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3.46 AVERAGE
3.46 AVERAGE
challenging
dark
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
such a sick book — definitely some darker themes and if you’re sensitive to triggering sexual situations take heed. but if you’re into people like bataille and acker you’ll like this one
CW:
"Frisk" contains what's likely the single most upsetting sequence I have ever encountered since my literary journey began, and as a whole this novel got me to question the limits of my desensitization to transgressive fiction and to consider what exactly I get out of this stuff, and what entices me to it in general. Even by the standards of the niche, this stuff is extreme - this actually kinda ruined my day, if I'm being completely honest, and this is coming from the enby who could probably clean their room while listening to Swans' "Public Castration is a Good Idea" while "Pink Flamingoes" plays on the telly in the background. Basically, this shit fucked me up. And it did it to such an extent that I was almost angry at Cooper for my guts having been as twisted as they were, feeling almost cruelly manipulated, until I realized this is exactly what he's shooting for here. Regardless of whether I enjoyed the book or not [I didn't at all], this is a successful work of art, almost an anti-novel, really.
Cooper's delivery is effective because he doesn't engage in the sort of condescending and judgmental hand wringing that a lot of meta stuff about violent media can kind of fall trap to, because this is very transparent about there being no possible avenue from which this could be enjoyed. There's no beauty to the utilitarian prose, for one thing, and Cooper using himself as an avatar to enact the violent fantasies portrayed in this book adds a layer of autobiographical substance to it, but he does so by using an extremely unique first person device which is also omnipotent and observes the headspaces and surroundings of every other character, making one aware that all of this is literally constructed. It's all theater, basically, one that Dennis Cooper makes you feel complacent in the more you read it, so that when the most horrifying violence happens, turning the page feels like complicity in atrocity.
So there's something incredibly smart he's doing here, one that transcends the initial disgust and shock of what you're reading. Since we know the violence is fictional, and that it's all only happening as far as the page goes and inside Dennis' constructed fantasies, Cooper challenges us - without beating it over our heads - as to what exactly we stand to gain from indulging in this. Basically, he's using this elaborate metatext on desire to interrogate the concept as a whole - through us bearing witness to Dennis' fantasies of sexual torture and debasement that would make the Marquis de Sade blush, we're desiring to turn the page, see what this is going towards. And in the end all it is is fantasy, and Cooper pulls back this veil for us by totally decoupling fictional violence from its glorification. There is nothing to be enjoyed here, and if there was, then the entire purpose would be undermined.
If this all sounds like one of those "heh, so you enjoy killing in media? Here's why you should feel bad!" type things, it really isn't. The text is too constantly aware of its own artifice and its open relationship to the reader that its intent is subtly drawn yet still un-obfuscated, and the perspective techniques used put the reader squarely in the shoes of every character here, who observe Dennis as subjectively as we would, as he literally sees himself through the perspectives of other people. I think what this is is an exercise in letting us see depravity for what it is, doing so through theater curtains where the play is so similar to reality that we have to think about where the line between fiction and the real is drawn, and the implications this has when it comes to the topic of violence. To say this novel is unpleasant would be like saying the Pacific is a bit wet, but it's also an accomplishment as a thoughtful thematic text, and while I don't think I'll ever read it again because one read serves it's purpose, this is going to stick with me.
Spoiler
EVERYTHING, including the sexual murder of children and extreme sexual violence and depravity in general, seriously do not fucking touch this if you feel you can't handle it"Frisk" contains what's likely the single most upsetting sequence I have ever encountered since my literary journey began, and as a whole this novel got me to question the limits of my desensitization to transgressive fiction and to consider what exactly I get out of this stuff, and what entices me to it in general. Even by the standards of the niche, this stuff is extreme - this actually kinda ruined my day, if I'm being completely honest, and this is coming from the enby who could probably clean their room while listening to Swans' "Public Castration is a Good Idea" while "Pink Flamingoes" plays on the telly in the background. Basically, this shit fucked me up. And it did it to such an extent that I was almost angry at Cooper for my guts having been as twisted as they were, feeling almost cruelly manipulated, until I realized this is exactly what he's shooting for here. Regardless of whether I enjoyed the book or not [I didn't at all], this is a successful work of art, almost an anti-novel, really.
Cooper's delivery is effective because he doesn't engage in the sort of condescending and judgmental hand wringing that a lot of meta stuff about violent media can kind of fall trap to, because this is very transparent about there being no possible avenue from which this could be enjoyed. There's no beauty to the utilitarian prose, for one thing, and Cooper using himself as an avatar to enact the violent fantasies portrayed in this book adds a layer of autobiographical substance to it, but he does so by using an extremely unique first person device which is also omnipotent and observes the headspaces and surroundings of every other character, making one aware that all of this is literally constructed. It's all theater, basically, one that Dennis Cooper makes you feel complacent in the more you read it, so that when the most horrifying violence happens, turning the page feels like complicity in atrocity.
