BitterSweet reviews... Darryl
Darryl by Jackie Ess, reviewed by Lucy Swan
I loved this book. Devoured it. Darling Darryl. Dearest Darryl. Darryl.
Darryl is a Hawkwind loving cuckold, a “cuck”. He gets off on subverting masculinity through watching other men fuck his wife. He gets off on being an embarrassment to men, or the idea of man, as he is looked down on by them. Literally. Eye to eye as they enter his wife. A shared experience of pleasure through very different perspectives. This lifestyle which he takes very seriously is lived out in Oregon in 2016 and becomes a vehicle of self discovery, as Darryl evolves beyond the this will do/is this all there is dichotomy of heteronormativity; marriage, house, children… I have it all/I have nothing. I’m happy/I’m not. As new people enter Darryl’s world, he begins to expand beyond the picket fence and into a new wholeness, where the grass is definitely greener, verdant.
Written in the vernacular, the reader is plunged into an interior journal of the protagonist — maybe it’s a blogpost of some sort, maybe it’s an internal monologue of relentless reflection — it doesn’t really matter. Running through it’s core is a torrent of wisdom at a fibre-optic pace with more power than even the most edited digital diatribe. There’s a familiarity in tone and form that links the book with Dennis Cooper’s The Sluts while Clive, a sinister vampiric character within the narrative reminded me of Closer and the ruthless bleeding flesh interrogation of the darkness possible in human interaction, experience, pursuit of pleasure or power and the dichotomy between the two. As well as our enduring fascination with these people that take take take, draining their subjects, subverting social laws of consent and mutuality, immortalising themselves in the process, becoming mythic villains. Feared. Revered. Protected, somehow. While on the other hand, whether online or offline, communities call out and cancel, cry abuse at situations of dissent or conflict, exacerbating wider society and the non-negotiable norm, when we should or could be calling in, accepting, supporting and facilitating growth or change or learning.
Jackie Ess is a writer, a trans woman of colour who has consciously chosen not to only represent women like herself. But her narrative is enriched with the emancipation of transness. Transition is omnipresent throughout the narrative. As it is in life: our constant state of flux, metamorphosing, becoming, transitioning. On each page we witness Darryl develop from who he was into who he is into who he will be, who he is becoming. Emancipated from the restrictions of gender, of sexuality as it’s implemented, conditioned in dominant society, Darryl, with the support of his community, becomes. The only character we come across in Darryl who is trans is Oothon, who in some ways becomes symbolic of the way in which we, all of us, take on digital personas that harden us. It’s not about Oothon’s gender journey it’s about the ephemeral temporality of identity as it is exists online. The prohibiting quality of labels that we stitch onto ourselves, brand ourselves with, title ourselves with, prohibiting growth and distorting the inevitability of change. Of the transitory phases we are constantly entering exiting orbiting. The opposite is what we witness with Darryl as he begins to accept his insecurities, his privilege and overcome an interior superiority he projected on others, ultimately it’s this embracing of vulnerability, of softness that allows him to develop that allows him to love and be loved in a way he’s never been capable of before. That, and his inheritance.
Throughout the pages is so much wisdom, so much work. It’s a book of countercultural significance. A kind of internet new narrative lived offline but rich with the intertextuality of post-internet generations, saturated with information as we are. We witness Darryl growing into himself in a way that was suppressed, subjugated in favour of a kinked heterosexuality that meant he could vicariously feel pleasure through his wife, before finally allowing himself to explore what he wanted. It’s a queering of time and self-discovery beyond the conventional coming of age years. A familiar narrative within queer writing but done in a refreshing way that feels new, timeless and significant.
However you identify (or don’t), this is a book about and for us, that reminds us of the complexities of the contents in everyones head, that reframes subcultures as culture, that extends kinks and fetishes to everyone, that is about sex without being about sex at all, that opens up dyadic lifestyles for entire neighbourhoods to be a part of and in many ways is a meditation on radical acts of kindness, generosity and empathy to ourselves and everyone, as opposed to passive compliance. That even includes a murder mystery within it’s pages. It’s a beautiful, genre-bending book — a jewel of the future that demands to be read, treasured, now.
— Lucy Swan, @ellllessss