In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Hamilton continuedfrom previous page — promise of a gold region in which St. Joseph, Mott's hometown (he lives presently in Brooklyn), would be "hell-broth ofMulligans crossing to Oregon." The correspondence fabricates the most genteel ofrecognitions : "I tell you, much the most interesting thing about me / is that I am in China." The two sections go together, and yet it's painfully aware—"The Hermitage of Awareness," Mott titles his first panel—that its own coherence is but a thought, a book, like the person the speaker meets at a literary party, "seemingly unknown to themselves, when all the while you're watching their soul slip down the hem of their outfit and pool at their feet." Analects is best in its sympathetic identification with such moments of being caught out— the dupe of an account. Jeff Hamilton's poems have appeared in FENCE, the Denver Quarterly, and River Styx. He teaches in St. Louis. Touring Post-America Leora Lev Multifesto: A Henri d'Mescan Reader Edited by Davis Schneiderman and Phoenelia Yeer Spuyten Duyvil Press 221 pages; paper, $50.00 (signed limited edition) "The book transformed my brain into a 4-D Playstation pinball machine inscribed with hallucinatory and shifting topographies, whose aesthetico-cerebral-intellectual-neurological nodules are getting pinged by careening silver balls that trace, twirl, slam, and dream oracular patterns that hover in the air likefireworks while also enabling an exhilarating va et vient where you 're played but also get to play. " —Neurotrancer, cyborg mutant lovechild of William Gibson, William S. Burroughs , and Jean Baudrillard "Possession for the Post-Human Set. " — Cordelia Vidriola, illegitimate daughter ofJasper Forde's Special Operative Thursday Next and Umden Parke-Uine "Dude, before reading Multifesto I'd only heard ofSebek. the Crocodile god. in that Buffy episode, you know the one, Season Five, where Dawn's, like the key? And Gloria turns out to be a god and. . .well, this Schneiderman dude \ got it going with Sebek. and deferential time-space continuums, and destabilizing ofontoepistemological certainties . It totally blasts Matrix out ofthe water. Oh, oops...." — Keanu Reeves, on the set of Matrix 4: Frontloaded These are not amongst the apocryphal blurbs preceding Davis Schneiderman's astonishing and, if it doesn't sound too old-fashioned, beautiful text, but they might be. Multifesto: A Henri d'Mescan Reader is a fever dream road trip conjured by the Pet Shop Boys of postmodernism, Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari; and James Joyce, William S. Burroughs, Vladimir Nabokov, Kathy Acker, Genesis P-Orridge and Lady Jayne, fertilized by Sebek the Crocodile Deity, scented with the pungent bouquet of lilies, absinthe, and peyote incense. It becomes, or mimes, at various moments, text, tract, treatise, parchment, film, artifact, relic, genetic code, Derridean gloss, and computer code. It's startlingly exciting work. Indeed, traversing its pages feels like what consuming bushels of mescaline might be like (were one so intrepid), although the Möbius strip contours, perambulations, detours, vital bits perceptible even sous rature, and errant errors all mask missile-level precision, reproducing, but also departing from, any accidental structural disorder, ghost in the machine, drug-induced or otherwise. A central question that erupts with schizoid jouissance throughout the rhizome of this text concerns "collaboration." One of the shifting pairs, doppelg ängers, and antagonist-protagonist dyads that fight, merge, annihilate, and/or resurrect each other within the volume is the co-editor duo Phoenelia Yeer and Davis Schneiderman. Like any good academics, the two are studiously preparing an anthology of pre-WWII writings by one Henri d'Mescan. However, from the beginning, historico-literary mysteries cavort in vertiginous mise en abîme that Roland Barthes would surely have designated as the purest writerly jouissance. Both inter- and meta-textually, ontoepistemological undecidabilities abound. D'Mescan might be, or not be, the American Beat-esque writer Henry Mescaline, a self-rehabilitated persona meant to cover up d'Mescan's Nazi collaboration via the "Vichy Papers," a complicity that itself may or may not have been fabricated by collaborationists conspiring against him, and whose novel Outsourcing may or may not have "corroborated" his innocence. And from the onset, Schneiderman judges that Yeer has been "poisoned from...


Additional Information

Print ISSN
pp. 26-27
Launched on MUSE
Open Access
Back To Top

This website uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience on our website. Without cookies your experience may not be seamless.