Simon Morris Civil War (2018)
Where Creepshots seemed to ramble, following its own train of thought while expecting the rest of us to keep up, Simon Morris' Civil War is a more obviously structured affair. Peculiarly, the structure is a sequential assessment of the work of Guns N' Roses, track by track, album by album considered in more depth than I thought possible. Sweet Child o' Mine was okay, although otherwise I never really warmed to Guns N' Roses. His vocals always made me think of some over the top caricature you might see on the Muppet Show, epitomised by that bloody awful version of knock knock knocking on heaven's dowowowowowowaaarrrrrrrgh; but it doesn't matter because their back catalogue provides the perfect structural backbone across which Morris has pinned a forensic dissection of his own destructive and doomed relationship with a recent partner. It probably wouldn't have worked so well nailed to the discography of someone a bit more bleeding obvious, a bit more likely to appeal to persons such as myself.
The Civil War of the title seems to occur on all fronts, author against girl, audience, himself, readership, human civilisation - sad, violent, inevitable, but educational on some level, or at least it makes for a weird and fascinating read because even if the rest of us haven't been there, we've probably been somewhere similar whether or not we have the honesty to admit as much. There are a lot of raw nerves here, and at one point the book even describes itself as revenge pornography, which seems a little masochistic given that no-one comes out of it too bad and there are no names mentioned - although it probably wouldn't take too much detective work to deduce who Morris is writing about. As for pornography, Civil War occasionally invokes the subject without actually being pornography as I would recognise it, and while this aspect may make for uneasy reading in certain respects, it's really only the dark stuff we all have tucked away somewhere but choose not to express; and there's a refreshing honesty about the reportage of squelchier, weirder, occasionally more stomach-churning acts mentioned in passing and serving as markers defining the boundaries of the ordinary rather than as anything over which you might be expected to squeeze one out - and I offer that sentence on the assumption of it actually meaning something. I don't think he's necessarily expecting the rest of us to get turned on by the more aggressive material.
Civil War is a fucking powerful book, not least because this time it's very clear that Morris is in charge of the flow of images, that he knows what he's doing rather than simply channelling; and it's therefore probably his best yet. If you want to see what the world really looks like, walk right to the edge and turn around - and that's exactly what he's done here. Don't miss out on this opportunity to learn something.
While we're here, initial orders of the above came with a copy of Personal Ads, an Amphetamine Sulphate title available only to mail order subscribers and not actually for sale. No author is credited but it's clearly a collaboration between Simon Morris and Gabi Losoncy and is as such mentioned in passing in Civil War. It's a game of consequences or exquisite corpses, roughly speaking, played with personal ads written in the style of those found in swinging mags - so I'm told - reading in parts like a peculiar mash up of Chris Morris and William Burroughs. My favourite sentence begins, Nasty uncle forgot to buy toilet paper again…
Where Creepshots seemed to ramble, following its own train of thought while expecting the rest of us to keep up, Simon Morris' Civil War is a more obviously structured affair. Peculiarly, the structure is a sequential assessment of the work of Guns N' Roses, track by track, album by album considered in more depth than I thought possible. Sweet Child o' Mine was okay, although otherwise I never really warmed to Guns N' Roses. His vocals always made me think of some over the top caricature you might see on the Muppet Show, epitomised by that bloody awful version of knock knock knocking on heaven's dowowowowowowaaarrrrrrrgh; but it doesn't matter because their back catalogue provides the perfect structural backbone across which Morris has pinned a forensic dissection of his own destructive and doomed relationship with a recent partner. It probably wouldn't have worked so well nailed to the discography of someone a bit more bleeding obvious, a bit more likely to appeal to persons such as myself.
The Civil War of the title seems to occur on all fronts, author against girl, audience, himself, readership, human civilisation - sad, violent, inevitable, but educational on some level, or at least it makes for a weird and fascinating read because even if the rest of us haven't been there, we've probably been somewhere similar whether or not we have the honesty to admit as much. There are a lot of raw nerves here, and at one point the book even describes itself as revenge pornography, which seems a little masochistic given that no-one comes out of it too bad and there are no names mentioned - although it probably wouldn't take too much detective work to deduce who Morris is writing about. As for pornography, Civil War occasionally invokes the subject without actually being pornography as I would recognise it, and while this aspect may make for uneasy reading in certain respects, it's really only the dark stuff we all have tucked away somewhere but choose not to express; and there's a refreshing honesty about the reportage of squelchier, weirder, occasionally more stomach-churning acts mentioned in passing and serving as markers defining the boundaries of the ordinary rather than as anything over which you might be expected to squeeze one out - and I offer that sentence on the assumption of it actually meaning something. I don't think he's necessarily expecting the rest of us to get turned on by the more aggressive material.
Civil War is a fucking powerful book, not least because this time it's very clear that Morris is in charge of the flow of images, that he knows what he's doing rather than simply channelling; and it's therefore probably his best yet. If you want to see what the world really looks like, walk right to the edge and turn around - and that's exactly what he's done here. Don't miss out on this opportunity to learn something.
While we're here, initial orders of the above came with a copy of Personal Ads, an Amphetamine Sulphate title available only to mail order subscribers and not actually for sale. No author is credited but it's clearly a collaboration between Simon Morris and Gabi Losoncy and is as such mentioned in passing in Civil War. It's a game of consequences or exquisite corpses, roughly speaking, played with personal ads written in the style of those found in swinging mags - so I'm told - reading in parts like a peculiar mash up of Chris Morris and William Burroughs. My favourite sentence begins, Nasty uncle forgot to buy toilet paper again…
Personal Ads probably isn't essential, but if you happen to see a copy anywhere, grab it.
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