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Stewart Home: Blood Rites of the Bourgeoisie
Why does the art world hypocritically promote female creative talent but simultaneously fail to accord women artists the respect given to their male counterparts? Why are women so under-represented in top curatorial posts? Just what has happened to the feminist movement?
Using pornographic spam emails, and replacing the generic ‘he’ and ‘she’ with the names of leading feminist artists, Blood Rites of the Bourgeoisie delivers a vicious feminist assault on the pretensions and hypocrisy of the London art world.
With walk-on parts by Martha Rosler, Sam Taylor Wood, and Tracey Emin, sensational lost Belle de Jour transcripts, and missives from the underbelly of the blogosphere, Blood Rites of the Bourgeoisie reads like SCUM manifesto remixed by The Bomb Squad. Rushed to Malcolm McLaren for an endorsement, legend has it his final croak was, ‘feminism with balls’.
Stewart Home has a legendary reputation as a writer, artist and filmmaker. His novels include: 69 Things To Do With A Dead Princess, Tainted Love, and Memphis Underground. From 2007–10 he worked for Book Works as the commissioning editor of Semina, a series of acclaimed experimental novels.
Using pornographic spam emails, and replacing the generic ‘he’ and ‘she’ with the names of leading feminist artists, Blood Rites of the Bourgeoisie delivers a vicious feminist assault on the pretensions and hypocrisy of the London art world.
With walk-on parts by Martha Rosler, Sam Taylor Wood, and Tracey Emin, sensational lost Belle de Jour transcripts, and missives from the underbelly of the blogosphere, Blood Rites of the Bourgeoisie reads like SCUM manifesto remixed by The Bomb Squad. Rushed to Malcolm McLaren for an endorsement, legend has it his final croak was, ‘feminism with balls’.
Stewart Home has a legendary reputation as a writer, artist and filmmaker. His novels include: 69 Things To Do With A Dead Princess, Tainted Love, and Memphis Underground. From 2007–10 he worked for Book Works as the commissioning editor of Semina, a series of acclaimed experimental novels.
- GenresFiction
128 pages, Paperback
First published May 27, 2010
About the author
Stewart Home
96 books292 followersStewart Home (born London 1963) is an English writer, satirist and artist. He is best known for novels such as the non-narrative "69 Things to Do With A Dead Princess" (2002), his re-imagining of the 1960s in "Tainted Love" (2005), and more recent books such as "She's My Witch" (2020) that use pulp and avant-garde tropes to parody conventional literature.
Home's unusual approach to writing is reflected in the readings he gives from his novels: he recites from memory, utilises ventriloquism, stands on his head and declaims his work and even shreds his own books.
Home's first book "The Assault on Culture: Utopian Currents from Lettrisme to Class War" (Aporia Press and Unpopular Books, London, 1988) is an underground art history sketching continuations of dadist and surrealist influences on post-World War II fringe radical art.
Home's first novel "Pure Mania" was published 1989 (Polygon Books), and details a violent neo-punk subculture. Unmistakenly postmodern but nfluenced by surrealism and the nouveau roman, it pushes the appropriation of pulp tropes and use of repetition found within historical avant-garde fiction to such an extreme that some critics mistook it for a piece of low-brow writing.
Home continued in much the same vein with his next four novels, starting with "Defiant Pose" (Peter Owen, 1991) and continuing with "Red London" (AK Press 1994), "Blow Job" (published in 1997 but written in 1994) and Slow Death (Serpent's Tail 1996).
All Home’s early fiction collages in large amounts of prose from a wide variety of sources – and while it is often close in spirit to the work of ‘postmodern extremists’ such as Kathy Acker, the appropriated material is much more heavily reworked than in the latter’s books.
The novels Home wrote after the mid-nineties featured less subcultural material than his earlier books and focus more obviously on issues of form and aesthetics. Home’s sixth novel "Come Before Christ And Murder Love" (Serpent's Tail 1997) featured a schizophrenic narrator whose personality changed every time he had an orgasm. This was the first novel Home wrote in the first person, and much of the fiction he wrote after this utilised the device of an unreliable first-person narrator.
