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Distorture
It is the end of the century the stories in Distorture are elegiac, exquisite panels written in memory of certain decayed angels.
A woman is buried by a musician who has sworn to protect her. A narcoleptic is found, still dreaming, with cryptic symbols engraved into her back. In an elegant loft, a silver-haired man studies the torso of a comatose surfer, and the bodies of the two men are transformed into an intricate work of art. These are only a few of the tortous stories of Rob Hardin, a veteran studio musician and stylist whose work has been called "impeccable" by Dennis Cooper. Distorture is a fiercely modern book full of jeweled descriptions of violent eroticism. In Distorture, his first book of stories, Rob Hardin subverts nineteenth century romanticism and redefines the aesthetics of excess. Distorture splices the digital and the autumnal with the drive of the dark ambient music and the elegance of a late Liszt Sonata.
A woman is buried by a musician who has sworn to protect her. A narcoleptic is found, still dreaming, with cryptic symbols engraved into her back. In an elegant loft, a silver-haired man studies the torso of a comatose surfer, and the bodies of the two men are transformed into an intricate work of art. These are only a few of the tortous stories of Rob Hardin, a veteran studio musician and stylist whose work has been called "impeccable" by Dennis Cooper. Distorture is a fiercely modern book full of jeweled descriptions of violent eroticism. In Distorture, his first book of stories, Rob Hardin subverts nineteenth century romanticism and redefines the aesthetics of excess. Distorture splices the digital and the autumnal with the drive of the dark ambient music and the elegance of a late Liszt Sonata.
- GenresHorror
206 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 1997
57 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
August 8, 2018
(3.5 stars)
Like any impactful writer of transgressive fiction, Hardin writes with the conviction that death, at least aesthetically, is not so much the mere deprivation of life as the intensification of it. Many of these stories have been, as the back cover states, "written in memory of certain decayed angels", so that an elusive poignancy--the persistent longing for intimacy with another--often creeps through even the most explicit and obsessive anatomical explorations of the many desired and all-too-fragile bodies strewn throughout this collection. If this sounds a lot like Dennis Cooper's own aesthetic mission to reach an almost intolerable sense of "sweetness" through morbid or violent limit-experiences, especially those taken in extremis, then it should come as no surprise that Hardin has received praise from that pioneer of literary transgression.
While some of Hardin's more experimental texts, often involving visual inclusions, might seem to be somewhat oblivious to the work of postmodernists and post-structuralists of previous decades--Bataille's The Tears of Eros, anyone?--his remarkably concise evocations of desire and loss will be more likely to leave an emotively-charged crater in the hearts of certain readers. "Torn From Me", a page-long elegy for a missing prostitute, expresses at least as much profound emptiness and longing as any novel-length romantic tragedy would; its accompanying image--a Bellmeresque doll stranded in a strangely-angled, dimly-lit shaft of an abandoned building, probably is one of this book's more effective visual inclusions. "When Sleep Comes Down" depicts the narrator's object of desire somewhat more fully as a person--a junkie with literary flair--but the process of reanimating the beloved dead through memory is still no less a delicate affair: "Buried by strangers, forgotten by friends, it seemed that her image was being replayed in his mind alone. Recalling her last night on earth made him feel like Dowson inside, an Edwardian drinking himself to death in pain and shame."
Of course this collection of quasi-academic texts and darkly erotic fragments of narrative will seem pretentious to those who, having an underdeveloped sense of life, would deem anything that exceeds their own intensity of emotion and thought as "pretentious"; to be fair, Hardin was still in the process of discovering his own identity as a creator, so stylistic excess was to be expected. However, barely classifiable collections of transgressive fiction are rare enough that sensitive readers should be able to look past the merely idiosyncratic novelties of this book and appreciate the passages of intensely-concentrated and anguished desire flung in the face of death.
Like any impactful writer of transgressive fiction, Hardin writes with the conviction that death, at least aesthetically, is not so much the mere deprivation of life as the intensification of it. Many of these stories have been, as the back cover states, "written in memory of certain decayed angels", so that an elusive poignancy--the persistent longing for intimacy with another--often creeps through even the most explicit and obsessive anatomical explorations of the many desired and all-too-fragile bodies strewn throughout this collection. If this sounds a lot like Dennis Cooper's own aesthetic mission to reach an almost intolerable sense of "sweetness" through morbid or violent limit-experiences, especially those taken in extremis, then it should come as no surprise that Hardin has received praise from that pioneer of literary transgression.
While some of Hardin's more experimental texts, often involving visual inclusions, might seem to be somewhat oblivious to the work of postmodernists and post-structuralists of previous decades--Bataille's The Tears of Eros, anyone?--his remarkably concise evocations of desire and loss will be more likely to leave an emotively-charged crater in the hearts of certain readers. "Torn From Me", a page-long elegy for a missing prostitute, expresses at least as much profound emptiness and longing as any novel-length romantic tragedy would; its accompanying image--a Bellmeresque doll stranded in a strangely-angled, dimly-lit shaft of an abandoned building, probably is one of this book's more effective visual inclusions. "When Sleep Comes Down" depicts the narrator's object of desire somewhat more fully as a person--a junkie with literary flair--but the process of reanimating the beloved dead through memory is still no less a delicate affair: "Buried by strangers, forgotten by friends, it seemed that her image was being replayed in his mind alone. Recalling her last night on earth made him feel like Dowson inside, an Edwardian drinking himself to death in pain and shame."
Of course this collection of quasi-academic texts and darkly erotic fragments of narrative will seem pretentious to those who, having an underdeveloped sense of life, would deem anything that exceeds their own intensity of emotion and thought as "pretentious"; to be fair, Hardin was still in the process of discovering his own identity as a creator, so stylistic excess was to be expected. However, barely classifiable collections of transgressive fiction are rare enough that sensitive readers should be able to look past the merely idiosyncratic novelties of this book and appreciate the passages of intensely-concentrated and anguished desire flung in the face of death.
September 4, 2023
At some points, it read like words randomly chosen & thrown together in an effort to be flowery that didn't land as intended. Overall, I did enjoy it.
August 10, 2016
Hardin's writing is engorged with creative descriptions of unattractive things. I like really excellent descriptions of unattractive things. Full and creative descriptive writing used to good effect can make for engrossing and vivid stories. Unfortunately, all Hardin gives us in Distorture are full and creative descriptions tossed at the reader like change being thrown to a street creature. You see what I mean? If he can learn to string these evocative phrases into a cohesive picture, he will be a force to be reckoned with.
His choices of subject for his vignettes are intriguing and his take on the subjects interesting.
I will be keeping an eye out for his future work, but Distorture was not worth the time I spent reading it.
His choices of subject for his vignettes are intriguing and his take on the subjects interesting.
I will be keeping an eye out for his future work, but Distorture was not worth the time I spent reading it.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews