As enormous swathes of smoke reached the south bay, this week the Mercury News published an outcry over Napa wineries’ profits getting burnt in this latest rash of catastrophic Northern Californian fires.
It took days before they mentioned the hundreds of working families and retirees who lost everything in places like Santa Rosa, and has not countenanced the plight of the unrecognized and undocumented workers who make the whole Napa economy move. Above is a digest of what is now a series of articles by Mary Orlin, George Avalos, Paul Rogers, et al.
Now this is poetry, people. I should have this on regular rotation on my nightstand. And more Heine, too, I suppose. Few poets’ language really speaks to me, and Baca’s has always gone straight to the heart.
As part of the Progressive Asshole Tax, there ought to be a Form JB1: whether you’ve read some Jimmy Baca this year. Would read approximately as follows:
If YES, thanks for filing this form. Please itemize the poems from this year in the space below and return; notice will be filed that no further action is required.
If NO, one percent up on your taxes, jueputa!
If WHO’S JIMMY BACA?, two percent up on your taxes, asshole!
Thanks to computers, failure to show progress could be set to automatically interfere with car registration, smog certification, credit rating, passport, probation status, whatever it god damn takes to get people to spend some time with this stuff.
Not nearly enough has been written about John Irving’s In One Person since its publication in 2012, so having read it just now I thought I should contribute notes of both a literary and a most spiritually didactic nature. For a synopsis one can visit any number of websites.
In One Person’s world has a private language habit, a Shakespeare lens for everything, and a spiralling theme of crossdressers and otherwise non-gender-binary men. Irving’s trademark truly excellent characterization and cagily naive narration abound. What struck me most about Irving’s book, however, is how funny it is. Even in the grim third quarter in which we watch most of protagonist Billy Abbott’s friends die of AIDS, we get about 500 words of tragedy and then an offhand remark that makes us laugh out loud. Maybe it’s just my sense of humor. Like when he comes after a long series of AIDS vigil sequences to his hometown for a relatively simple checkin with a dead faculty member of his school: it is discovered that the orderly has only brought the corpse out in the snow to smoke a cigarette, not to wait for the hearse. Anyway, In One Person has no gags; rather, the timing is incredible.
I would like to point out a marvellously-rendered literary surprise in the book out of fear that it may be too often missed. The arc of investigating people’s identity soars beautifully throughout the book, but the end holds a satisfying surprise. As much as the book’s title may allude to the folly of casting people into vulgar categories that support people’s gang mentality, and the phenomenon of these categories occurring “in one person,” the title is revealed in the final chapter to also represent a conceit about our lifespan, aging, and successive generations. When the son of the protagonist’s forbidden crush from the very beginning of the novel shows up, bearing the only reliable evidence of what’s become of the wrestler Kittredge (his own one person mirrored in the elder wrestler and love interest Miss Frost), Billy underscores the voice and look of the younger Kittredge, who is the spitting image of his father. As Kittredge helped Billy start off on a path, Billy is now providing perspective for Kittredge’s kid.
Here the story’s spirals finally converge: we have not only the sexual phenomena gathering in unexpected groups in one person, but also the mysteries of maturity and life experience. The son of Kittredge and his father are as one person, but also the fate of Kittredge, Miss Frost and now the young transgender student Gee fit into one person, shifting identity through time.
Irving has been subtly warning us about this conceit throughout the book, particularly with the symbol of the yearbooks and with his complaints about terminology. As an artist who’s also struggled with the identity police over time, I really appreciate Billy’s annoyance not with the new terms, ie., transgender vs. transsexual, but with the rigidness with which successive generations of people insist on the correctness of these terms. Irving argues hereby for compassion and also curiosity: before you criticize someone older for not using the new hip term, be a fucking smart person and find out the nature of the old term.
Finally, I’m grateful on behalf of those old enough to remember that Irving has chosen now, in the age of complacent suburban gender-queerness that seems unable or rather unwilling to see itself from its socio-economic angle, to force AIDS back in our faces. People my age will always remember that AIDS was far scarier than nuclear war, and people Irving’s age get the satisfaction of having their 1980s set –properly, I would argue –in the frame of the AIDS epidemic. Think of the suburban Christian terrorism we’ve lived through since the late 80s-early 90s: the PMRC, enforced gangster rap, youth group, Faith Driven Consumer, the Bush administration, No Child Left Behind, Gay-Straight Alliance … what would Robert Mapplethorpe, Klaus Nomi, Essex Hemphill, Marlon Riggs, even Eazy-E and the local dancer, have taught us about these assholes and their judgmental phoniness if they’d made it longer??? Irving reminds us of the time not so long ago when we had to try to stick together, rather than run our campus GSA into the ground for not being suburban white gay or trans enough, because our fucking lives depended on it.
Thank you, a thousand times thank you, Mr Irving, for reminding us about all the possibilities and the cumulative richness of life that must be pursued In One Person.
Sounds like rumbles are afoot for building ghettos for artists and their gentrifier friends in San Jose. That way they can light one fire and wipe us all out, and either way the landlords and developers win.
Take this survey for Raúl, the only city council member who cares about the people! Make your context understood!
Do you need something to read??? There’s an extremely hard-working independent book review site called Long and Short Reviews, which normally reviews romance books with scandalous covers.
Anyway. Long and Short also did one of my stories. Show them love and read some of the books they’re offering!
Why watch stupidass Disney channel crap and Netflix corporate garbage? Read the People’s literature! If you feel like reading Almira and the Backward Family on your device, visit Kindle to download it.
Here’s a review of my story Almira and the Backward Family by a really nice blogger and ebook author called Nagendra Murti. Hit him up!