DRIVING THROUGH FAMINE ZONES IS NOTHING SHORT OF EUPHORIC
‘There is a young woman writing in London who really doesn't care what you think. Her name is Audrey Szasz. She is easily the wildest writer going.
'Her prose is direct, fast, witty, hot, horny, and furiously honest. Insofar as I can see, she's the dark horse on the literary scene, a true thoroughbred in the stable of nags. Not for fame, but for influence.
'Originality. Sheer voice. Nerve.’
Her novels have been described as everything from abject filth to pure 21st century post-Sadeian feminism. Her poetic narratives are both political and personal - violent but triumphant - ghostly yet crystal clear - caustic streams of consciousness and gleeful perversity.
TELEPLASM charts the eerie emergence of a hostile new culture, where psychic liberation is the key.
“… all you would be left with are the slurs and scars inflicted upon you by others. Insult, heaped upon insult. The teetering wreckage of a so-called human being…”
I will never tire of being hypnotized by Audrey’s stream of consciousness and word chains. I adore her wicked, wicked, wicked sense of humor. She deeply understands the nasty and absurd relationships between authority & submission, manipulation & control that reign across the world. View the world’s suffering through “Heart-shaped plastic sunglasses with crimson lenses.” A hero with plaits.
Sloane and her middle aged boyfriend take a roadtrip which includes masochism, drinking/drugging and misanthropy. Part travel, part philosophy, part erotica this was a captivating read I couldn’t put down. Reminded me of a darker version of Trocci’s, Thongs.
Maybe wasn't the best work to be introduced to Szasz by, I am enjoying Zealous Immaculate a lot more. However, her style is nonetheless demonstrated here, and it is fierce.
Thinking out loud, in a car, until you realize you're not speaking out loud after all, it's just the temperamental sounds of the car and the traffic grumblings of other cars, and the way the music on the radio makes you think of things in a remotely linear way according to how the songs dip in and out of fondness and familiarity.
A long drive alone is how reading Teleplasm felt to me, broken up into sections over two weeks spent carrying this book around the neighborhood and in different bars and reading when I got some nice alone time. Audrey's word flow is like the good things about poetry, how words can be so pretty when put together in a new way, thinking out loud at a seance where you're not the one who's supposed to be talking right now, if at all.
There were lots of parts of this book that caused me to pause, smile, and re-read the lines again.
One part that made me smile the most is when Audrey writes, "Pining for the moon — and what if there were two, side by side in orbit around the fairest sun?" I know what that is, and it's one of the things that makes me smile whenever it comes out of nowhere, from wherever it has to.
I'll review this by just relaying what I said to a friend about this work...
I have no doubt that in 20 or so years, we will look back and hail Szasz as someone who ignited a literary revolution. What will that revolution look like? I'm not sure, but I have ideas.
I just know that I'm glad I'm here to witness it.
Any plot summary is a disservice to this book. There are few authors with this strong of a voice in their work, and Szasz has a few; twisting, turning, and entangled together in masses of flesh, excretions, and references that I appreciate in a huge way.
Let me guess: you're here looking for reviews to decide if you should read this. You're curious but unsure. Should you get it and dive in? Yes. If you encountered this, just get it.
Horrible people having a horrible time and really enjoying it. Szasz writes like a scalpel and a drill, cutting away but boring through. Perhaps, the best moments for me are the videos that the characters watch and how Szasz describes them, rattling off their horrible content as a list of atrocities.
Concise and naturally manufactured, erotically violent stream of consciousness fantasizing in the brattiest utterance imaginable.
I’ve read enough of Audrey Szasz’ work to where I expect something special from her voice, and am never disappointed. One of my favorite reads this year.
Audrey Szasz's Teleplasm is transgressive and deceptively fast paced. If you are squimish, I'd skip it. For everyone else I think it presents a compelling exploration of a particular limit case, namely the collision of victimhood, sadomasochism, and agency.
Teleplasm has that rare quality of agitating our common sensitivities to such an extent that our moral instincts can never be fully suspended. Yet, this is not transgressive paroxysm for nothing: if we take Sloane seriously, if we pay attention to what she tells us, we realize that it is not she who is the paradox, but it is instead we who have become snowblind from our common reality, and so we miss the truth behind the taboo.