So there's something incredibly smart he's doing here, one that transcends the initial disgust and shock of what you're reading. Since we know the violence is fictional, and that it's all only happening as far as the page goes and inside Dennis' constructed fantasies, Cooper challenges us - without beating it over our heads - as to what exactly we stand to gain from indulging in this. Basically, he's using this elaborate metatext on desire to interrogate the concept as a whole - through us bearing witness to Dennis' fantasies of sexual torture and debasement that would make the Marquis de Sade blush, we're desiring to turn the page, see what this is going towards. And in the end all it is is fantasy, and Cooper pulls back this veil for us by totally decoupling fictional violence from its glorification. There is nothing to be enjoyed here, and if there was, then the entire purpose would be undermined.
If this all sounds like one of those "heh, so you enjoy killing in media? Here's why you should feel bad!" type things, it really isn't. The text is too constantly aware of its own artifice and its open relationship to the reader that its intent is subtly drawn yet still un-obfuscated, and the perspective techniques used put the reader squarely in the shoes of every character here, who observe Dennis as subjectively as we would, as he literally sees himself through the perspectives of other people. I think what this is is an exercise in letting us see depravity for what it is, doing so through theater curtains where the play is so similar to reality that we have to think about where the line between fiction and the real is drawn, and the implications this has when it comes to the topic of violence. To say this novel is unpleasant would be like saying the Pacific is a bit wet, but it's also an accomplishment as a thoughtful thematic text, and while I don't think I'll ever read it again because one read serves it's purpose, this is going to stick with me.
This novel isn't rated five stars because I enjoyed the experience. Make no mistake, you will hate Dennis Cooper at some point during this book, probably multiple times. I certainly did. But what makes this book so special and unique is the WAY it takes you to the dark, horrible places it inhabits, and its agenda for doing so. Despite being about the way American culture connects violence and sex, it doesn't fetishize sexual violence. Its characters have fetishes around violence, but the book itself doesn't dwell on violence just for the sake of shock value. It does it to make a point about victimization, and cultural obsession with objectification, and where/how we draw the line between a consensual (if violent) act and a grisly crime.
If you like slasher movies, this might be the only book I've ever read that captures the way good B horror makes me feel: that weird mixture of revulsion, hilarity, and guilty satisfaction. Frisk takes that feeling and unpacks it, and by the end of the book you're left feeling like the victim, monster, and final girl all at once.
If you like slasher movies, this might be the only book I've ever read that captures the way good B horror makes me feel: that weird mixture of revulsion, hilarity, and guilty satisfaction. Frisk takes that feeling and unpacks it, and by the end of the book you're left feeling like the victim, monster, and final girl all at once.
adventurous
challenging
dark
funny
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
A meditation on obsession, sex, and real/constructed memories. The character glimpses into a fake abyss and is fundamentally changed by this, even when his understanding of it fucks up the narrative.
challenging
dark
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Frisk is an unrelenting novel, one where the depravity of humanity is exposed like a well-kept and filthy secret. i have never, ever had such a nauseated response to a novel as i did to this one. this book is definitely not for squeamish readers--every page is swollen with descriptions of bodily fluids, sex acts, and violence that made me repeatedly squirm with discomfort. there are no reprieves.
but Frisk is not just a grotesque story. it is also a deep look into intimacy and what it means to truly know another human being, what is necessary to feel a true sense of understanding with another. the novel is disjointed yet paradoxically united in a way that made me feel as though i was floating through the consciousnesses of the characters, bouncing between them one by one until i reached the end of their story. it was wonderful... and, uh, pretty gross.
but Frisk is not just a grotesque story. it is also a deep look into intimacy and what it means to truly know another human being, what is necessary to feel a true sense of understanding with another. the novel is disjointed yet paradoxically united in a way that made me feel as though i was floating through the consciousnesses of the characters, bouncing between them one by one until i reached the end of their story. it was wonderful... and, uh, pretty gross.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child abuse, Drug use, Sexual assault, Sexual violence, Violence
i know i should have gone to quickies and been sociable but instead i had to finish this book.
i read this when i was 22 maybe and had no context for it at all. i am much more well read now and it is still gruesomely captivating (and cleverly structured) (and oh man - the SPACED chapter's pov experimentation!!!) if less shocking - some of the dazzle has worn off i think now that it's less beyond me.
it amazes me that i have always been interested in the things that i am interested in. why on earth was i reading dennis cooper when i was still wearing clothes from express?
i read this when i was 22 maybe and had no context for it at all. i am much more well read now and it is still gruesomely captivating (and cleverly structured) (and oh man - the SPACED chapter's pov experimentation!!!) if less shocking - some of the dazzle has worn off i think now that it's less beyond me.
it amazes me that i have always been interested in the things that i am interested in. why on earth was i reading dennis cooper when i was still wearing clothes from express?
challenging
dark
reflective
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes