#but...why are we romanticizing our horrendous little men?

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Targ stans are wild as hell man. Apparently there's a fan community for Maegor the Cruel????

[tadasvinokurblog]

‘Box Man’

Tadas Vinokur

‘Box Man’

N.B. This play is without scenes or acts.

The spectators will find the curtain closed. After the play commences and the curtain is raised, spectators will see a bourgeois study - a room that contains a desk (directed at spectators), a carpet, couple of drawers and a clothing rack with a women’s dress hanging on it.  Most importantly, there is a box on the stage. The box is sufficiently big enough to comfortably fit a grown woman.

On the wall, across the stage, there is a poster which says in neon letters: ‘Georg is full of shit!’.

The male actor sits at his desk. He is very well dressed. His looks should be immaculate, polished to the degree of male queerness within film noir. The model for the male actor’s overall looks should be Johnny from the movie ‘Gilda’. One of male actor’s shoes is untied.

The female actor is in the box. There’s a door at the back of the box - which audience can’t see - that will ultimately allow Laura to escape.

Throughout the play, the male actor is supposed to be working; I.e., he reads a newspaper, he scribbles something, he contemplates, he listens. Georg’s overall demeanor/attitude is a little manic. He suffers from bipolar disorder. He is often agitated/anxious. Mood swings are a frequent occurrence with respect to Georg’s character.

Curtain is raised.

Georg is reading a newspaper. Couple of moments pass. He puts the newspaper aside. Looks at the Box.

Georg (apathetically) This feels Kafkaesque.

Laura You’re mad! This circumstance is surely Machiavellian.

Georg It feels like I’m in a box..

It’s a little damp in here and my shoes are undone.

(Pauses) Ennui..

I was reading the news today, it turns out capitalism is a fickle creature.

It used to be in favor of boxed welfare, now - apparently - capitalism is reproaching that issue. (Pauses) It’s not really an issue though - it’s just that it smells weird here.

Anyhow, I need to act, I need to resist..

Either that, or neoliberalism will put boxes in the hands of the few.

Disparity with respect to boxes is very obvious already.

They will try to deinstitutionalize my asylum. Next thing you know, they will put boxed men - like me - in prison.

I shall therefore read about civil disobedience.

Where should I start?

Henry Thorough?

Ghandi?

Rawls?

No, I know!

I should tie my shoelaces first - After all, I ought to be able to stand up to injustice.

Georg ties his shoelaces.  

Laura (casually) My day was good.

Georg Good, I want you to be happy.

What is this thing behind my back? It’s slimy and hard.

Finds a chalice behind his back.

Right!

It’s the chalice I used during yesterday’s Mass. I was coming back to Jerusalem.

Oh, you should have seen it!

(with admiration) It was GRAND! Pious crowds cheered! People exalted me! Jubilations commenced!

It’s amazing what awe-inspiring things can transpire in my box.

I also had this soggy piece of tofu. Where is it? I had some coconut milk and a piece of tofu, blood and body!

(Anxiously) Where is it?

Without it I shall not resist, Without it - I can’t resurrect.

(calmly) I’m stuck in my box, I have to admit.

People will not show up for the eucharist.

Laura How was your day?

Georg You know how it was. I’m baring the box. Don’t ask me that.

Laura (apathetically) Fine.

Silence

Georg (restlessly) Well, if you really want to know..

Logistics with this box is excruciating.

By the time I’m at work I’m already weak, disabled, wrecked.

(sighs) I become a misanthrope at work. I despise those philistines around me. Their paltry existence gets on my nerves. However, I act as Moliere’s Alceste did - I try to be courteous, affable.

(thinks) You know, Laura, at work there is this lady - her name is Celimene. She keeps bossing me around.

But I don’t mind it. I mean, such behaviour is only fitting.

I love Celimene, she’s a lady of good grit.

I hate the others, they’re too courteous - they’re cogs in the system.

(disgusted) They’re slaves.

Scum.

Vermin.