"Cunt" (Do Not Press 1999) is a postmodern take on the picaresque novel. "69 Things to Do With A Dead Princess" (Canongate 2002) mixes porn with capsule reviews of dozens of obscure books as well as elaborate descriptions of stone circles, while in "Down and Out In Shoreditch & Hoxton" (Do Not Press 2004) every paragraph is exactly 100 words long. "Tainted Love" (Virgin Books) is based on the life of the author's mother, who was part of the London subcultural scene in the 1960s. "Memphis Underground" (Snow Books 2007) has a long conventional literary opening that is slowly unravelled.
Home’s 2010 novel "Blood Rites of the Bourgeois" (Book Works) is to date his only work written in the second person. The plot – as far as there is one - concerns an artist hacking the computers of London’s cultural elite to infect them with modified penis enlargement spam. Reviewing Home’s incredibly weird campus novel "Mandy, Charlie & Mary-Jane" (Penny-Ante Editions 2013) for The Guardian, Nicholas Lezard observes: “I think one of the great virtues of Home's work is the way it forces us to address our own complacency.”
"The 9 Lives of Ray The Cat Jones" (Test Centre 2014) is a fictional exploration of the life of one of the author's more infamous criminal relatives. "She's My Witch" (London Books 2020), is a love story exploring an unlikely relationship between a fitness instructor and a heroin addicted witch. "Art School Orgy" (New Reality Records, 2023) is a 'BDSM extravaganza'. Before this Home published his collected poems "SEND CA$H" (Morbid Books 2018) and a book about martial arts films "Re-Enter The Dragon: Genre Theory, Brucesploitation & The Sleazy Joys of Lowbrow Cinema" (Ledatape 2018).
Home's unusual approach to writing is reflected in the readings he gives from his novels: he recites from memory, utilises ventriloquism, stands on his head and declaims his work and even shreds his own books.
Home's first book "The Assault on Culture: Utopian Currents from Lettrisme to Class War" (Aporia Press and Unpopular Books, London, 1988) is an underground art history sketching continuations of dadist and surrealist influences on post-World War II fringe radical art.
Home's first novel "Pure Mania" was published 1989 (Polygon Books), and details a violent neo-punk subculture. Unmistakenly postmodern but nfluenced by surrealism and the nouveau roman, it pushes the appropriation of pulp tropes and use of repetition found within historical avant-garde fiction to such an extreme that some critics mistook it for a piece of low-brow writing.
Home continued in much the same vein with his next four novels, starting with "Defiant Pose" (Peter Owen, 1991) and continuing with "Red London" (AK Press 1994), "Blow Job" (published in 1997 but written in 1994) and Slow Death (Serpent's Tail 1996).
All Home’s early fiction collages in large amounts of prose from a wide variety of sources – and while it is often close in spirit to the work of ‘postmodern extremists’ such as Kathy Acker, the appropriated material is much more heavily reworked than in the latter’s books.
The novels Home wrote after the mid-nineties featured less subcultural material than his earlier books and focus more obviously on issues of form and aesthetics. Home’s sixth novel "Come Before Christ And Murder Love" (Serpent's Tail 1997) featured a schizophrenic narrator whose personality changed every time he had an orgasm. This was the first novel Home wrote in the first person, and much of the fiction he wrote after this utilised the device of an unreliable first-person narrator.
"Cunt" (Do Not Press 1999) is a postmodern take on the picaresque novel. "69 Things to Do With A Dead Princess" (Canongate 2002) mixes porn with capsule reviews of dozens of obscure books as well as elaborate descriptions of stone circles, while in "Down and Out In Shoreditch & Hoxton" (Do Not Press 2004) every paragraph is exactly 100 words long. "Tainted Love" (Virgin Books) is based on the life of the author's mother, who was part of the London subcultural scene in the 1960s. "Memphis Underground" (Snow Books 2007) has a long conventional literary opening that is slowly unravelled.
Home’s 2010 novel "Blood Rites of the Bourgeois" (Book Works) is to date his only work written in the second person. The plot – as far as there is one - concerns an artist hacking the computers of London’s cultural elite to infect them with modified penis enlargement spam. Reviewing Home’s incredibly weird campus novel "Mandy, Charlie & Mary-Jane" (Penny-Ante Editions 2013) for The Guardian, Nicholas Lezard observes: “I think one of the great virtues of Home's work is the way it forces us to address our own complacency.”
