he has ever found his.
This novel is far too radical and much too DIY to generate the explosion into mainstream popularity that Chuck Palahniuk experienced with Fight Club. It exhibits just as much talent and a lot of the same wandering notions, but because it is so exposed and real, it would shock most of the general public into not “getting” it. Nevertheless, those who it resonates with will remember Manifesto as the great revolutionary manuscript of their lifetime. Do yourself a favor; pick up a copy and ascertain if you have what it takes to be one of those remembering years from now.
Manifesto: A Novel
Book Review: Crossfire – A Litany For Survival
Unflinching and authentic, Chin’s work shakes, confronts, and envelops you
LGBTQ poet and spoken-word artist Staceyann Chin is a powerhouse of an artist. (Exhibits A, B, and C: Her mesmerizing Def Poetry Jam performance of If Only Out of Vanity.” Her essay “Paradise of Lies,” published in the New York Times. And her hit play “MotherStruck,” set to soon work its way through the festival circuit as a series. Need we say more?) Unflinching and authentic, Chin’s work shakes, confronts, and envelops you. She is a rare talent that can captivate you in an instant — both by the political gravity of the subjects she so fearlessly and intelligently dissects and her sharp, mesmerizing, and sometimes hysterical turns of phrase. Her “snap-elastic words” can leave anyone who’s ever written for a living marveling (and wishing they had come up with them first).
This same fire is seen throughout Crossfire: A Litany for Survival, Chin’s first full-length collection of poems. Weaving adeptly between verses about the intersection of love, sex, race, gender, feminism, trauma, sexuality, queerness, motherhood, oppression, and so much more, Crossfire is a foot-on-the-gas-pedal kind of eye-opening, from start to finish.
In “Tsunami Rising,” she writes of the “weeping white women” who stood behind Tarana Burke’s #MeToo movement only once a rich white actress co-opted it — a heartbreaking address dripping with explanation and patience we don’t deserve, and a tired, frustrated anger that we do.
“We are unable to process our pain with you,” she writes, “Because we are exhausted from centuries/of holding you and your children.”
In “Zuri-Siale Samanaya” — named for her daughter, with whom she often records “Living Room Protests” — Chin reflects beautifully on raising a child who is both following in her activist footsteps but coming into her own as an individual:
I can hardly wait
to hear your voice
I expect us to rumble
to create generational bruises that will have to be survived
In “Raise the Roof,” Chin’s worries that this power will not be enough to carry her daughter safely through a world intent on silencing the voices of Black women are heartbreaking.
Every day I have to drown my fears
for my child/born Black and a girl in a country
in which her safety does not matter
to anyone with power
Among the book’s other standout gems are a reflection on 9/11 titled “September in New York” and a hilarious and incisive retort to the misogynist who harassed her on Twitter (aptly titled “Tweet This Motherfucker”). But really, there is no plateau in Chin’s collection of poems. Each page of Crossfire: A Litany For Survival is fire, soul, and just damn good writing.
When artists like Chin bare their souls to put the revolution to paper, it’s up to us to truly listen.
by Staceyann Chin
Crossfire: A Litany For Survival will be published as a paperback original on October 1, 2019 by Haymarket Books.
Book Review: The Disaster Artist – My Life Inside the Room, the Greatest Bad Movie Ever Made
I cannot recommend The Disaster Artist highly enough. It might be one of the best reads I’ve had in a very long time.
In 2003, the world of filmmaking was shaken to its very foundations. Bursting onto the scene and blinding the city of Los Angeles and Hollywood like a renegade supernova, was a film that went by the insipid title of The Room.
The Disaster Artist: My Life Inside the Room, the Greatest Bad Movie Ever Made is a book all about the making of that film. For those who haven’t seen The Room, the basic synopsis boils down to a ‘love triangle’ plot, between a banker, Johnny, his fiancée, Lisa, and the best friend, Mark. There’s romance, betrayal, drama and finally tragedy. Seems simple enough, right? Wrong.
The final instalment of The Lord of the Rings trilogy might’ve won all eleven Academy Awards that year, but it was The Room that still managed to be the talk of the town (and eventually, the world) amongst many filmgoers.
Don’t be mistaken, The Room wasn’t a sleeper hit or master class in filmmaking. In fact, it was the complete opposite. A train wreck so disastrous that it’s still being watched, studied and talked about, to this day. “So bad it’s good” and “The Citizen Kane of bad films” are quotes often thrown around whenever The Room is muttered.
What makes The Room so bad? Well, to put it bluntly, everything. From the acting to the directing, to the sets and continuity, is a consistency of abysmal filmmaking. Yet despite its terribleness, there remains a kind of loveable charm. Most of this charm seems to stem from the man who helmed the project, the weirdly fascinating and enigmatic, Tommy Wiseau. Wiseau was responsible for acting as the lead character, Johnny, writing, directing and producing The Room (Orson Welles, eat your heart out).
Greg Sestero and Tom Bissell’s book, The Disaster Artist, doesn’t start at the premier of The Room in Los Angeles, 2003. It starts instead a year earlier, with a lunch between Greg and Tommy, a lunch so bizarre and off-the-wall, that it almost reads like sketch comedy. It’s a day before official production is about to begin on The Room, and Tommy with genius-gusto, decides to offer Greg one of the lead roles in his film, as Mark, Johnny’s (Tommy’s character and fictionalized version of himself) best friend. A plan so flawless, until Greg reminds Tommy that the role is already cast.
In the next chapter, we are taken back to 1998 in San Francisco with Jean Shelton and her acting class, where Greg relates his early origins into acting and his dreams of “making it”. It’s here that he meets the one-and-only, Tommy Wiseau, for the very first time. They’d later on become acquainted with one-another, after Tommy steals the show by giving one of the most ludicrous renditions of the famous ‘Stella’ scene from A Streetcar Named Desire ever witnessed.
“Most bad performances are met with silence. This was something else. There were murmurs. There were giggles. Everyone in that basement studio knew they had just witnessed one of the most beautifully, chaotically wrong performances they would ever see.”
– The Disaster Artist
What follows throughout the book is parallel storytelling, or intersecting storylines. One side focusing on the making of The Room, and the haphazard tyrannical way in which Tommy went about acting, directing and interacting with the cast and crew. The other, on the growing friendship and relationship between a young, Greg Sestero and not-so-young, Tommy Wiseau, both bonding on their dream and love for acting (and in particular, James Dean). Each storyline is as equally entertaining, funny and at times touching as one another.
The Disaster Artist is a book that doesn’t quite feel like it’s written from someone with journalistic prose looking-in on The Room, or the life of Tommy Wiseau. Instead, it’s a book written by someone who lived and breathed these experiences and moments. The final result is a raw and believable account, with a striking amount of humility and sincerity. The praise in this regard goes solely to Greg Sestero; he is quite possibly the best—and only—person capable of telling this story. His perspective is paramount to understanding the making of The Room, and Wiseau.
In terms of the content itself, there are many reasons why fans—or even those unfamiliar with The Room—might want to pick this up. For years, people have been baffled about almost every aspect of this film and the mysterious man behind it. From, “How did Tommy manage to get $6 million to fund this film?” to something as simple as “Just where in the hell is Tommy actually from?”
You don’t have to be familiar with the film itself, or even know a great deal about the players such as Tommy Wiseau to find this book enjoyable. After all, driving the engines is a timeless story, full of great characters and great moments.
I cannot recommend this book highly enough. It might be one of the best reads I’ve had in a very long time.
The Disaster Artist
by Greg Sestero & Tom Bissell
(Simon & Schuster)