Celimene is a lady that tells me how it is.

Oh, by the way!

I love you Laura.

Laura I love you too.

Georg As far as my love is concerned - it’s no charade.

True, I’m with the box, but I can nonetheless appreciate love. I learned this from Diotima of Mantinea.

(Hyperbollicaly) In the mean of the wise and the ignorant I attain love. In the mean of the box and the open-space I solidify love. In the mean of depression and elation I redefine love again..

Laura (interrupts Georg)  Perhaps it’s a case of bipolar disorder?

Georg Be that as it may, mortal nature is seeking as far as possible to be everlasting and immortal. My love is in the mean of two opposites - mortal and immortal. I mediate those opposites, hence - I love you.

Laura I don’t understand. Sounds like a bunch of platitudes.  

Georg Of course it does. I’m baring the box.

Guilty as charged!

Strike me - if you will - with electro convulsive treatment.

It’s a damn box! Only soundbites can reach you!

It’s a verbal hypomania - I will use ‘pressure of speech’ and ‘flight of ideas’, I will be punning and I will make humorous associations between concepts.

But I can’t prove my love to you, can I?

I can’t make love to you..

I can only talk love to you..

Laura I guess you can’t. Georg I can’t what?

Laura You can’t love me.

Georg (shouts) No! You wicked Celimene!

(calmly) My apologies, I didn’t mean to be scathing.

Listen, Plato said philosophy is love. And that’s absolutely crucial!

Like Diogenes, I sit here baring the box.

All I have is my sun. Well, in this case I only have my chalice. Can’t find the tofu..

(mutters to himself) there should be some tofu left on the altar..

What was I on about? (thinks)

Right.. Love!

(enthusiastically) Well, Rimbaud said we need to reinvent love.

That’s what I do here in this box.  

And you should appreciate, nay - you should be thankful, Laura!

Just, consider this for a second:

there’s disjuncture here, you roam around the world, I sit baring the box.

Our situation involves two people.

Two.

Two perspectives that are very different.

I can’t inflict upon you what Paris inflicted upon Helen - I can’t abduct you, I can’t put you into my box.

We would lose something, wouldn’t we? I wouldn’t dare to undertake such an escapade. Two perspectives would be lost. We would encounter each other - I would be a man with no box to bear.

A man with no box to bear  is no man at all.. Consequently, we are in luck. We are two people, and we construct the perception.

It’s not a perception of one person, but a perception of Two.

You see, through us - both of us - imagination takes power!

(solemnly) L'imagination prend le pouvoir!

Laura What’s wrong with encountering each other?

Georg Why do we have to get bogged down in these quaint, romantic cliches? It’s much better this way - this situation makes us equal.  

This situation is egalitarian, we participate mutually through each other’s perspective.

If you had been a woman with a box, that wouldn’t have made sense - we couldn’t encounter each other at all. We would be blind, deaf, oblivious..  

Now, It’s a perfect match, isn’t it?

I sit here, you wander around over there..

We don’t have to worry about the encounter!

No, love has nothing to do with an encounter.

We are better protected this way - if we were to see each other we would not live up to each other’s expectations.

Imagine us confronting the corporeality of each other?

That would be obscene, grotesque..   

(emphatically) Horrendous!

Now, luckily, we know exactly where we stand - I have a box and you don’t.

Simple as that.

Remember Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde? Well, Laura, you see what happens when two people deprive themselves of boxes?!

Sad!

Tragic - very bitter indeed!  

One ought not to tear the confines between Beatrice and Dante! By the same token, I shouldn’t be deprived of my box.  

(silently) Apparatchiks will take me to prison, soon.

Very soon.

I shall blame R. D. Laing… (pauses)

Indeed, come to think of it - I’m much like the florentine bard.

You will take me to heaven and I will lurk there in a box - I will sing the dithyramb.

You know, if this box is worth a damn, it is because this box forces Dionysius to jubilate.

All my quips aside, really! And I’m not talking about myself. No. With or without me - this box is special.