"The 9 Lives of Ray The Cat Jones" (Test Centre 2014) is a fictional exploration of the life of one of the author's more infamous criminal relatives. "She's My Witch" (London Books 2020), is a love story exploring an unlikely relationship between a fitness instructor and a heroin addicted witch. "Art School Orgy" (New Reality Records, 2023) is a 'BDSM extravaganza'. Before this Home published his collected poems "SEND CA$H" (Morbid Books 2018) and a book about martial arts films "Re-Enter The Dragon: Genre Theory, Brucesploitation & The Sleazy Joys of Lowbrow Cinema" (Ledatape 2018).
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
August 26, 2016
Home is someone whose work I should be aware of and have eaten up like the insatiable cult-licker that I is. One essay in the RCF, an Alexander Trocchi preface (both excellent), and now this peculiar book published as part of seven-part series inspired by beat artist Wallace Berman, is all I have on the Homefront so far. The opening chapters in the second person are excellent and demonstrate a strong literary voice that can comfortably discourse on and parody literary, political and philosophical theory, with the knowledge the author knows what he’s talking about and revelling in his merry mischief. The central sections consist of online spam parodies (repetitive and somewhat aimless) and pornographic messages in the voice of Belle de Jour (the call girl who turned her sexploits into a UK breastsmeller), followed by a series of blog comments wherein the author responds to the allegations that he authored the Belle de Jour books. These parts lack literary artistry, and fall flat as satire since the references are too niche and peculiar to anyone except Homeheads, and the book seems somewhat incoherent, if brief and fun to read. More than a nodding acquaintance with his oeuvre would probably make this more pleasurable, as it’s no doubt aimed square at his cult fans.
December 28, 2011
Home moves the art of plagiarism as a writing practice into the age of spam and 'contemporary art' -- which turn out to be more or less the same thing. Chunks of it read like spam, or rather carefully constructed simulations of spam. Its a great version of what becomes of the written word in the internet era.
February 12, 2012
It’s been a while since Stewart Home’s last ‘novel’ (or anti-novel, as he describes his self-reflective, discontinuous intertextual narratives), at least by his insanely prolific standards. As such, the follow-up to the brain-bending and audacious ‘Memphis Underground’ (2007) has been hotly anticipated (all the more so on account of Home’s tireless capacity for building hype - and anti-hype - around his works. It perhaps seems strange, then, that it took him so long to ‘write’ his latest assault on the literary establishment, given that he didn’t really write much of it.
Of course, those familiar with Home will already be aware that he has made a career out of appropriating the works of others for his own ends, with one of his primary objectives being to challenge notions of ‘authorship’ and ‘originality’ (the line of postmodern theory that contends that originality is no longer possible is one that Home has placed at the heart of his literary practice. Over the course of the last ten to fifteen years, Home’s works have increasingly revelled in depthlessness and parody while moving further away from linear plot, and Blood Rites of the Bourgeoisie takes this to a whole new level. Of course, by new, I mean a whole new (old?) level of recycledness. After all, the concept of ‘Abstract Literature’ that frames the book in the opening chapter can be traced back to Dada and Surrealism, and to Brion Gysin, who invented of the cut-up method, subsequently made (in)famous as a writing technique by William Burroughs, and was motivated by a desire to bring advancements made in visual arts (namely the collage) to the written word:
‘Today, only squares can stand in front of a work of art whining “But what does it mean?” Confronted with a piece of writing, that is the only question that readers still do ask. Perhaps there could be abstract literature, as abstract painting. Why not? We wanted to see.’
Contemporary cut-up exponents, the likes of Kenji Siratori and Lee Kwo can be seen as pushing the parameters of abstract writing to somewhere beyond any logical conclusion. Home, of course, brings a twist to his freeform abstract prose, intersplicing his ‘own’ ‘narrative’ with the contents of spam emails as a means of rendering the ‘plot’ and its telling a kind of self-realising exegesis. As a device, it’s a well-conceived way of exemplifying the way our lives are impinged upon by our technology and the all-pervading spam emails. Not only are we destined to reproduce the conditions of our alienation under capitalism, but to become the products of our environment, and Blood Rites serves to replicate, and then amplify, the disorientating effects of information overload.
So, disorientating as it is, I felt a strange sense of deja vu as I turned the pages... first, because everyone’s spam is much the same, and the endless offers of the cheapest viagra, hot sexy girls and herbal remedies that promise to add length, girth and stamina all merge into one after a while, and second, because reading Blood Rites isn’t entirely dissimilar to the experience I had writing THE PLAGIARIST. Of course, I didn’t actually write THE PLAGIARIST, and consequently, I can’t exactly contend that Home appropriated my idea, not least of all because it wasn’t my idea in the first, second or even third place. Besides, Home – the man behind the ‘festivals of plagiarism’ in the 80s – would be unlikely to consider the tag of plagiarist to a negative thing. And why would he? It’s only precious tossers who delude themselves that they’re ‘original’ who are so protective of their work.
While trashing everything in reach and making art out of junk (mail), Home manages to pack in an awful lot in conceptual terms: the loose plot, in which spambots spew spam from the ever-switching narrators’ email accounts can be seen to echo Burroughs’ theory of word as virus, with viral emails multiplying and existing for no purpose other than exponential self-replication, while cutting in the names of various contemporary female artists with the more explicit marketing mails not only re-frames the adage that sex sells, but also contrives to expound (not for the first time in his output) the critique of contemporary art - and those who produce and promote and market and criticise and collect it - as being superficial and fiscally motivated: never mind the execution, it’s all about the concept and how it’s marketed. Perhaps I’m reading too much into all of this. But then, by diminishing his authorial input to almost zero, Blood Rites is Barthes’ theoretical ‘death of the author’ in practice, and the death of the author necessarily comes at the birth of the reader.
The appendices which occupy also make for an interesting read, excerpting blogs and their attendant comments. This gives a fascinating insight into Home’s ‘creative’ processes, and also of his use and abuse of the Internet as a place in which to play out his countercultural pranks. Provoking controversy and criticism from some quarters is half the fun, and has done Home’s reputation (or profile) no harm whatsoever. Similarly, the rumours that Home was the author of the Belle de Jour blogs and books were far from damaging, and a large section of the ‘novel’ is given to a lengthy email exchange between ‘Belle de Jour’ and ‘Suicide Kid’ that largely consists of the kind of ‘bad porn’ people either love or abhor Home for. Included in the appendices is Home’s blog post – and selected comments – on the revelation of the true author, Dr Brooke Magnanti. How many of the comments are actually penned by Home in other guises is anyone’s guess, although some clearly aren’t him working under pseudonyms – the ones I posted, for instance (and how many of the comments were actually me working under different pseudonyms, I wouldn’t like to say). Of course, it’s another example of filling space very quickly: copying and pasting pre-existing texts is a remarkable time-saver, but also returns to the questions of authorship and ownership: can anyone lay claim to words in the ‘net age?
Perhaps the days of enforceable copyright are numbered. Perhaps not. Either way, Blood Rites is a clever and often very funny debasement of art, literature and modern life. But be warned: it will mess with your head.
Of course, those familiar with Home will already be aware that he has made a career out of appropriating the works of others for his own ends, with one of his primary objectives being to challenge notions of ‘authorship’ and ‘originality’ (the line of postmodern theory that contends that originality is no longer possible is one that Home has placed at the heart of his literary practice. Over the course of the last ten to fifteen years, Home’s works have increasingly revelled in depthlessness and parody while moving further away from linear plot, and Blood Rites of the Bourgeoisie takes this to a whole new level. Of course, by new, I mean a whole new (old?) level of recycledness. After all, the concept of ‘Abstract Literature’ that frames the book in the opening chapter can be traced back to Dada and Surrealism, and to Brion Gysin, who invented of the cut-up method, subsequently made (in)famous as a writing technique by William Burroughs, and was motivated by a desire to bring advancements made in visual arts (namely the collage) to the written word:
‘Today, only squares can stand in front of a work of art whining “But what does it mean?” Confronted with a piece of writing, that is the only question that readers still do ask. Perhaps there could be abstract literature, as abstract painting. Why not? We wanted to see.’
Contemporary cut-up exponents, the likes of Kenji Siratori and Lee Kwo can be seen as pushing the parameters of abstract writing to somewhere beyond any logical conclusion. Home, of course, brings a twist to his freeform abstract prose, intersplicing his ‘own’ ‘narrative’ with the contents of spam emails as a means of rendering the ‘plot’ and its telling a kind of self-realising exegesis. As a device, it’s a well-conceived way of exemplifying the way our lives are impinged upon by our technology and the all-pervading spam emails. Not only are we destined to reproduce the conditions of our alienation under capitalism, but to become the products of our environment, and Blood Rites serves to replicate, and then amplify, the disorientating effects of information overload.
