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Dandy in the Underworld: A Memoir
Growing up at High Hall in Hull with his alcoholic mother who regularly attempted suicide, his stepfather a cult member dressed in orange, and his father a crippled millionaire, Sebastian Horsley couldn't wait to leave home. Searching for happiness, meaning and a good outfit, he embarked on a doomed career as a punk guitarist, had a stormy relationship with a notorious Scottish gangster, enjoyed a wildly successful period as a stock-market entrepreneur and experienced a near fatal stint as a shark-hunter. Sebastian charts his years as a dandy, an artist, a male escort and a brothel connoisseur. There are the love affairs with Rachel 1 and Rachel 2, and a harrowing descent into heroin and crack addiction. DANDY IN THE UNDERWORLD evokes his desperate attempts to to get clean, culminating in his crucifixion in the Phillippines.
Sure to shock and surprise, Sebastian Horsley recounts his story with excruciating self-knowledge and a savage wit.
Sure to shock and surprise, Sebastian Horsley recounts his story with excruciating self-knowledge and a savage wit.
328 pages, Paperback
First published October 31, 2002
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759 people want to read
About the author
Sebastian Horsley
2 books23 followersSebastian Horsley was a London artist best known for having undergone a voluntary crucifixion. Horsley's writings often revolve around his dysfunctional family, his drug addictions, sex, and his reliance on prostitutes. He died of a heroin overdose.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 132 reviews
June 17, 2020
when i was little i fell in love with john malkovich in dangerous liaisons.
i knew that when i grew up i wanted to be with a man who wore crushed velvet and lace cuffs and fancy shoes and was well-spoken and soulless. and they told me i would never find a straight man who dressed like that. and to all of them i now say HA!! this one is mostly straight... i did not realize that a man who calls himself a dandy and wears sequins and nail polish would spend quite so much time with his own feces: smearing, eating, prying out with a spoon... this book is not exclusively about poop, but i think the point is important: fancy boys can still have the most squalid of squalor going on behind closed doors. of his plagiarism i am not going to complain - he unabashedly and gleefully calls attention to it himself. he's like this gaudy magpie who writes almost entirely in epigrams; it is hyperbolic and indulgent and overwrought and overwritten and purple purple purple...but somehow it works. it's a romping sort of book that is wholly superficial but entirely in keeping with his personality. it's a fun read that doesn't really go anywhere or do anything...like its author. but there's sex and drugs and crucifixion, and some unexpectedly touching bits at the end. and poop. did i mention poop?
come to my blog!
i knew that when i grew up i wanted to be with a man who wore crushed velvet and lace cuffs and fancy shoes and was well-spoken and soulless. and they told me i would never find a straight man who dressed like that. and to all of them i now say HA!! this one is mostly straight... i did not realize that a man who calls himself a dandy and wears sequins and nail polish would spend quite so much time with his own feces: smearing, eating, prying out with a spoon... this book is not exclusively about poop, but i think the point is important: fancy boys can still have the most squalid of squalor going on behind closed doors. of his plagiarism i am not going to complain - he unabashedly and gleefully calls attention to it himself. he's like this gaudy magpie who writes almost entirely in epigrams; it is hyperbolic and indulgent and overwrought and overwritten and purple purple purple...but somehow it works. it's a romping sort of book that is wholly superficial but entirely in keeping with his personality. it's a fun read that doesn't really go anywhere or do anything...like its author. but there's sex and drugs and crucifixion, and some unexpectedly touching bits at the end. and poop. did i mention poop?
come to my blog!
August 7, 2021
A friend lent me Dandy In The Underworld (2008). It's Sebastian Horsley's memoir. Sebastian who? An artist, of sorts, whose grandfather founded Northern Foods and his dysfunctional family were minted. He died in 2010 of a drug overdose.
Dandy In The Underworld is worth reading for those with a strong stomach. It's self deprecating and often quite witty. Sebastian was a ridiculous man. A writer, drug addict, self styled artist, and dandy. Most famous for undergoing a crucifixion in the Philippines in 2000. He was nailed to a cross for 20 minutes, fainted from the pain and fell when the footrest gave way.
Dandy In The Underworld chronicles his commitment to self destruction and he has some extreme stories to impart which include his affair with the former Scottish gangster Jimmy Boyle, working as an escort, a lot of drug taking, a marriage, lots of bisexual sex, and, as mentioned, the crucifixion.
Sebastian Horsley was a narcissist and fantasist, with very little by way of talent. The chapters from childhood through to his twenties are the strongest. The drug years less so. Overall a diverting rollercoaster of self-destruction: occasionally funny, blatantly exaggerated, sporadically gross, and consistently shallow.
A classic case of spare the rod, spoil the child.
3/5
This is the story of Sebastian Horsley's life. Growing up at High Hall, in Hull, with his alcoholic mother, who regularly attempted suicide, his stepfather, a cult member dressed in orange, and his father, a crippled millionaire, Sebastian Horsley couldn't wait to leave home. Searching for happiness, meaning and a good outfit he embarked on a doomed career as a punk guitarist, had a stormy relationship with a notorious Scottish gangster, enjoyed a wildly successful period as a stock-market entrepeneur and experienced a near fatal stint as a shark-hunter. Sebastian charts his years as a dandy, an artist, a male escort and a brothel connoisseur. There are the love affairs, with Rachel 1 and Rachel 2, and a harrowing descent into heroin and crack addiction. [book:Dandy In The Underworld|6085147 evokes his desperate attempts to get clean, culminating in his crucifixion in the Phillippines.