That’s where the events transpired - I came back to Jerusalem. If it wasn’t a box it would be the holy grail. With some tofu inside.

(mutters quietly, looks around the room) Can’t find it. There was the liturgy and then the rite, a little tefillah.. Where could it be? Perhaps deacon took it.

No, I’m certain he was on secondment to Damascus.

I hope he is able-bodied.

I worry about him, he’s a feeble man - prone to epilepsy.

(Saddened) Ennui, ennui again..

Lack of tofu.

Dreadful privation.

And to top it all of - they might take me. They really can! I communicate authentic, vivid experiences, verisimilitudes.

(thinks)

They’re supposed to contribute to my schizophrenia, they mustn’t affirm my identity, let alone romanticize my trauma. Again, I blame Szasz.

(growls, fidgets)

Going back to the subject of sex-antagonism.. Was that what we talked about? Or was it love?

Doesn't matter - the crux of the matter is that it’s not over.

Laura What’s not over?

Georg Well, as Rebecca West said, it’s not over.

Laura What is?

Georg Sex-antagonism. But don’t be dazed just yet! I love you nonetheless.

Laura Love you too.

Georg That’s how we overcome said antagonism - I sit here, baring the box.

Castrated and - I know, it might be of surprise to you - a little anxious.

Really.

Somebody might damage the most important of my jewels and frankly - I’m experiencing a little bit of restlessness.

I’m afraid one day I will not be able to tend my box anymore.

Somebody might show up and say that the existence of boxes does not entail the identity of a boxed man.

And then they will take it away, I swear.

Once, they actually did try to take it away. (sighs)

I was in between of ages three and five. I played with my favorite tin soldier by the name of Werther. Once, Werther lost the battle of Leipzig. It was just a matter of bad luck.

A trifle, a non-event!

However, the parent of the same sex nonetheless approached me, disciplined me for not appreciating the gravity of the situation and threatened to damage my box.

Then I got expelled to the Elba orphanage. From that point on, I developed an unconscious fear of damage that could be inflicted upon my box.

God forbid!

It could be taken away! (calmly) I swear.

Hence, as long as I still bear the box, you should remember how democratic this situation is: it’s not a monologue of the box, but a dialogue of two. I put forth a thesis, you answer with an antithesis. I sit in the box - you roam out there. Free like the feminine of Goethe's likings. Unfettered.

Don’t forget that, my dear Celime..Laura.

Laura I bought myself new earrings today.

Georg They look great.

Laura You’re no witness to my purchases.

Georg Are you saying I can’t appreciate your accessories because I’m in this box? Nonsense.

Listen, Laura, earrings are great - Shakespeare wore it.

I wouldn’t do that though - I have no penchant for body modification.

For me, committing to a body by altering it means sitting in a box and pretending that I’m galloping in the meadow while the rest of the laymen yearn for my carnal, mutated, fleshy organic mass.

That would entail servitude - scopophiliac schmoozing between master and the slave.

I have no appetite for titillation of master’s gaze.

I’m closed.

I’m baring the box, and hence I’m liberated. Shackled.  

No one can observe, monitor or eyeball me.

There’s no tacticity, voyeurism - mere sound-bites coming out of the black abyss..

(thinks)

Earrings!

How would that look?

Laura Are you asking whether they look good on me?

Georg No, you sweet scoundrel. I know it looks marvelous. I’m asking in what way do they look so dazzling?

Out of mere curiosity I voice the latter interest.

If I’m not galloping in the meadow - surely you are.

Unrestricted soul can readily enlighten the tethered one, oh mistress - set me free.

I therefore want to know: where do those earrings appear in the spur of the moment?

For example, do they hang or do they clasp?

Are they gold or silver?

Are your ears at ease when you wear them?

Are you conscious of wearing the earrings while you do?

If yes. Do you wear the earrings because you endure the stimuli?

If yes. Can one bear an accessory that would be strictly extraneous without the overpoweringly visceral reminder that one is a coquette that accessorizes?

