Reviews

there are whole industries dedicated to the commodification of our suffering. aside for nominal compensation to a given cultural worker, what's beneficial to a contingent grouping of experiential similitude imbuing particular interpretive capacities (or "community"ќ) is never anything other than accidental. this is the expectation in the case of blackness and queerness on its own. even moreso at its intersections. the name of the game is selling the pain, at the expense of the oppressed group: the opposite would be an industry liability. these oppressed experiences are inherently paradoxical: precious and disposable. i continue to struggle with determining what at this barren, depraved and desolate industrial site truly and unconstrictingly nourishes the psychic well-being, and promotes the flourishing, of the given cultural producer. it would appear the artist (depending on the medium of one's affinity) owns the means to their own production (that is, structuring and apprehending institutions notwithstanding, subjectivity), and yet art is not enough. fred moten has been my go-to for describing this ambivalent conundrum concerning black (also queer, insofaras it momentarily lapses into a discreet and also necessarily fleeting trace (indeed, in moten's own work)) traditions of cultural production that can "occasion something very much like sadness and something very much like devilish enjoyment."ќ there's not enough of brontez purnell's demonic laughter by way of relentless stylistic proficiency in *since i laid my burden down*. i'm pretty sure brontez (deshawn?) is the devil, in the blues/judeochristian sense, a fugitive from paradise: a vital and ironic remedy for the impasse of tired political life. luminaries in this realm of demonic ideality are david wojnarowicz and assata shakur. my favorite part early on in the book is the satanic seance for kurt cobain in middle school. (think of how different my life would have been if i was into nirvana in middle school.) it's regrettable that the critique of religion throughout is not allowed to develop its confrontations further (say as a gentler alternative to a more generous edit allowing the traumatic life events chosen for narration to breathe). sure, process is rarely a luxury for real life, but this isn't: this is art, right? i'm reminded of gayl jones and toni morrison, poets of unendurable experiences. like pat parker, purnell's strength is in the articulation as much as the content, where the riot grrrl shines. but an audience straight white feminists like kathleen hanna don't get it. purnell requires an editorial staff that won't compromise. as we said before there's whole industries of varied traditions dedicated to this. plus think of all the people who have no outlet so massive. which makes the privilege all the more valuable. i'm not proposing that there's an existing resolution to the question of the artist's psychic compensation. (the whole time i was uneasy wondering what i was participating in.) the devil is the devil due to a refusal to compromise. and those fucking details.

abbie_'s review against another edition

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dark emotional funny reflective sad fast-paced

3.0

I’ve been wanting to try Brontez Purnell’s later book 100 Boyfriends for a while, so when I spotted Since I Laid My Burden down on Everand, I jumped at it. It was exactly what I needed last week - short and gritty, fast paced and laced with humour, though veering into murkier territory than I perhaps expected.

It’s unflinchingly honest about growing up Black and queer and punk in the American south - religion and traditional values do not make this an easy life. The main character DeShawn recounts the various relationships he’s had with damaged men over his life, both familial and sexual, most of whom are now dead. The style is rough, raw and choppy - no frills and it suits the content perfectly.

However, although I get what Purnell was wanting to depict, I was unhappy with the way DeShawn, a victim of childhood sexual abuse himself, then fell into the pattern of predatory behaviour himself. He engages in a sexual relationship with a boy who is I believe 15 or 16 years old when he’s 33. I agree with other reviewers that this section of the book is written off too quickly, and DeShawn doesn’t seem to grasp the magnitude of what he’s done. I absolutely realise that this is very much a part of gay coming-of-age (I literally just read Beijing Comrades where the same thing happens), but since DeShawn is otherwise a character you want to root for, I was sad that his behaviour was brushed off as the norm.

Quick, brutal and desperately sad.

Content Warnings

isabellabahm's review against another edition

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challenging emotional reflective fast-paced

Plot- or character-driven? Character

3.5

mandiiiiiiiiidnam's review against another edition

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challenging funny reflective sad medium-paced

Plot- or character-driven? Character
Strong character development? It's complicated
Loveable characters? It's complicated
Diverse cast of characters? Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

4.0

oraclebykittie's review against another edition

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4.0

this was really good! a good way to capture the strangeness and quiet devastation of reflecting on your life and the lives of your family members while being super hornygay and - in some ways - part of the problem. i cry as much as deshawn did and for the same reasons

meghan111's review against another edition

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4.0

DeShawn lives in San Francisco and goes back to Alabama for his uncle's funeral. This novel follows his journey and reflections on people he's known both growing up and after he moved to San Francisco. It's sort of rambling but engaging, and has the best qualities of personal zines - funny in unexpected ways, emotional in places, authentic and raw but still polished writing.

jimmydean's review against another edition

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My second Brontez Purnell novel - love the way he writes, his wicked sense of humour and his ability to explore both the tenderness and raw impulses in sex.

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