Sure to shock and surprise, Sebastian Horsley recounts his story with excruciating self-knowledge and a savage wit.
Dandy In The Underworld is worth reading for those with a strong stomach. It's self deprecating and often quite witty. Sebastian was a ridiculous man. A writer, drug addict, self styled artist, and dandy. Most famous for undergoing a crucifixion in the Philippines in 2000. He was nailed to a cross for 20 minutes, fainted from the pain and fell when the footrest gave way.
Dandy In The Underworld chronicles his commitment to self destruction and he has some extreme stories to impart which include his affair with the former Scottish gangster Jimmy Boyle, working as an escort, a lot of drug taking, a marriage, lots of bisexual sex, and, as mentioned, the crucifixion.
Sebastian Horsley was a narcissist and fantasist, with very little by way of talent. The chapters from childhood through to his twenties are the strongest. The drug years less so. Overall a diverting rollercoaster of self-destruction: occasionally funny, blatantly exaggerated, sporadically gross, and consistently shallow.
A classic case of spare the rod, spoil the child.
3/5
This is the story of Sebastian Horsley's life. Growing up at High Hall, in Hull, with his alcoholic mother, who regularly attempted suicide, his stepfather, a cult member dressed in orange, and his father, a crippled millionaire, Sebastian Horsley couldn't wait to leave home. Searching for happiness, meaning and a good outfit he embarked on a doomed career as a punk guitarist, had a stormy relationship with a notorious Scottish gangster, enjoyed a wildly successful period as a stock-market entrepeneur and experienced a near fatal stint as a shark-hunter. Sebastian charts his years as a dandy, an artist, a male escort and a brothel connoisseur. There are the love affairs, with Rachel 1 and Rachel 2, and a harrowing descent into heroin and crack addiction. [book:Dandy In The Underworld|6085147 evokes his desperate attempts to get clean, culminating in his crucifixion in the Phillippines.
Sure to shock and surprise, Sebastian Horsley recounts his story with excruciating self-knowledge and a savage wit.
January 24, 2021
Hey, what's it like to smoke crack? Of course, the good readers here have no idea, but I wanted to know, since my own drug intake has been very vanilla, and now here's iconic Horsley to lay it all out -- without the help of a famous US politico son. Horsley also surprises with an unexpected account, vivid and thrilling, of deep-sea diving among sharks. He was always doing something that mocked death.
The best pages in this mad, disturbing, funny memoir of a very troubled man deal w his drug obsession: MJ, cocaine, Ecstasy, heroin and crack. Author Horsley goes into details and how it hooked him on pross-de-toots (femmes) who cost thousands, but ya know wot? They didnt satisfy his "itch." (We're to believe he never caught an STD or whatevah). He admits to two "sweet" same sex duets in his unruly life, (1962-2010), if you want to believe that too.
Coming from a hideous but affluent childhood, Horsley grew up without any ambition : he just wanted to be a sequined sort of non rock-star w eye shadow and nail polish. He finally had abt 22 minutes of fame before his OD at age 47...A late 1930s character out of Mitford-Waugh, who adored Warhol and Francis Bacon, he defines the British approval of nonsense & eccentricity. (As long as you can afford it).
In the UK today, he holds a special place for his wit and this memoir. Some Horsley liners:
After a disastrous marriage: "Marriage may not be forever. But alimony is."~ "I can tell you from bitter experience, there is no life after marriage." ~~"I was far too much of an aesthete to really enjoy sex. How can you make love with your excremental organs?"
He wants to keep his tongue in his own cheek.
On the other hand: Crack: "Crack is sex. It compels you to fuck."
==
Democracy has a serious drawback: "A regrettable tendency to encourage people that all men are created equal."
Charity: "The lives we are begging people to preserve are not particularly worth preserving."
Hypocrisy: --"Is the lubricant of society."
Truth: "If you do not wish to be lied to, do not ask questions."
Movies: "--so much better than real life, because they are shorter."
==
Best of all: "No one can treat you badly without your consent."
=
His memoir is stuft w this stuff...a dizzying read. And often accurate.
The best pages in this mad, disturbing, funny memoir of a very troubled man deal w his drug obsession: MJ, cocaine, Ecstasy, heroin and crack. Author Horsley goes into details and how it hooked him on pross-de-toots (femmes) who cost thousands, but ya know wot? They didnt satisfy his "itch." (We're to believe he never caught an STD or whatevah). He admits to two "sweet" same sex duets in his unruly life, (1962-2010), if you want to believe that too.
Coming from a hideous but affluent childhood, Horsley grew up without any ambition : he just wanted to be a sequined sort of non rock-star w eye shadow and nail polish. He finally had abt 22 minutes of fame before his OD at age 47...A late 1930s character out of Mitford-Waugh, who adored Warhol and Francis Bacon, he defines the British approval of nonsense & eccentricity. (As long as you can afford it).
In the UK today, he holds a special place for his wit and this memoir. Some Horsley liners:
After a disastrous marriage: "Marriage may not be forever. But alimony is."~ "I can tell you from bitter experience, there is no life after marriage." ~~"I was far too much of an aesthete to really enjoy sex. How can you make love with your excremental organs?"
He wants to keep his tongue in his own cheek.
On the other hand: Crack: "Crack is sex. It compels you to fuck."
==
Democracy has a serious drawback: "A regrettable tendency to encourage people that all men are created equal."
