D o r th e s

D o r th e s

D o r th e s

I have long wanted to translate this review of Style, one of my favorite readings (I do not know if one of the best) that someone has made my book. I am very grateful to Allison Noelle Conner for taking the time to write and describe this which I translate here and the original appeared here: FULL STOP in English and titled Style - Dolores Dorantes. I start with the cover of the book (an illustration by Henry Darger) because it is from there, from where Noelle decided to start describing his adventure. Here it goes:

Style - Dolores Dorantes

How does the cover image prepare us for the breakdowns and reversals of Style, Dolores Dorantes? Henry Darger's painting depicts young girls making their way through water storms. Two girls in the foreground seem lost in a game of mime while others, in the background, seem overcome by uncertainty, fear or amazement. Voracious rays cross over cloudy sky. Has there been a disaster? The back cover is the continuation of the front but contains a disturbing surprise. The statue of a uniformed figure on the left, suspended in a brutal fight with a girl wrapping herself behind, tongue out. Are you hanging it? She mocks him? How to understand this vision of nightmare?

# 6 begins with images of branches crossing "the endless skin of the sky" that quickly changes to match the "us."

Strips of heaven you have, fervor, Strips we are. Living parts of a tree

Style is narrated by a tireless female plural voice, marked by the appearance of "us". They speak to the unknown "you", whose identity mutates randomly. Are you the teacher, the torturer, the master, the president, the lover, the foreman, the reader? You are all named, nobody and more.

We are yours. For your will and we want ours. Let's settle there. Warming up there. We run like the blood and lobelias of fear. We enter like freshness. The narrative revolves around a few recurring actions and images, creating an overwhelming sense of compulsion, accumulation, and being entangled in a trap: clusters of flowers, tongues, masks, straps, codes, visits to your bed. This furious choir that lives in the sky, uses "your mask of perfect presidency" although it does not belong of any place. They ask you to cover their mouths, to attack them with weapons, to receive blows. They want to destroy the marks of the State: offices, factories, schools. While you remain asphyxiated in your infinite network of rabid pursuit.

D o r th e s
D o r th e s

We await you beating like mines. Underneath and inside. Underneath and inside. Underneath and inside we are a sea of ​​ash bays. We are armed teenagers crossing the border.

A binary trap comprised on the surface. Here dual thinking is replaced by meditation at intersections - Dorantes points us to a place containing simultaneous conflicting energies. The text oscillates between demands, requests and potential / uncomfortable / subtextual / combinations between them. "Let your streak of birds pass over us" and return to "Amárranos, put us on the leash." Command and throw me out and show me the language: a streak of birds "reminiscent of" From this night it will always be night and you will never leave this bed : A long streak of birds and a presidency We come "

By means of repetition, Dorantes breaks down and reorders the language emphasizing its elasticity and its ambiguity. "Birdwatching" embodies an action, an essence, an effect, a warning, a denial. Its meaning is unstable, vibrant, it (des) creates itself in front of our own eyes. In their text, language is uprooted, mutated, restarted, denied. This phrase occurs frequently, a proverb hunt us: "This book does not exist". What to do with a book that insists on its own non-being?

This book does not exist. Everything said in the name of a love that does not last. The eviction of each line. The drug in which it has become see the blood.

The book does not exist. "It is a walking organism" going by, and disrupting our understanding of how we should move, speak, do, and act. Dorantes is especially interested in the dialogues between our styles of consciousness and how we move, speak, construct and act through them. In a conversation with Ben Eherenreich, he explained: "For a long time I have reflected on the conditions that keep us anchored to certain systems of power and that generate within us the reproduction of the same system that we criticize ... I have been thinking a lot about the mark left at the end of that playback process. "

Dorantes points out the many ways in which we can slip inadvertently
--Individual / collective, private / public-- within automation. The text is colluded with personal gestures with images of monitors, assembly lines, consumption and pollution. It is asking us to reconsider our own implications for expression and its consequences. Where is violence produced? What styles allow and encourage our conditioning, our reproductions? How can you be in systems that place you in a state of permanent denial?

Style rejects this logic of extermination - which can be disguised as work, as a nation, as protection, as literature, - undoing several modes. The expression becomes energetic, an unpredictable current hunt between two or more forces. You, an instrument of the repressive patriarchy, face the threads of its violent construction. We represent a knot without undoing: the ruthless can not divorce its actions by building a dispossessed state. They are conditioned by an impulse based on their destruction. Instead of reproducing terror, we rewrite the fury of the wall of the undiscovered and the suspense, which never end. At the end of # 10, the text mocks "we are your codes, a row of numbers for you to turn us in. Red and hot numbers, boiling." The next page continues:

11.- A row of waiting girls. A row full of questions. On which side of the thought is death more about? How many do you think we are? How did you become our teacher? Fervor? Birdwatching? Do you enjoy closing our mouths? Is this ambiguous? Can you hear the codes we are?

Related news