If you’re the lady that accessorizes, do you accessorize for me, for my dreams?

For my affliction and jubilation when I’m situated in a dark, humid box?

If that is the case, can you be my wish-fulfillment then?

Can my dreams relieve me of the pain that I feel when I’m no witness to your earrings?

Will the dream-work soothe my dementia?

Will I displace my grudges by positioning your earrings within the illusionary mise en scene?

Will I condense my fright, anguish, lust, claustrophobia onto the earring?

Surely, that might happen, but first I need to fathom the following:

(slowly) Do they clasp or hang?

Gold or silver?

Are they small or large?

What style are they?

Are they vintage, contemporary?

Can one detect symbolism in them?

Laura is silent.

One has to imagine a mirror,

I see you, Laura, in that mirror,

wearing earrings, tenderly awry,

flesh-and-blood of the picture effortlessly curbed,

Phenomena of your attributes soars through the warped insignia,

Your earrings glide within unruly dream-work,

They fuse, proliferate, like shreds of paper in windswept dusk,

Madonna, in a room of her own - gripping 500 pounds,

Proud and resolute in her monumental deeds,

Like George Eliot, though without phallocentric boxes,

Illustrious in her uncluttered meadow,

Like Shakespeare’s sister, yet without a tainted body,

Eschewing hindrances - trumping obstacles,

Proving suffragists passe,

Creating new instruments,

Inventing, molding, shaping future,

Serving avocado toast for breakfast!

With earrings, tremendously compelling,

Synecdoches of ecriture féminine,

Laura becomes, she becomes a woman,

Accepts masculine values and harnesses history,

Doesn’t cling to the privileges of the Box,

Becomes a full-scale human being,

At the great moment of awe - it knocks me down,

When I gaze at you, out there, autonomous and apathetic,

No interest in me - I recall Rita Mae Brown,

Then I know - you will not make love to me.

You were never meant to encounter me, touch or caress me, Even if you wished for it - we know it’s erroneous!  

I’m the monster, phantom, leppard of the Box. Utterly beneath you!

You wield the history - unboxed.   Laura, paris veut une masse! Relinquish fleshy intimacy and wear your earrings proud!

(pause)

You wield the history, unboxed..

I know this, because I’m in the box,

The box, that deems me Other,

Fixed, like Odysseus’ duty

Stagnant, threatened by the inevitable - prison,

Natural lump at the center of the burgeoning space ,

Box, that renders me mystical, exotic and veiled,

Confused male mystique,

A non-human, that will be brought to justice,

Now, (laughs) I’m denied justice due to social deviance - (screams) THE BOX!

They will separate psychiatry from the state,

Then they will castigate involuntary treatment,

They will give me legal rights,

And I won’t find my tofu.. My flock won’t assemble! No doubt about it!

Don’t abolish insanity defense,

Insane, they require Boxes!

Like junkies need dope, comedians need tyrants,

Mad need their cells!

Hence I demand, I demand coercive box-policy!

While you, Laura, go! Wield the history! Godspeed!

Laura Georg, we should wield our relationship first - tell me, where we going to live from September on?

Georg (emphatically) Laura, isn’t clear that I’m stuck here?

(mutters) unless of course, they will take me..

Laura Oh, I forgot to tell you, I met this person.

I told them about your box.

Silence

Georg What do you mean?

Laura I told them about the box.

I told them about the tofu, chalice, coconut milk, Jerusalem - the whole lot! The person knows that you’re afraid of someone taking your box.

Georg That’s private. I mean, such information is very delicate. You know that, right? Laura?

Laura This person had some good suggestions though, they can help me to help you!

Georg There is nothing you can help me with. Just settle down and be free!

Stay there and live . . . . . stay there and blossom . . . . stay there and thrive! . . . .Stay there and begin to fathom how lucky you are . . . . . . stay and roam, wander - meander gleefully . . . . . Stay bodily, let loose the ethos . . . . .Like the Cartesian that once ruled the dictum . . . . . Bow! . . . . Reshape yourself with intellectual prowess,  

(melancholically) settle down, kind Laura, settle down...