Charity: "The lives we are begging people to preserve are not particularly worth preserving."
Hypocrisy: --"Is the lubricant of society."
Truth: "If you do not wish to be lied to, do not ask questions."
Movies: "--so much better than real life, because they are shorter."
==
Best of all: "No one can treat you badly without your consent."
=
His memoir is stuft w this stuff...a dizzying read. And often accurate.
January 29, 2010
I had no knowledge of anything substantive that Sebastian Horsley had done before I read his memoir and really, does one have to accomplish anything in life to write a misery memoir? What had Mary Karr done when she wrote The Liar’s Club. Sometimes these sorts of memoirs exist merely because it is interesting reading about the horrific lives other people lead, and there is a certain shock-element to Horsley’s memoir. He is the car wreck. But instead of not wanting to look away, you want to look because you want to see what else the dandy will do for your attention. In a sense, it is less a car wreck than watching a dancing monkey. A dancing monkey with fabulous hair. And to his credit, Horsley does not claim to be much else.
Hell, I take back what I said above. Don’t save yourself the time. I say read it. Read this book. About page 75, you’ll grow tired, but dancing monkeys need money, too. And when you read it, wear jeans. And sneakers. If you are a woman, no make-up. If you are a man, squirt cheez whiz from a can straight into your mouth with every page turn. Do the cheez whiz part if you are a woman too. Then, when you are finished, take a picture of yourself naked and send it to him as a thanks for all his hard work in the field of the arts. Realize that no matter how fat, ugly, and casually dressed you may be, by sucking down that cheez whiz and photographing your dimpled ass, you have still contributed more to the art of the Western world than Horsley. And aren’t smug, unearned delusions of grandeur the best revenge? Seb would agree, I think. Read the rest of the review here: http://ireadoddbooks.com/?p=353
Hell, I take back what I said above. Don’t save yourself the time. I say read it. Read this book. About page 75, you’ll grow tired, but dancing monkeys need money, too. And when you read it, wear jeans. And sneakers. If you are a woman, no make-up. If you are a man, squirt cheez whiz from a can straight into your mouth with every page turn. Do the cheez whiz part if you are a woman too. Then, when you are finished, take a picture of yourself naked and send it to him as a thanks for all his hard work in the field of the arts. Realize that no matter how fat, ugly, and casually dressed you may be, by sucking down that cheez whiz and photographing your dimpled ass, you have still contributed more to the art of the Western world than Horsley. And aren’t smug, unearned delusions of grandeur the best revenge? Seb would agree, I think. Read the rest of the review here: http://ireadoddbooks.com/?p=353
April 2, 2008
This fella was denied entry into the U.S. just the other day - because of "moral turpitude". Seriously, he was cockblocked on U.S. soil for being flamboyant about (among other things) and mongering the whores. Moral turpitude. Moral turpitude. Knock knock. Who's there? Spitzer. Spitzer who? Spitzer swallow, the difference is 50 bucks.
***
Wow. This redneck Chernobyl had a copy. That's absolutely wilde. Lots of blurbs from the likes of Bryan Ferry, Will Self, Nick Cave and...uh...Gavin Rossdale.
But the best is by Shane McGowan: "Dandy in the Underworld shits all over William Burroughs's first two books and makes Will Self look like a ponce."
And that's just the praise. Horsley (his name reminds me of Lee Horsley - star of Matt Houston an 80s-era TV show) also includes Conscientious Objections by, uh, various media folk.
Also purchased the widescreen edition of Shadow of the Vampire. One of the smartest horror movies in the past ten years.
***
I actually got weepy near the end. An epigram (of cocaine) on every page - guaranteed to blow your mind. Recommended at the price, for those with insatiable appetites (for destruction).
***
Wow. This redneck Chernobyl had a copy. That's absolutely wilde. Lots of blurbs from the likes of Bryan Ferry, Will Self, Nick Cave and...uh...Gavin Rossdale.
But the best is by Shane McGowan: "Dandy in the Underworld shits all over William Burroughs's first two books and makes Will Self look like a ponce."
And that's just the praise. Horsley (his name reminds me of Lee Horsley - star of Matt Houston an 80s-era TV show) also includes Conscientious Objections by, uh, various media folk.
Also purchased the widescreen edition of Shadow of the Vampire. One of the smartest horror movies in the past ten years.
***
I actually got weepy near the end. An epigram (of cocaine) on every page - guaranteed to blow your mind. Recommended at the price, for those with insatiable appetites (for destruction).
March 25, 2008
On every page there is at least two or three great one line zingers that's hysterical. On the surface he's Oscar Levent's grandchild - he must be to come off so witty. I don't fully buy his whole dandy identity, but nevertheless that doesn't make me like this book any less. He's a very (and I mean 'very') funny writer. A natural wit which is rare these days. To say I enjoyed reading this book is like asking me if I like Ice Cream on a very hot day He's a winner and afer reading the book I'm still not clear in what he does for a living or his passion. I am presuming he's a visual artist -nevertheless who cares he is a genius in the cutting mark - and that's an unique talent. Buy the book and read it and have a really great chuckle.
April 8, 2024
Horsley's polished phrases and witticisms are sprinkled here and there, but in between is a slog of a read.
I was disappointed in this memoir, and discovering he died in 2010 from a drug overdose makes what appears to be a pervasive suicide fetish all the more creepy.
