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A review by ghostboyreads
Closer by Dennis Cooper
4.5
"Philippe lay in bed imagining George's death. He was extremely drunk, his eyes were closed. The world he saw rang with percussion. Skeletons snapped. Blood and entrails exploded on a grand scale, while George, deposited deep in these fireworks, flailed like a tiny, crazed acrobat."
Upon sitting down to write this review, it became clear to me that I don't think I can talk about a Dennis Cooper novel without being biased. He's one of my favorite authors of all time, but, even so, reviewing a book like Closer is an incredibly difficult task. Shocking, brutal, visceral, utterly vile, Closer is a horrifying book, and is, perhaps, one of my favorite short story collections to ever exist. It's one of those sickening, gross, and disgusting books that's just, so haunting and sad. Closer is the ultimate story of desire and self-destruction, despite its fever-dream-esque, almost hallucinatory prose it manages to cast a vivid and unflinching gaze upon queer issues. It's told in this way that clouds the mind and dulls the senses, and it feels fucking awful to experience.
It's a typical Dennis Cooper novel, it's guaranteed to make you feel horrible about life, but, damn, Closer really makes existence feel so bleak and tedious. Cooper is fearless in his examination of the lifestyles led by his characters, he excels at putting you right in the mind and mental state of his narrators, it's never a nice place to be, that's a fact for all of his novels but, it's so intensely prevalent in Closer. This is a daring, brutally honest, and extremely elegant little book - it's also a profoundly original novel. Perhaps one could argue the disconnect, the lack of enthusiasm for living, the cloud of drug use that just covers everything is nothing new or novel, but, somehow, Closer is so wildly different to anything before it, and anything that followed.
Upon sitting down to write this review, it became clear to me that I don't think I can talk about a Dennis Cooper novel without being biased. He's one of my favorite authors of all time, but, even so, reviewing a book like Closer is an incredibly difficult task. Shocking, brutal, visceral, utterly vile, Closer is a horrifying book, and is, perhaps, one of my favorite short story collections to ever exist. It's one of those sickening, gross, and disgusting books that's just, so haunting and sad. Closer is the ultimate story of desire and self-destruction, despite its fever-dream-esque, almost hallucinatory prose it manages to cast a vivid and unflinching gaze upon queer issues. It's told in this way that clouds the mind and dulls the senses, and it feels fucking awful to experience.
It's a typical Dennis Cooper novel, it's guaranteed to make you feel horrible about life, but, damn, Closer really makes existence feel so bleak and tedious. Cooper is fearless in his examination of the lifestyles led by his characters, he excels at putting you right in the mind and mental state of his narrators, it's never a nice place to be, that's a fact for all of his novels but, it's so intensely prevalent in Closer. This is a daring, brutally honest, and extremely elegant little book - it's also a profoundly original novel. Perhaps one could argue the disconnect, the lack of enthusiasm for living, the cloud of drug use that just covers everything is nothing new or novel, but, somehow, Closer is so wildly different to anything before it, and anything that followed.
"The silhouette tensed, turned, broke a chunk of glass of what was left of the pane and held it out to John like broken glass was a gift. Kill me, the silhouette rasped. I can't feel anything. I mean you're okay. Shit, I don't know... I guess I've wanted somebody to kill me for over a year or whatever so don't fucking worry. Do what you want to me. I don't care. Really. When I'm dead you can fuck me as much as you want. I've tried to kill myself lots of times. I just can't. Anyway, nobody knows I'm here. You won't get caught-"
Closer is, quite honestly, fucking harrowing. It's horrible and brilliant, and it's all pretty boys in peril. Every bit as haunting and as affecting as its reputation would suggest. It's not even that this is a particularly shocking or violent novel, it is, for sure, depraved and intense, full of sickening and nauseating acts, but, that pales in comparison to the true brilliance of this novel, which is hidden away in its quietness, in how fantastically moving the psychological horror of this book is. Closer drags its readers through the depths of Hell, and it's extremely upsetting. Closer is relentless, it's Cooper at his very best, refusing entirely to adhere to any conventionality as he eviscerates the truth of self-expression and desire. There's violence, tons of sex, always someone getting hurt, death dreams and suicidal ideation. It's fascinating and gorgeous. I totally understand why it's said the George Miles Cycle is a masterpiece.
"He's facedown a few feet away, lying so still it's like he's not listening, more like he's dead or has left his nude body idling in my room. It's a spooky sight. I'm almost sure I'm in love with it."