In Which I May Have Gained an Archnemesis

Consider this an update on last week's post on Bret Easton Ellis, noted for such accomplishments as wearing his ass for a hat, being a run-of-the-mill misogynist and he-so-dumb-he-stares-at-the-orange-juice-bottle-cause-it-says-concentrate*.

I've had one of those crazy busy weeks, but in the midst of the havoc I looked up the schedule for the London Literature Festival, hoping to budget my time and money to visit a few events.
(Books excite me. Authors excite me. My nerdiness has long been established.)

Guess who's speaking at the Festival in July?

None other than Bret Easton Ellis.

Bret. Easton. Ellis. I shake my fist at you!

Dude's becoming the Joker to my Batman! Or, well, maybe he's the Batman to my Joker. Because he's the rich white dude who's all about the status quo, and I'm the one screaming for change and upheaval in society for it to be inclusive for everyone**, not just the rich white dudes.

And case in point, I couldn't think of a single woman superhero to compare this to, since Hollywood doesn't make movies about female superheroes. ("But ... who would they save? They can't save men. That's what women are for. And they can't save other ladies. That's gay. Unless they're hot co-ed ladies. Then it's OK as long as men are watching.") The last superhero movie I can think of starring a woman (not in an ensemble, X-Men fans) is Catwoman. Catwoman sucked***. It didn't suck because it starred a woman, it sucked because it starred a CGI version of Halle Berry, and when it called for non-CGI (actors, I think they're called), the people in charge figured all it needed was Halle Berry looking hot with that-guy-Julia-Roberts-used-to-date, and there was no need for a plot. Like, not even a cameo by a plot.

When I told Mr. B that Bret Easton Ellis (I say his name like a curse word now) was coming to the Festival, he said I should print out my blog post and have Ellis autograph it.

A moment later, he changed his mind.

"You'd be pissed off for a week if you did that and couldn't say anything to him," Mr. B wisely noted.

True. And I do have a little dissertation to finish. I can't really afford a week of mind-numbing rage.

Though it would be interesting to ask him a few questions, particularly about his flawed understanding of the male gaze, there's no way I'm paying £10 (and the price of my sanity) to do it.



* That's a dusty one! Pulled it out of 1988, gave it a shine, wiped off the insulting "Yo Mama" off the beginning and voila! A joke that was popular when Bret Easton Ellis, noted this-joke-is-played, was relevant!

** Everyone. And I mean everyone. Every gender, race and sexuality.

Speaking of, the sad part about all this is that Bret Easton Ellis may very well be actively trying avoid being part of marginalized society himself by bashing women (in his speech and to pieces in his books). According to Wikipedia, Ellis has stated that he had a lover for six years, Michael Wade Kaplan, who passed away in 2004. Ellis does not claim to be bisexual, hetero, or homosexual, but instead says that he was not "interested in the [gay] lifestyle."

This is problematic, because there really isn't a gay "lifestyle" any more than there is a heterosexual one. Being gay isn't a choice. Calling it a lifestyle is much like calling gang life a lifestyle, or a drug user's life a lifestyle: It opens the door for those who believe being gay is a choice to come in and "correct" that lifestyle. You can get off drugs. You can be removed from a gang. But you can never stop being gay.

Whether or not Ellis comes out is not as issue for me either – heterosexual people never have to come out and say that they are straight. If he wants to keep that private, he has every right. But it is a missed opportunity to speak up for those who are not privileged, who are oppressed, and may never have the means nor opportunity to be who they are. Possibly to continue to be widely read by mainstream audiences, who enjoy misogyny, in an increasingly troubled book market. By sticking to the status quo, Ellis changes nothing, for men or women. He writes words about men who hack up women. There is nothing special or edgy or literary about that.

*** Catwoman sucked.
This is the second movie review ever run on Flâneur in the City. (The first was here.)
For real reviews, read Matt Brunson's Rotten Tomatoes page, linked on the side. For feminism and flâneuring and David Bowie, read me.