I guess the one advantage of Bedazzler's disappearance is the fact that I am voraciously catching up on my reading. I collect books as much as if not more than empty red wine bottles. Unlike the "empties" the books have recently tended to collect on my library shelves unread, accumulating dust and unjustly convincing visitors that I am a well read aussie.
So today I have plowed through sharply funny and controversial American film maker, playwrite, and author Neil Labute's volume of short stories Seconds of Pleasure.
In his movies (Friends and Neighbors, Possession, Nurse Betty) and his plays (Bash, The Mercy Seat, In the Company of Men and the Shape of Things), LaBute humourously and cuttingly depicts self-interested, acid-tongued and deeply flawed characters. He addresses up front and in brilliant harsh light the deep dark recesses of the human heart.
He is not always a pleasant read. His characters arent always likeable. He is unflinching and but usually full of dark candour.He has sometimes been accused of a misogeny or worse a sexist approach to women. He is the antithesis of the lastest fad of "clit lit" (sorry not really my term).
In this debut collection, he applies his fierce, disturbing energy to 20 short stories. Not surprisingly, echoes of his screen and stage characters populate these pages—men and women engaging in adulterous affairs, voyeuristic fantasies, doomed interactions. The playwright's rapid-fire dialogue vividly captures provocative moments of conflict in some stories; others employ first-person, free-associative monologues ("She's been going at it, this talking stuff, I mean, for around three hours straight, seriously, without a pause, and it's really getting me down. I almost feel sad inside, or lonely....").
LaBute is a master at crafting shocking situations and nasty characters, but this ungenerous view of the human heart can make for a dark and brutal read. In "Ravishing," the narrator describes an encounter with a prostitute that ends with the making of a snuff film. In "Maraschino," a woman knowingly—but incomprehensibly—seduces her drunk ex-stepfather.
Sharp dialogue and grim imagination aside, LaBute's microfictions rarely delve below the surface to offer insight into the nature of the human condition; the collection as a whole feels a little sadistic, the act of reading it a kind of complicated masochism.
I found this a tough read. There were times where I did laugh out loud, but there were also times when i cringed. It did make me think alot about reltionships and friendships though.
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