A Review of Warren Ellis' Crooked Little Vein

There should be a name for that genre of literature that makes you want to keel over and die from a brain haemorrhage or at least have you weeping uncontrollably in a strait jacket in some safe padded room of a mental asylum. Irvine Welsh has the dubious honour of hitting that peak in ‘Filth’. Chuck Palahniuk is pretty much tuned into that frequency in almost all his works. Warren Ellis’ first shot at the full-form novel, Crooked Little Vein is supposed to be yet another proud addition to the shock-lit Hall of Fame but doesn’t quite transcend that line convincingly.

Ellis isn’t new to the ruthlessly depressing and horrifying form of writing. He does a good job in his graphic novels (particularly Desolation Jones and Fell) as well as his columns where the non-fiction platform lends authenticity to some fairly unpalatable ideas. Then again, Ellis is a writer who builds his stories on strong research and solid ideas, no matter what the form.

The main premise of ‘Crooked Little Vein’ rests on a vital question that plagues both Media and Culture Studies- What is the Mainstream? Before the advent of the Internet and allied technologies, this answer, like most other answers to life, was simple— anything on the Primetime was Mainstream. Now, with highly segmented niches being the order of the day, the Mainstream becomes a problematic concept and with it, its lines with the Fringes get blurred.

Ellis explores this question using the dipstick of pornography set against the festering American cultural landscape. Michael McGill is a thoroughly non-descript shit magnet hired by the heroin addict Chief of Staff to hunt down an Alternative Constitution. It all goes awry when McGill hires ultra-liberal academic, Trix as his filthy assistant and they begin an unpredictable Trans-American adventure.

Ellis’ over the top humour (rats humping sandwiches) and almost magic realism situations (McGill killing a fellow passenger mid-air while Trix is sleeping) are in fine form. With novels, writers generally tend to wander off on tangents. Ellis is fairly restrained on that count and thus, makes Crooked Little Vein a nice and easy read. In fact, I can’t remember the last time that I finished off a book in a single sitting. The additional material in the paperback edition, simply titled ‘P.S.’ includes a soundtrack to the book and recipes— total value for money.

Ellis’ characters generally have a tense and marvellous chemistry which was sorely lacking in the case of McGill and Trix. Although, Ellis did some thorough research to include some of the most perverse and disgusting kinks, it somehow never had the full impact that it should’ve. In fact, a column that he wrote for Suicide Girls was a lot more bile-inducing than the sum total of the book.

On the whole, Crooked Little Vein is an interesting, insightful and fun read but I wouldn’t bung it into the Essential Ellis collection.

the failure of democracy

call it globalisation or hyper-capitalism or even a condition of our times. ever since world war 2, the world has changed in every major field- be it the sciences, economics, geographies, cultures, psychologies and social/power structures.

note that when i say power structures, i don't mean political systems. surprisingly, democracy as a political system hasn't changed with the times. and it is this failure of an archaic democracy (among other problems) that is causing issues all over the world.

much as i'd like to take each issue apart and analyse it- at this point in time, in the face of the 2008 terror attacks in mumbai with elections a few short breaths away, i think we need to seriously pull up our socks and consider our democratic system.

many people consider democracy in india a marvel, considering the inherently pluralistic nature of this country. they are in awe of the multi-party system and (wrongly) assume that people across different factions of society have a say.

the fact remains that indirect democracy does nothing for the people of a country. it gives people what marx calls a 'false consciousness'- the feeling that as individuals, they are making a mark and ushering in change when they vote for one political party or the other. the sad truth is that this system does not view people as anything beyond a mass, a collective, a vote bank. there is no place for individualism and human dignity.

it is a farce.

in terms of what this means for mumbai as a city, i think the time has come for mumbai to kiss india goodbye and stand on its feet. this is the second time in two years that this country is failing the city which has contributed so much to it, not just in economic terms but in intangible cultural terms as well.

consider this- mumbai as a city state, much like singapore. only, unlike singapore, there'll be a different political system- perhaps, direct democracy or even anarchy.