Forget Hans Castorp’s x-ray - disavow your flesh!

Idle, Laura, Idle!

With no box to bear - your agency is immortal!

With no box to bear - you can stay there . . here - at liberty!

With no box to bear - dare to use your own reason!

Idle! Disseminate the erudition!

With no box to bear - you are the Gaia without Chaos,

Without male assistance - open up the skies! Where boxes, like gods and druids, are bereft of life!

Settle down, Laura! Observe me!

. . . . . Look at me! . . . .  a captive of Tartarus.

Me? ‘I am body and soul!’ - I assert this due to the box I bear,  

Like Zarathustra, I perform the box - I perform my body,  

My spirit is the accomplice to the box,

A trifle without it!

Bid farewell to the box - become dumb, become imprisoned!

Bid farewell to the box - abdicate fidelity to ethics. To you, Laura!

Bid farewell to the box - be a slave to the temporality of instance!

No loyalty, no allegiance, no devotedness - no reciprocity!

Unaware of eternal recurrence - I would endure the metonymy without sacrifices of the Jester!   

Laura You wish that everybody had boxes?

Georg For some of them - it’s not a matter of choice.

Some of my parishioners are members of the political society, they wage bloodless war against the naysayers - the boxed men and women, members of the civil stratus.  

They would rather see proletariat imprisoned within the gig economy.

Wherein you constantly reinvent yourself - construct a plethora of masks and spectacles.

To quote Kierkegaard: ‘Do you know that there comes a midnight hour when every one has to throw off his mask?’  

Do you know, Laura?

I can love you, because I can reveal myself. To state the obvious - I’m the Box.

No spectacles here, no ploys or charades.

I say mea culpa, but that is the truth of the matter..

Can one say this even more crudely? I’m the hamartia! The serpent! Persona non grata! Seed of the serpent!

(sighs)

Elephant in the room..

Laura I’m actually really intrigued - I want to make you squirm! Oh, dapper, you!

Georg! The forbidden fruit!

You will shriek and howl.. (thinks)

(casually) But that’s just inevitable..

I have to test your capacity to reveal yourself - your buttox,

your penis,

your skin,

your saliva.

Until it fidgets, drips or is rendered stiff - I will not capitulate.

Georg (anxiously) What do you mean? You’re mad! I’m barred from you, Laura. You can’t change me, I’m already a pariah - a Boxed man.

Through my bowels currents of revolution flow.

Laura  Even a boxed man is not impervious to stagnation.

Georg Either kill me or take me as I am, because I’ll be damned if I ever change.

Laura I will call you Juliette. You hear me, Georg? I will call you Juliette!

You’re in the box, does your name even matter?

Don’t be afraid - I will merely set your body free.

Now, Juliette, allow me to see you!

Georg slowly starts undressing, he is confused and petrified. Georg’s hands are shaking.

Georg Stop this interrogation, I demand you, Laura!

This is an infringement of my privacy!

Your words, they penetrate, they mutilate my Box.

I thought we had an understanding - we partake in the relationship between two equals.

We cooperate in the dialog between the free and the fettered.

You roam out there - I sit in the Box.

Simple as that.  

We embrace the experience of the world from the perspective of difference.

Listen, Laura, life is being made - no longer from the perspective of one, but from the perspective of two!

Georg puts on a woman’s dress.

Laura begins kicking, punching the walls of her box.

Georg Stop it!

You can’t see me!

I won’t allow it.

You sweet virago!

You can’t take away my box!

You little scoundrel!

Laura (screams) I’ll show you the world. You said you were orphaned, Juliette?

(brazenly) Would you like to meet Noirceuil and Saint-Fond?

You could be their mistress, Georg!  

Anatomically boxed in a male body,

You could easily be feminized!

Aren’t you goal oriented, Juliette?