So, disorientating as it is, I felt a strange sense of deja vu as I turned the pages... first, because everyone’s spam is much the same, and the endless offers of the cheapest viagra, hot sexy girls and herbal remedies that promise to add length, girth and stamina all merge into one after a while, and second, because reading Blood Rites isn’t entirely dissimilar to the experience I had writing THE PLAGIARIST. Of course, I didn’t actually write THE PLAGIARIST, and consequently, I can’t exactly contend that Home appropriated my idea, not least of all because it wasn’t my idea in the first, second or even third place. Besides, Home – the man behind the ‘festivals of plagiarism’ in the 80s – would be unlikely to consider the tag of plagiarist to a negative thing. And why would he? It’s only precious tossers who delude themselves that they’re ‘original’ who are so protective of their work.
While trashing everything in reach and making art out of junk (mail), Home manages to pack in an awful lot in conceptual terms: the loose plot, in which spambots spew spam from the ever-switching narrators’ email accounts can be seen to echo Burroughs’ theory of word as virus, with viral emails multiplying and existing for no purpose other than exponential self-replication, while cutting in the names of various contemporary female artists with the more explicit marketing mails not only re-frames the adage that sex sells, but also contrives to expound (not for the first time in his output) the critique of contemporary art - and those who produce and promote and market and criticise and collect it - as being superficial and fiscally motivated: never mind the execution, it’s all about the concept and how it’s marketed. Perhaps I’m reading too much into all of this. But then, by diminishing his authorial input to almost zero, Blood Rites is Barthes’ theoretical ‘death of the author’ in practice, and the death of the author necessarily comes at the birth of the reader.
The appendices which occupy also make for an interesting read, excerpting blogs and their attendant comments. This gives a fascinating insight into Home’s ‘creative’ processes, and also of his use and abuse of the Internet as a place in which to play out his countercultural pranks. Provoking controversy and criticism from some quarters is half the fun, and has done Home’s reputation (or profile) no harm whatsoever. Similarly, the rumours that Home was the author of the Belle de Jour blogs and books were far from damaging, and a large section of the ‘novel’ is given to a lengthy email exchange between ‘Belle de Jour’ and ‘Suicide Kid’ that largely consists of the kind of ‘bad porn’ people either love or abhor Home for. Included in the appendices is Home’s blog post – and selected comments – on the revelation of the true author, Dr Brooke Magnanti. How many of the comments are actually penned by Home in other guises is anyone’s guess, although some clearly aren’t him working under pseudonyms – the ones I posted, for instance (and how many of the comments were actually me working under different pseudonyms, I wouldn’t like to say). Of course, it’s another example of filling space very quickly: copying and pasting pre-existing texts is a remarkable time-saver, but also returns to the questions of authorship and ownership: can anyone lay claim to words in the ‘net age?
Perhaps the days of enforceable copyright are numbered. Perhaps not. Either way, Blood Rites is a clever and often very funny debasement of art, literature and modern life. But be warned: it will mess with your head.
April 26, 2020
fucking insane
Read
September 24, 2012"Dans le cadre d’un canular artistique tu as prévu d’interrompre une performance censée avoir lieu à Hoxton Square. Il s’agit d’une reconstitution d’une enquête de la police scientifique visant à retrouver des restes humains. Tu fabriqueras de faux restes humains à partir d’abats de boucherie et de vieux os, puis tu dissémineras ces vestiges aux quatre coins du parc juste avant le démarrage officiel de la performance. Tu demanderas aux passants si, d’après eux, il s’agit de restes d’origine humaine ou animale. L’un d’eux sortira son portable pour appeler la police. La reconstitution sera annulée et remplacée par son double, une « authentique » fouille policière de la zone. Tu filmeras l’action autant que faire se peut ; ce canular ne saurait être considéré comme artistique sans archive." p.15
(traduction Maxime Berrée pour les éditions http://www.editions-ere.net/ )
(traduction Maxime Berrée pour les éditions http://www.editions-ere.net/ )
December 27, 2011
There is more information and an extract from this book at the following link: http://www.stewarthomesociety.org/luv...
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews