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rakishheir's review
5.0
Last night I made monsters with paper, read This Boring Apocalypse, and drank. I made many monsters. I like drinking. I was not bored.
In This Boring Apocalypse, the reader finds a patchwork woman, who, over the course of this book, is dissembled, reassembled, investigated, consumed, revamped. Erotic-life and erotic-death (as well as whatever is between that) are so intimated bonded here. I absolutely adored the appetite of Apocalypse. Full of peculiar, fantastic, anxious moments that I didn’t want to end. At one point the narrator tells us, “They have all taken parts of her and inserted those parts into themselves, so I cannot bear to part with any of them.” That kind of broke my heart.
The connection between consuming one into another’s body & grief became immediately apparent. I didn’t want her to have to part with anything, I feared for her. I am in love with this patchwork woman. I am also in love with her lover, who is also her torturer. It’s difficult to say who captured who really, there’s so much beautiful (terrifying) touching, tasting, absorbing. Yet I can imagine no better an ending than the narrator coming to terms with her own mythological journey as she says “We step back and watch our lives.”
If this apocalypse ever happened I would simultaneously be in awe & alarm of it: the abject loneliness; a threat both external and internal—manifesting physically: oozing, pus-ing, swelling, leaking; the menace of mortality (the menace of the spontaneous overflow of feeling). Like looking at something so beautiful you deny—and yearn—for its existence & you have no other choice but to laugh—there is humor here too! Wells affirms the strange beauty of human design, while exploring how vulnerable the body is; how vulnerable we all are at the scrutiny of our own autonomy.
*I do feel a little safer about my chances of surviving an apocalypse after reading this book.
*You should read this book. You will like it.
*I promise. I am trustworthy. I like cats.
*& vultures.
*********************
In This Boring Apocalypse, the reader finds a patchwork woman, who, over the course of this book, is dissembled, reassembled, investigated, consumed, revamped. Erotic-life and erotic-death (as well as whatever is between that) are so intimated bonded here. I absolutely adored the appetite of Apocalypse. Full of peculiar, fantastic, anxious moments that I didn’t want to end. At one point the narrator tells us, “They have all taken parts of her and inserted those parts into themselves, so I cannot bear to part with any of them.” That kind of broke my heart.
The connection between consuming one into another’s body & grief became immediately apparent. I didn’t want her to have to part with anything, I feared for her. I am in love with this patchwork woman. I am also in love with her lover, who is also her torturer. It’s difficult to say who captured who really, there’s so much beautiful (terrifying) touching, tasting, absorbing. Yet I can imagine no better an ending than the narrator coming to terms with her own mythological journey as she says “We step back and watch our lives.”
If this apocalypse ever happened I would simultaneously be in awe & alarm of it: the abject loneliness; a threat both external and internal—manifesting physically: oozing, pus-ing, swelling, leaking; the menace of mortality (the menace of the spontaneous overflow of feeling). Like looking at something so beautiful you deny—and yearn—for its existence & you have no other choice but to laugh—there is humor here too! Wells affirms the strange beauty of human design, while exploring how vulnerable the body is; how vulnerable we all are at the scrutiny of our own autonomy.
*I do feel a little safer about my chances of surviving an apocalypse after reading this book.
*You should read this book. You will like it.
*I promise. I am trustworthy. I like cats.
*& vultures.
*********************
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