I was disappointed in this memoir, and discovering he died in 2010 from a drug overdose makes what appears to be a pervasive suicide fetish all the more creepy.
July 27, 2008
I'm fairly compulsive about finishing books that I'm reading, but even at the halfway point, I'm just not interested in this. (And that's even after taking the book with me on several long-ish train trips, with no other reading material at hand--I think I napped instead.)
One problem is an entirely personal one, and to which I will freely admit: I'm not a huge fan of the memoir genre. Other people's lives, no matter how much crazy nonsense has transpired in them, hold less of a fascination for me than the stuff that people conjure up. I will say it loud, say it proud: gimme fiction.
But the other problem is that Horsley crams an average of three quips into every paragraph. The genuinely funny remarks, the really witty and Wildean observations, are diluted by his insistence on throwing everything at the wall and hoping that something, anything sticks.
I can see how other readers would dig it, and I suppose that the strange mix of bravado and insecurity that comes across in the prose conveys something about the performative/emotional space of the dandy figure, but I can't force myself to power through to the end of this one.
One problem is an entirely personal one, and to which I will freely admit: I'm not a huge fan of the memoir genre. Other people's lives, no matter how much crazy nonsense has transpired in them, hold less of a fascination for me than the stuff that people conjure up. I will say it loud, say it proud: gimme fiction.
But the other problem is that Horsley crams an average of three quips into every paragraph. The genuinely funny remarks, the really witty and Wildean observations, are diluted by his insistence on throwing everything at the wall and hoping that something, anything sticks.
I can see how other readers would dig it, and I suppose that the strange mix of bravado and insecurity that comes across in the prose conveys something about the performative/emotional space of the dandy figure, but I can't force myself to power through to the end of this one.
November 30, 2008
HAD to get this book by someone refused entry to the States due to moral turpitude...PLEASE. Are we one sad nation or what? Looks very promising so far. I bought way too many books at St Mark's Bookshop yesterday...
.....
my review, having finally read the book 7 months later:
The first third is in some ways the most interesting--Horsley and siblings as 'feral children,' neglected in a sort of mansion by alcoholic and out-to-lunch parents. The rest may not be as fascinating (at times tiresome), but Horsely is often very funny, and apparently, open and honest about his foibles, predilections and (mis)adventures as an outlaw in life and art, sex and drugs.
The last bit is really very good. I like a lot of what Horsley has to say about life, art, addiction. Some passages from the book's end (I don't believe I need to put a "spoiler's alert" here?):
"What about fame? We all thirst for it. Our ambitions burst like some brightly coloured insects from the earthbound grub. But then we get captured, chloroformed by convention, pinned down in little suburban boxes for the rest of our life. I have fluttered like a mayfly. I have danced my glinting puzzles over life's flowing stream. Mayflies may only live for a day. But so what? To live for the day is all that there is."
"Life is a tragedy. We get washed up on some random shore and spend our lives building shelters and waving at ships. Then the tide turns. The waves crash inward and sweep the lost away.
"We are left with a desert. We end up weeping alone in an empty church. Remember me, whispers the dust."
"You may look back on your life and accept it as good or evil. But it is far, far harder to admit that you have been completely unimportant; that in the great sum of things all a man's endless grapplings are no more significant than the scuttlings of a cockroach. The universe is neither friendly nor hostile. It is merely indifferent. This makes me ecstatic. I have reached a nirvana of negativity. I can look futility in the face and still see promise in the stars."
"Let's not carry on as if all things end well. They do not end well. Anything that consoles is a fake. I shall continue to lift up my face to the last rays of sunshine...I can allow the arrows to rest gently in my wounds."
.....
my review, having finally read the book 7 months later:
The first third is in some ways the most interesting--Horsley and siblings as 'feral children,' neglected in a sort of mansion by alcoholic and out-to-lunch parents. The rest may not be as fascinating (at times tiresome), but Horsely is often very funny, and apparently, open and honest about his foibles, predilections and (mis)adventures as an outlaw in life and art, sex and drugs.
The last bit is really very good. I like a lot of what Horsley has to say about life, art, addiction. Some passages from the book's end (I don't believe I need to put a "spoiler's alert" here?):
"What about fame? We all thirst for it. Our ambitions burst like some brightly coloured insects from the earthbound grub. But then we get captured, chloroformed by convention, pinned down in little suburban boxes for the rest of our life. I have fluttered like a mayfly. I have danced my glinting puzzles over life's flowing stream. Mayflies may only live for a day. But so what? To live for the day is all that there is."
"Life is a tragedy. We get washed up on some random shore and spend our lives building shelters and waving at ships. Then the tide turns. The waves crash inward and sweep the lost away.
"We are left with a desert. We end up weeping alone in an empty church. Remember me, whispers the dust."
"You may look back on your life and accept it as good or evil. But it is far, far harder to admit that you have been completely unimportant; that in the great sum of things all a man's endless grapplings are no more significant than the scuttlings of a cockroach. The universe is neither friendly nor hostile. It is merely indifferent. This makes me ecstatic. I have reached a nirvana of negativity. I can look futility in the face and still see promise in the stars."
"Let's not carry on as if all things end well. They do not end well. Anything that consoles is a fake. I shall continue to lift up my face to the last rays of sunshine...I can allow the arrows to rest gently in my wounds."
June 19, 2016
An okay read, very articulate guy, certainly had a very interesting life.