maybe it's just crazy talk from the shock but then, it's the crazy talk that changed the world and the inconceivable that becomes reality.

redefining 'epic'

generally, the term 'epic' refers to a grand work, mostly in terms of size. in literature, 'epic' would be milton's "paradise lost"/"paradise regained" or valmiki's "ramayana". in music, 'epic' would mean tracks running into 15+ minutes (think g!ybe). however, i have my reservations on using the term 'epic' for just the duration of the track.

here's a new definition of epic- the flaming lips' "approaching pavonis mons by balloon". yes, these are the guys who did the hopelessly pop "do you realise". it is even from the same album "yoshimi battles the pink robots".

however, pavonis mons is a crazy trip through a completely different landscape- red dust clouds, volcanoes as old as the universe and not a soul except you in your technicolour balloon. this is a track that doesn't waste too much time in build-up and hits its breath-taking crescendo in under two minutes. you are floating in space, playing hide and seek with the martian sun and never landing.

it's all of three minutes and ten seconds long. and as gorgeous as the first hit of hash from a pipe.

now, that's epic.

slut pigeon!

universally speaking..

there are things that cut across time, cultures, economic status, place and individual psyches... death is one such phenomenon, dreams another... of course, experiences surrounding death and dreams vary but every human has experienced the two...

some people claim that they don't dream so i'll make a counter-claim to this regard:
1. dreams are a way to deal with the discrepencies between your existence as you are living it and your existence as you'd like to live it. thus, though, there are people who manage to bridge the two, at some point in life, every human has dreamed.
2. it is entirely possible that you've dreamed and not remembered the dream(s).

the existence of these universal phenomena make me briefly wonder if there is such a thing as The Universal Truth... however, my interest lies less in similarities and a grand theory of everything and more in differences and the root causes thereof...

the other day, a young lady who was born and brought up in rural madhya pradesh was talking about how dreaming of weddings or food or wells was an indicator of something "bad" while dreaming of dead people was an indicator of "good" things... the wedding dream, in particular, interested me... i have always assumed dreaming of weddings was an indicator of a person's own desire for committment... and not of "bad news".

it was then that i realised that our cultural conditioning affects us in far deeper ways than mere conscious thought processes... i wonder if migrants continue to interpret their dreams the way they used to even if the context and the elements of their dreams change with the culture... however, i do believe that while dreaming is universal, dream interpretations are culturally rooted... economically too, perhaps...

studying dreams and dream interpretations as a cultural exercise could have some pretty interesting social implications... for one, it could lead to a deeper insight on what is socially acceptable to communities... another implication, of course, would be to understand what issues concern the community in question...

as for how to define the community, feel free to group people any way you want... the identity standpoint assures you that monotony and boredom will be kept at bay...

Anarchy...

... is the preserve of the Insane.

god is an astronaut is god

i'm a greenhorn when it comes to writing about music. i listen to a reasonable quantam of music but know little about how to write about it. of all the elements of culture, writing about music is by far the trickiest.

generally, i've noticed that when people talk about a band, there'll always be a certain band representative of the genre against which the band in question will be measured, either directly or through implication.

talk about post-rock and sigur ros will be that representative band. for me, however, the yardstick is ireland's god is an astronaut.

the first track of theirs that i heard came from their 2005 album, "all is violent, all is bright". today, i can safely say i've heard pretty much everything that they've ever released and i'm still longing to hear more.

their sound, like every band of their genre, has more layers than a lasagna has pasta sheets. unlike other bands of their genre, however, they make it sound ridiculously easy.

if you hear the band from their first album (the end of the beginning, 2002) to their most recent work ('no return', a single from 'all things lost below', an album slated for a 2009 release), it is evident that they're only getting better. the feel has slowly inched from being fresh to deep and mature, but the core remains the same- dark, beautiful and perfectly composed.

which is not to say that the sound variation is very high across albums- far from it. they use a similar set of notes across most of their compositions but it isn't boring. the build-up in every track is different, thus taking the track, and invariably, the album to a different plane each time.

their use of vocals is extremely sparse- even more sparse than the standard post-rock/shoegaze. there are no lyrics whatsoever. just sounds.

their album/track titles are simple yet strange enough to qualify as post rock. their album art isn't particularly unique but it does its function of being reasonably attractive.

i've heard that their live performances are rather stellar and no matter how small or large the audience, these guys give it everything they've got.

with so much going for this band, it's no wonder, then, that god is an astronaut is an ideal of sorts for the discerning listener of the post-rock genre.

research is the opium of academicians.

you know your research isn't going anywhere when...

there is a very fine line between genuinely beneficial research and mental masturbation. i don't know how many researchers actually bother listening to that squeaky inner voice which says, "how's this helping anybody?" or variations thereof.
definitely not the guy who's doing/did research on the iyers of matunga. i kid you not. there is such research happening. worse even. and before the natural scientists start getting all smug, there's pointless research happening on that side as well.
my question before embarking on any research, then, is this: "is it as pointless as the study on the iyers of matunga?"

curbing the urge.

economics, the queen of the social sciences demands that her researchers provide policy implications of their studies. sweet but i think it still isn't as effective a deterrent as it ought to be. people still come up with ridiculous research and gosh awful policy implications, thanks basically to shitty institutions that encourage these by means of awarding degrees.
the other ineffective method of doing this, of course, is awarding scholarships for research in specific fields. problem here is that it narrows the scope for research and people essentially keep churning the same research over and over with little or no variation.
it is interesting, however, to note the technique that sociology employs to curb shit research. sociology, through its very discourse, encourages research of the marginalised/the sub-altern. so, even if there are people who specialise in culture, they often have done their studies on tribes/marginalised sections of societies. this covert technique of channelising research actually achieves the opposite of what it sets out to do- it only produces more trash.
ladies and gentlemen, here's a revelation: india has not come up with a single comprehensive sociological theory on anything (not counting caste theories). this is because research subjects have been narrowed through overt and covert mechanisms.

self-discipline is the key

there's only one way to do this. researchers must practise self-restraint instead of spraying their intellectual cum all over the body of existing studies, which is a lot of dried cum, at any rate.
it helps that the researcher looks into what appeals most to him/her, to begin with. institutions need to encourage studies right across the spectrum. and the guides need to care enough to read up on the latest happenings on the subject and thus, guide the researchers down that path of the divine light- practical, applicable and liberating knowledge.

writer's angioplasty

actuaries may be the highest paid profession on the planet but i think the writing profession is equally tricky and highly underestimated.

from what little i know of actuaries, it requires a more than passing acquaintance with statistics, a certain degree of creativity and walking the mental equivalent of a glass coated tightrope- creating policies that take into account every caveat set forth by the organisation while ensuring claims actually get met.

writers (and by this i mean people who are genuinely trying to convey something in an articulate fashion) need to have their thoughts well-arranged. take a guy like kurt vonnegut- if you were to map out each of his ideas in any piece that he has ever written, the end result will look something like a processor chip with hundreds of transistors in perfect synergy.

i'd like to believe kurt vonnegut would've enjoyed that simile but i suppose that's not for me to say.

i don't have to elaborate on the need for creativity in writing. it's something that's been spoken about till armageddon and beyond.

and finally, that stellar quality of a good writer- responsibility. while the acturian is responsible to his organisation and a mass of the insured, the integrity of a writer, any writer extends above and beyond the zeitgeist. this realisation can be overwhelming, to say the least.

this, i'd like to believe is the root cause of a writer's block. or mine, anyway.

i'd like to bullshit you but i respect the time that you take to read this and it isn't worth filling precious moments with fillers you'll not digest. forgive me when i don't write. but don't forgive me when i write rot.

i only wish for one thing- that i could have an angioplasty for my writer's block and stent my creative arteries for as long as it takes...

power and sexuality

say hello to foucault!

theorising is dead, for most part. i'm fairly new to the world of sociological theory, so that might've been a fairly brash statement. but i really haven't heard any life-changing discourses on society since foucault (except for probably, amartya sen's identity and violence).