April 23, 2008
Well, what can I tell you. This seemed right up my alley. Disfunctional, rich, artistic, sadistic, once-cruxified, Sebastian Horsley had all the raw material for a great memoir. If he could only rid himself of the copious one-liners chapter after chapter, this would have been a great read. In-between attempts at wit, there are some good parts, and you get the feeling that Horsley is a very sad and damaged person with a great story to tell. But then he hides behind this wacky persona, and the narrative falls back into feeling like it's told to you by Auntie Mame. Which is fine. If you want to spend 328 pages laughing over quips. Horsely has a fine grasp of language, I'll give him that, but I would have prefered more emotion and less emoting.
March 25, 2011
Sebastian was a genius. He will be read about for years to come. His autobiography is the most honest I have ever read. I was fortunate enough to be a friend of his. I miss him so much.
August 8, 2008
This book is rather amusingly subtitled an Unauthorized Autobiography. It chronicles some fairly typical hedonistic experiments (in my experience of living in London) of a degenerate middle class Englishman called Sebastian Horley, a guy who loves glittery suits and nail polish but doesn't identify as gay (although he does dabble regularly in man to man sex). Reading it is like taking crack...really addictive and gives you a high. He is so self-deprecating that you can't really call him a pretentious tosser because he knows full well that he is.
Realising he is totallly useless at having relationships with women he decides to use prostitutes, sometimes up to four times a week. He also uses crack and heroin and tries to be an artist (without success). In a hilarious twist of events, Horley has been barred from entering the US for a book tour, on the grounds of "moral turpitude."
That in itself should make you want to read this book!
Realising he is totallly useless at having relationships with women he decides to use prostitutes, sometimes up to four times a week. He also uses crack and heroin and tries to be an artist (without success). In a hilarious twist of events, Horley has been barred from entering the US for a book tour, on the grounds of "moral turpitude."
That in itself should make you want to read this book!
March 10, 2009
Sebastian Horsley is unique. His memoir will appeal to anyone
with a voueuristic streak and a taste for the bizarre. This wild
man is in his various manifestations consummate dandy, writer,
alcoholic, druggie, thief, and whore chaser. He has packed about six lifetimes worth of action into his 40 odd years. Were this all
there is to the tale, one could easily forego the seedy pleasures
it offers in favor of well written whodunit. But Horsely, for all
his exhibitionistic hubris, is both honest and insightful, and many
of his achingly funny observations return to haunt you as you
go about your mundane daily affairs. This is a man who has suffered
greatly and not been defeated. His energetic, frantic, usually
excessive efforts to grapple with the challanges of his existence
and the most unusual answers he has given himself are fascinating.
with a voueuristic streak and a taste for the bizarre. This wild
man is in his various manifestations consummate dandy, writer,
alcoholic, druggie, thief, and whore chaser. He has packed about six lifetimes worth of action into his 40 odd years. Were this all
there is to the tale, one could easily forego the seedy pleasures
it offers in favor of well written whodunit. But Horsely, for all
his exhibitionistic hubris, is both honest and insightful, and many
of his achingly funny observations return to haunt you as you
go about your mundane daily affairs. This is a man who has suffered
greatly and not been defeated. His energetic, frantic, usually
excessive efforts to grapple with the challanges of his existence
and the most unusual answers he has given himself are fascinating.
November 19, 2016
Carole Morin author of Spying on Strange Men reviews Dandy in the Underworld and Sebastian Horsely's show Whoresley at The Outsiders 8 Greek St Soho London 9th August - 14th September 2013
Sebastian Horsley's autobiography, Dandy in the Underworld, is possibly his suicide note. A hilarious and heartbreaking love letter to himself, his story includes incest, love affairs with prostitutes - one of whom was the main beneficiary of his estate - and a perverse relationship with a notorious murderer who reinvented himself as an artist after release from 'life' imprisonment.
His autobiography unfolds like a drama and is funny and clever. Despite being a self-confessed narcissist, his book has a coherent structure and has been carefully written.
No one goes to a PV to look at the art, especially when the show is a celebration of decadent artist Sebastian Horsley who was famously crucified for his art with glitter nails at the millennium in the Philippines.
Being nailed to the cross without opiates is a true vocation - or totes bonkers. Either way unsaintly Sebastian's daring act makes Tracey Emin's condom soiled bed seem as risky as Auntie Nellie's on the maid's day off. You can almost hear Sebastian raise his crack pipe and say, 'Blow some gas out of your pompous ass, Trace.'
Given that the dress code to his retrospective, Whoresley at the Outsider's Gallery in Soho, was Dress Dandy; the crowd were a disappointment. Poor Sebastian must have been reclining on his chaise-longue in hell, with a silk mask shielding his eyes from dirty trainers and bodies which could benefit from less beer and more calorie free debauchery.
I wore the Chinese red silk dress I had on when I met the Scarlet Goth who got a slap for touching me inaapropriately to verify the authenticity of the fabric. He begged me to slap him again with my small white hand and blood red fingernails which perhaps reminded him of being crucified. His crucifixion nails are on display at the Outsider's gallery but disappointing clean of blood.
He died in 2010, possibly by his own needle, though Horsley's friends do not believe he committed suicide. He would have left a note. Though Dandy in the Underworld, published a few years before his death, may have been his suicide note. He died the night after the play based on Dandy opened at the Soho Theatre. It's a shame he wasn't cast as himself and too tired from the performance to take the overdose that killed him - by accident or intention.
Horsley had escaped his wealthy family in the neanderthal north for St Martin's Art School and lived in London's Soho for most of his life, with a sign on his front door:
This is not a brothel. There are no prostitutes at this address.