foucault has the stuff of great theorists- he has invited passionate reactions (which can swing from worship from the post-everythingists to downright hatred from the marxists) and a beautiful unifying theme of the "knowledge-power-truth trinity discourse".

the first thing that came to mind when i read this article was his three (supposedly running into four) volume history of sexuality. here's the text of the article:

A little spanking never hurt anybody

Surveys Show S&M Is Actually Therapeutic

London: Revelations of kinky sex leave many prominent celebrities blubbering abject apologies. Not Max Mosley. The British multi-millionaire and Formula One boss insists there’s no shame in a little hankyspanky, and he has sued the tabloid News of the World for suggesting otherwise. This week he has been testifying with remarkable sang-froid in his defamation and invasion of privacy suit before London’s high court.
Last March, Mosley invited five women to a posh Chelsea apartment to engage in what he readily admits was a sadomasochistic orgy, replete with canes, prison uniforms and oldfashioned spanking (a true Englishman, Mosley served the women tea after their session), reported Time.com. To his ultimate distress, hidden cameras were rolling. The tabloid posted the footage online, accompanied by an article that described the event as “a depraved Nazi-style orgy in a torture dungeon.” Formula One racers and sponsors called for his resignation, and Mosley faced accusations of finding titillation in Third Reich scenarios.
Mosely, 68, denies that the encounter had any Nazi connotations. His testimony has openly challenged the idea that BDSM—that’s bondage, domination, submission and sadomasochism—is an unwholesome pursuit. “I think it is a perfectly harmless activity provided it is between consenting adults who want to do it, are of sound mind, and it is in private, ” said Mosely.
The British have a reputation for being colder than dead fish on ice. Perhaps that’s why the News of the World video so enthralled the public, drawing 1.4 million views within a day of going online. But if Mosley is any indicator, British frigidity may give way to something much livelier in the bedroom. No one has exact numbers, but small-scale BDSM surveys estimate that 10-15% of the British population indulges in the behaviour. And BDSM may actually be therapeutic.
In fact, those involved with BDSM say the behaviour may be linked to success. Mistress Kimberley, an experienced dominatrix in London, says well-paid professionals make up the bulk of her clientele; they fork over between $300 and $500 per hour for services ranging from a “sensual tie and tease” to “severe bondage and domination torture,” reported Time.com. Her clients’ high-powered lives make them eager to submit. “They’re running multi-million dollar companies and make decisions all day, every day,” she says. “They genuinely want to be submissive.”
David Mirich, a psychologist in Colorado, measured the intelligence of 220 BDSMers and found that they posted above-average IQ scores, “which is very unlike the criminal population of sex offenders and criminals,” he says. Their behaviour doesn’t appear to be a response to an unhealthy upbringing, nor correlate to psychopathology. Whatever the outcome of the Mosley suit, BDSM will live on in England.

this article by itself is slightly ridiculous. the correlation between iq's and deviant sexual behaviour hasn't been clearly explained. At any rate, it has little relevance considering every individual, high iq or not, is entitled to his/her kinks- what matters is whether people choose to talk about them freely or not.

redefining repression.

we live in a repressed society, not because the subject of sexuality is kept under wraps. according to foucault, we're repressed because we talk abut our sexuality and this, he calls 'the represssive hypothesis'. this hypothesis can be refuted, but there is plenty of evidence in our day-to-day existence to support it.

take the wildly popular sexpert column in mumbai mirror, cosmo's sex tips, the durex surveys or any other discussion of sex in the mainstream media- it's glaringly serious and sterile. even those in the sex trade seem to speak of it in almost academic terms.

confession is the key to repression and in this day and age- we're constantly seeking validation for intensely private actions and the media, by providing an outlet, is gaining power. foucault, of course, spoke of the power of medical and legal institutions. it's high time, though, that we acknowledge the increasingly powerful role of media in the domain of sexuality.