Though Horsley did write a poem which begins, 'I sold my bum in Soho...'
With a life like that who needs art? Yet Sebastian Horsley's paintings are almost good. He could maybe have been a first rate painter with a bit of hard work. But he didn't have time for early nights, his life was his art - the touchingly vulgar suits and hats, the decadent habits that seem charmingly old-fashioned in a world where people exercise and drink water to excess. As Shallow Not Stupid Sebastian said,'My fate lies not in the stars but in a star - myself.'
Death is never far away from glamour for a Soho aesthete. To quote from the Horsley's mouth, 'Soho used to be dirty sex and clean air. Now it's clean sex and bad air.'
www.carolemorin.co.uk
Sebastian Horsley's autobiography, Dandy in the Underworld, is possibly his suicide note. A hilarious and heartbreaking love letter to himself, his story includes incest, love affairs with prostitutes - one of whom was the main beneficiary of his estate - and a perverse relationship with a notorious murderer who reinvented himself as an artist after release from 'life' imprisonment.
His autobiography unfolds like a drama and is funny and clever. Despite being a self-confessed narcissist, his book has a coherent structure and has been carefully written.
No one goes to a PV to look at the art, especially when the show is a celebration of decadent artist Sebastian Horsley who was famously crucified for his art with glitter nails at the millennium in the Philippines.
Being nailed to the cross without opiates is a true vocation - or totes bonkers. Either way unsaintly Sebastian's daring act makes Tracey Emin's condom soiled bed seem as risky as Auntie Nellie's on the maid's day off. You can almost hear Sebastian raise his crack pipe and say, 'Blow some gas out of your pompous ass, Trace.'
Given that the dress code to his retrospective, Whoresley at the Outsider's Gallery in Soho, was Dress Dandy; the crowd were a disappointment. Poor Sebastian must have been reclining on his chaise-longue in hell, with a silk mask shielding his eyes from dirty trainers and bodies which could benefit from less beer and more calorie free debauchery.
I wore the Chinese red silk dress I had on when I met the Scarlet Goth who got a slap for touching me inaapropriately to verify the authenticity of the fabric. He begged me to slap him again with my small white hand and blood red fingernails which perhaps reminded him of being crucified. His crucifixion nails are on display at the Outsider's gallery but disappointing clean of blood.
He died in 2010, possibly by his own needle, though Horsley's friends do not believe he committed suicide. He would have left a note. Though Dandy in the Underworld, published a few years before his death, may have been his suicide note. He died the night after the play based on Dandy opened at the Soho Theatre. It's a shame he wasn't cast as himself and too tired from the performance to take the overdose that killed him - by accident or intention.
Horsley had escaped his wealthy family in the neanderthal north for St Martin's Art School and lived in London's Soho for most of his life, with a sign on his front door:
This is not a brothel. There are no prostitutes at this address.
Though Horsley did write a poem which begins, 'I sold my bum in Soho...'
With a life like that who needs art? Yet Sebastian Horsley's paintings are almost good. He could maybe have been a first rate painter with a bit of hard work. But he didn't have time for early nights, his life was his art - the touchingly vulgar suits and hats, the decadent habits that seem charmingly old-fashioned in a world where people exercise and drink water to excess. As Shallow Not Stupid Sebastian said,'My fate lies not in the stars but in a star - myself.'
Death is never far away from glamour for a Soho aesthete. To quote from the Horsley's mouth, 'Soho used to be dirty sex and clean air. Now it's clean sex and bad air.'
www.carolemorin.co.uk
June 18, 2020
Sebatian Horsley, artist and self-styled dandy, drew inspiration from the life and sayings of many men, from Oscar Wilde and Quentin Crisp to Mark Bolan and David Bowie. Unloved by and distant from his parents he nonetheless for much of his life enjoyed the wealth that came his way through them. He was fascinated by counter-culture and the underworld. The Scottish gangster-turned-sculptor Jimmy Boyle was for a while his closest companion. Tall and handsome, Horsley easily seduced both women and men, but he developed a strong attachment to purchasing sex with prostitutes. Yet in the second half of his life it was drugs that became his daemon mistress, from hashish to smack and crack and finally heroin. This book is a fascinating but also progressively repellent self-exposure, peppered with witticisms and paradox, many pilfered but others that he had thought of and then kept stored in handwritten journals. The narrative, like his life, is full of contradictions. While proclaiming love for at least two women in his life -- both conveniently called Rachel -- he was able to write that "As far as I am concerned, ladies are on this planet only as trumpets of my glory." Ensconced in a minimalist flat in Soho for his final few years he felt he had found his milieu towards the end, yet something drove him to go to the Philippines to be literally crucified one Easter, not out of any religious fervour but as a form of self-sacrifice or martyrdom. Or patricide, as he muses in the book. The postscript to it all, which any attentive reader could predict, is that ten years ago, after the book was published, he died of a heroin overdose.
June 2, 2008
I'm sure everyone who has written a review of this memoir has said this already, but...Oscar Wilde lives again. Horsley's writing also reminds me a lot of Mark Twain's. I just started this last night, but I love it already.
Now I have finished the book. Sebastian Horsley is a great writer and totally hilarious, but it was hard to stomach some of his subject matter. Three things that stand out are his descriptions of caking himself in his own excrement, having sex with a VERY VERY OLD prostitute, and being crucified--all of these by choice. I guess I should have expected this since I first heard of Horsley in a Yahoo news tidbit that said he was not permitted to enter the U.S. because of "moral turpitude." His response was that that was odd: "I have never drunk turpentine in my life."
Before, I mentioned Mark Twain and Oscar Wilde--I have to add Salvador Dali also. And this memoir also reminds me of Patty Diphusa by Pedro Almodovar.
I would definitely read another book by Sebastian Horsley.
Now I have finished the book. Sebastian Horsley is a great writer and totally hilarious, but it was hard to stomach some of his subject matter. Three things that stand out are his descriptions of caking himself in his own excrement, having sex with a VERY VERY OLD prostitute, and being crucified--all of these by choice. I guess I should have expected this since I first heard of Horsley in a Yahoo news tidbit that said he was not permitted to enter the U.S. because of "moral turpitude." His response was that that was odd: "I have never drunk turpentine in my life."
Before, I mentioned Mark Twain and Oscar Wilde--I have to add Salvador Dali also. And this memoir also reminds me of Patty Diphusa by Pedro Almodovar.
I would definitely read another book by Sebastian Horsley.
November 5, 2012
The last time I was in London, I saw an exhibit of some of Horsley's personal affects at the Last Tuesday Society, including the video footage of his crucifixion. Having never before realized that a person could BE crucified in this day and age (and certainly not by choice), I decided I needed to read this book. Sadly, Horsley is so wrapped up in self-loathing that he masks any vulnerability with humor, which really keeps the reader from feeling sympathetic to him. I found myself skimming through it just to get to the crucifixion, which ultimately was pretty anti-climactic.
February 9, 2013
I adored this book back when I read it, from the library no less! In 2008. I literally laughed out loud every few pages or so. This bloke is truly witty. One of the best anecdotes is about his annoyingly bland grandmother, who couldn't be bothered to say a bad word about anyone, even Hitler! Her appraisal of Adolf - "He was the best in his field." And what field would that be??? Megalomaniac? War mongerer? Again, LOL! Please read this insanely funny book. You'll nearly piss yourself laughing.
November 23, 2008
Horsely is the bad breath of fresh air that the world needs.
The best memoir I've ever read.
"Writing a book is, of course, a form of failure." Sebastian Horsley.
Here's what some of the reviewers said, "Horsley is a pervert who stands for everything that is wrong with British society today."
"An emotionally infantile spolied brat, a vapid poser, he has less talent than a used condom."
Horsley is Wilde reborn.
The best memoir I've ever read.
"Writing a book is, of course, a form of failure." Sebastian Horsley.
Here's what some of the reviewers said, "Horsley is a pervert who stands for everything that is wrong with British society today."
"An emotionally infantile spolied brat, a vapid poser, he has less talent than a used condom."
Horsley is Wilde reborn.
December 10, 2015
This is the most shocking book I've ever read, and i've read a lot of shocking books. Sebastian horsley has done a lot of things. He's been a crackhead, a gigolo, he's eaten his own shit and had affairs with both men and women. He's tried to kill himself.
The book gets bogged down when his life is mired in drugs, but all in all it's funny, entertaining, and outrageous.
The book gets bogged down when his life is mired in drugs, but all in all it's funny, entertaining, and outrageous.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 2, 2008
"When mother found out that she was pregnant with me she took an overdose. Father gave her the pills...Had she known I would turn out like this she would have taken cyanide." This is how the story begins and it promises to leave you in stitches in the end. I think I am already left with stitches and I am only in pg13.
Need I say more...*_*
Need I say more...*_*
October 20, 2019
I first became aware of Sebastian Horsley in 2000 when he attempted to have himself crucified as an art piece in the Philippines. Reading about it, and him, he seemed like a bit of a knob but 'eccentrics' and mystics (pseudo or otherwise) interest me, so I kept a small cutting file.
I was never very bothered about his autobiography when it first emerged 2007 but at £2 in a charity shop and hot on the heels of Trocchis 'Cains Book' (see my other reviews) it seemed serendipitous to read it.
It is a curious and generally irritating read. Horsley came from a rich background and spends much of his time feeding a vast drug habit heroin, crack habit, attempting (and failing) to be an artist and finally attempting (with a degree of success) to invent himself as his own work of art in the style of Quentin Crisp. This was done by spending £100,000+ on clothes (of bright hues) and imposing his will (and truly monstrous ego) upon his surroundings. Its perhaps worth noting that this was the age before facebook/instagram celebrity culture took off.
The book is written in what is meant to be (I assume) a deliberately Wildean/Crispian artifical epigrammatic manner (Horsley blatantly rips off Crisp witticisms - and acknowledges this) but as almost every paragraph tries to be an epigram, it becomes very tedious very quickly much as some of them are quite funny at times.
Horsleys parents are portrayed as drunken and sex addicted and the son seems to have gone the same way. There's a fair amount of sex- hetro and homo, (Horsley boasts of 1,000+ prostitutes) and of course drug scenes. His period on crack sounds truly horrendous and is a rare moment when one has some sympathy for him.
But overall, it struck me that the book is perhaps more intended as an art work in which he parades his life to shock us. We read about his major relationships (murderer Jimmy Boyle- another obnoxious character) and various wives and girlfriends but there seems to be a deliberate distancing by our subject in terms of his friends. He mentions being with Nick Cave and Sean McGowen (the latter of the Pogues) watching Cave shooting up etc but one has no idea how or why they intersect with him. Are they pals? Who knows.