thus, while people continue to engage in sexual practices both "acceptable" and "deviant", there nonetheless exists a heavy realisation that everything you do is subject to the dominant paradigm- you are never truly free to satisfy your most animalistic urges without actually contemplating how you're judged. after all, people talk.

just do it.

repression cannot have a value judgement attached- there's no good or bad, it just is.

foucault wrote the history of sexuality in the late 1970s and early 80s. of course, a lot has changed since.

back in the day, people indulged in their kinks, going perhaps only to the shrink or church to confess. now, the fear of AIDS, among other things, has encouraged people to talk about safe sexual practices and about sex, per se, on the larger platform of the mass media. this, of course, has been a source of power to the institution of media.

somewhere deep down, i like to think that the history of sexuality is probably foucault's most personal work, almost an autobiography of sorts that throbs with rage against the society as a whole. it is believed that he had a penchant for bdsm clubs in san francisco and that's probably where he got his inspiration from.

nonetheless, the history of sexuality, already three volumes long has a near complete 4th volume which never got published. michel foucault had died of AIDS before he could complete it.

dreams...

...are like ingmar bergman flicks, visually powerful but abrupt as hell.

marx forever!

around the turn of the previous century, two gentlemen noted with increasing concern the effects of a new world order.

one was the brain and the other was all soul. friedrich engels and karl marx went on to achieve what snotty mortals like us can only laugh at cynically- they changed the world.

their works have been misconstrued, leading to the rise and fall of the socialist experiment. in fact, the seeds of error lay in their very analytical technique of dialectical materialism, their lack of precision in definition and their unsound prediction of the fall of capitalism but that's not why they are highly regarded by the academia even today. where they lacked for in technique, they made up in passion.

their love of humanity can reduce even the most stoic capitalist to think for a moment about the fallacies in the system in which he lives, breathes, sleeps and fucks. reading marx is as reassuring an evidence of life as listening to the beating heart of a loved one. in a world where god has been declared dead by nietzsche and the writer's obituary written by foucault, they are the proof that armageddon hasn't come knocking yet.

it's no surprise, then, that even today, in the state of globalisation which they had failed to predict, they have taught yet another generation to yearn for a humane race, if not at the very least, pause to ask...

what's going on?

heat street

inertia blooms, thoughts lay rancid under the tropical sun.

somewhere at the back of my head is a haunting reminder that the heat saps away all willingness to make an effort at a halfway to decent existence or for that matter, any desire to live.

it's no longer those romantic summers of yore filled with white-washed haciendas, enchanting cooling breezes to play among its pillars.

it's fearing and loathing, disgust and hate, sweat mingling with tears and the feeling that this city is eating you alive.

but i stay. and i wait. until the acid rain flows down heat street and life smiles once again.

eat this, us of fucking a.

america has accused india and china of eating away its food resources.

personally, i'd like to think that bush is planning to leave with a final flourish of stupidity. and this time, he's taking condi rice down with him.

this irrationality makes me terribly angry but at the same time, i can't help but smile when i read what kurt vonnegut jr. had to say in "breakfast of champions"...

"it [america] had most of the food and minerals and machinery, and it disciplined other countries by threatening to shoot big rockets at them or drop things down on them from airplanes."

also, did i hear something about increased ethanol production? if i did hear that right, then, dear, sweet america, that's where your fucking food went.

coming up for air...

i think if i quit social science research, stock up on some contraband and have nothing but my laptop (minus movies and graphic novels for company), i might just be one of them *prolific writers*.

i'd write lengthy academic articles, document conversations with fuzzy creatures in my head and write obituaries for my lovers while basking in the flush of coital bliss.

here's a prototype for the sort of stuff i'd write. thanks, so much toxic teddy. much love for my canadian bear...

yours truly: i think i'm downloading a german movie without any subtitles

i am slightly worried for my sanity.

giggly teddy: loll

yt: it disappeared 22 years ago and i think it has been kidnapped and raped.

gt: over and over again?

yt: oh, yes

and left for dead in winnipeg in a sanctuary for blood-thirsty bears

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