Equally we have no real idea of why he underwent crucifixion- Christ had "profound style" the crucified Christ is "an image to be gazed at and adored" but he had "those dreadful clothes". Obviously he is connected to the art world, he goes to the Philippines with Britartist Sarah Lucas. How did he know her? We arent told. Thus the distancing is another pose and what might have made redeemed the book and actually made it 'readable'/informative/revealing doesnt occur.
I read a few obituaries for him before writing this review (he died in 2010 of a drug overdose) and they largely repeated the contents book. However some of the comments were from people who knew him and many described what a nice, generous and loyal friend to them he was.
Perhaps save yourself the money and if you must know something of him just go online. I think its what he would have preferred- you get pictures online and the book as an object has no style at all. Dont sully yourself.
I was never very bothered about his autobiography when it first emerged 2007 but at £2 in a charity shop and hot on the heels of Trocchis 'Cains Book' (see my other reviews) it seemed serendipitous to read it.
It is a curious and generally irritating read. Horsley came from a rich background and spends much of his time feeding a vast drug habit heroin, crack habit, attempting (and failing) to be an artist and finally attempting (with a degree of success) to invent himself as his own work of art in the style of Quentin Crisp. This was done by spending £100,000+ on clothes (of bright hues) and imposing his will (and truly monstrous ego) upon his surroundings. Its perhaps worth noting that this was the age before facebook/instagram celebrity culture took off.
The book is written in what is meant to be (I assume) a deliberately Wildean/Crispian artifical epigrammatic manner (Horsley blatantly rips off Crisp witticisms - and acknowledges this) but as almost every paragraph tries to be an epigram, it becomes very tedious very quickly much as some of them are quite funny at times.
Horsleys parents are portrayed as drunken and sex addicted and the son seems to have gone the same way. There's a fair amount of sex- hetro and homo, (Horsley boasts of 1,000+ prostitutes) and of course drug scenes. His period on crack sounds truly horrendous and is a rare moment when one has some sympathy for him.
But overall, it struck me that the book is perhaps more intended as an art work in which he parades his life to shock us. We read about his major relationships (murderer Jimmy Boyle- another obnoxious character) and various wives and girlfriends but there seems to be a deliberate distancing by our subject in terms of his friends. He mentions being with Nick Cave and Sean McGowen (the latter of the Pogues) watching Cave shooting up etc but one has no idea how or why they intersect with him. Are they pals? Who knows.
Equally we have no real idea of why he underwent crucifixion- Christ had "profound style" the crucified Christ is "an image to be gazed at and adored" but he had "those dreadful clothes". Obviously he is connected to the art world, he goes to the Philippines with Britartist Sarah Lucas. How did he know her? We arent told. Thus the distancing is another pose and what might have made redeemed the book and actually made it 'readable'/informative/revealing doesnt occur.
I read a few obituaries for him before writing this review (he died in 2010 of a drug overdose) and they largely repeated the contents book. However some of the comments were from people who knew him and many described what a nice, generous and loyal friend to them he was.
Perhaps save yourself the money and if you must know something of him just go online. I think its what he would have preferred- you get pictures online and the book as an object has no style at all. Dont sully yourself.
June 23, 2023
Borrowed from the work library and a recommendation from my friend from work who died a few years ago. Born to a rich uncaring industrialist father and a dypsomaniac mother, he goes through a dysfunctional childhood into dysfunctional adulthood. Naturally intelligent and witty, he made a killing in the stock market in the 80s and decided to splurge the lot on expensive attire, drugs and whores. Became an artist of sorts seeking the ultimate thrill beyond crack by getting himself crucified in the Philippines. For half an hour. For art’s sake. Not a self pitying autobiography but a man who lives to his own set of rules. Entertaining
February 1, 2019
Nihilist comedy at its best-dressed
Finally got around to reading this, and now regret not having done so sooner – have had it at hand for a decade at least. Harsh and funny, delightful nihilist, at times hard to stomach, but always with a raffish air, it is dandyism at its finest.
Finally got around to reading this, and now regret not having done so sooner – have had it at hand for a decade at least. Harsh and funny, delightful nihilist, at times hard to stomach, but always with a raffish air, it is dandyism at its finest.
March 22, 2019
I read this at 20 years old, freshly abandoned religion & naive as hell.
This book changed that. Many parts have played in my mind the decade since.
I'm a different person & can't comment on if he says anything racist or sexist or bigoted in some other way because when I read it the first time I wasn't paying attention to those things. What I remember though is that it's a fascinating read.
This book changed that. Many parts have played in my mind the decade since.
I'm a different person & can't comment on if he says anything racist or sexist or bigoted in some other way because when I read it the first time I wasn't paying attention to those things. What I remember though is that it's a fascinating read.
January 31, 2023
A prayer to death and nihilism. Each page dances between dandyism and self destruction. Sebastian’s propensity for self deprecation ( and defaecation) is alarming. Having survived a deeply disturbing upbringing it was no surprise that he would live a troubled life. His wit was monumental even considering the plagiarism. Rest in peace Sebastian.
April 7, 2022
Started off well but quickly went downhill into a rich man’s narcissistic mess. Too rich to work, too rich to care. I’m afraid I lost interest a third of the way in so couldn’t bring myself to finish it.
May 16, 2017
Brilliantly awful and utterly appauling
September 17, 2018
Every page has some amazing one liners. I'm sorry I never got to party with Sebastian
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