‘L’impossible Monsieur Juliette’!

Georg Stop it! Don’t damage my box! You damn Celimene!

Laura You committed a crime, Juliette! A serious one at that! Remember the robbery? When you wore men’s clothing and you robbed me of my box?

Georg You’re delusional.  (starts pacing nervously around the stage, makes grimaces, grotesque hand gestures)

Music . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Laura keeps on trying to escape - to break through. Some scratching, moaning, gasping can be heard.  

Laura - Music (together) Remember. . . what . . . . . Noirceuil. . . . . . asked you to do? . . . . . . . . . . . . Juliette? . . . . . He asked you. . . . . . . . to worship his . . . . . . . erect . . . . penis . . . . . . . . . . . . . You probably . . . . . . are aware . . . . . . . . how dangerous . . . . . . . are men . . . . . . . .when their boxes are erect . . . . . . . . . . . sometimes I think . . . . . they would just love it . . . . . . . . if the whole . . . . . . . . . . universe would . . . . . . .cease to exist . . . . . . . while . . . . . . the box is still erect! . . . . . .Moberti said that! . . . . . . . . . . . Remember, Juliette?. . . . . . . . Georg? . . . . . Who has the box? . . . . . .Can you answer me that? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Your fright . . . . . . Your angst was always belated . . . . . . my lack of box . . . . . . . . . my absence . . . . . . . . . was . . . . always secondarily so . . . . . . through . . . . . . . the specular turn . . . . . . . . . you arrived at my genitals and . . . . . . . . said ‘Lack’! . . . . . . . . . . the anxiety of castration . . . . . . . . . . .became coherent . . . . . . . . when you looked at me . . . . . . . . . .and fathomed . . . . . . my present absence . . . . . . . . my ability to move while staying . . . . . . . . my ability to roam while settling down. . . . . . . my present absence of the box . . . . . . the penis . . . . . . . . Binaristicaly . . . . . . you . . . . . put my clitoris . . . . . . . under . . . . . the narcissistic ideal . . . . . . . . . . . under the . . . . . . atrophied Positivity! . . . . . . . You thought . . . . . . you stage . . . . . your own servitude? . . . . . . . By shackling yourself? . . . . . . How is Dominatrix . . . . . . .  a free agent?  . . . . . .  Juliette?! . . tell me! . . . . . . . . I could not even . . . . . carry out violence! . . . . . . . I was rendered . . . . . . cold and apathetic . . . . . .the moment . . . . . you instigated . . . . a theatrical . . . . . . . . reciprocity . . . . . . . . . . . one based on . . . . . . . . . . suspension of violence . . . . . . . . through the endless . . . . . . repetition of the . . . . . . . interrupted gestures . . . . . . . . . . . . Juliette! . . . . . . . . .  Georg! . . . . . . you establish . . . . . .  you decided . . . . . what I am to think about you . . . . . . . . . how should I feel . . . . . .what earrings I should wear . . . . . . . . you assumed the stance . . . . . of the stage . . . . . director . . . . . . . . and kept explaining . . . . . . . the parameters . . . . . . . of our ‘boxed’ situation . . . . . . the most intimate desires . . . . . . became . . . . . . . objects . . . . . . . of contract . . . . . . . . and composed . . . . . . . . . . consultation! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and you have never . . . . . . even seen me! . . . . . . Through point de capiton . . . . . . . you communicated me . . . . . .through . . . . . . signification that is limited . . . . . . .retroactive . . . . . . . .within . . . . . the limited . . . . . . boxed . . . . . . bounded . . . . . . .context . . . . . . . . . . . when the materiality of the boxes . . . . . . unfold . . . . . Juliette! . . . . . . you will comprehend the  . . . . . . . excess materiality . . . . . . . which . . . . . . has no boxes . . . . . . No boxes! . . . . . There is no Man in the Box! . . . . . . Juliette! . . . . . . . This is about . . . . . . . the search . . . . . . for libertines . . . . . .who . . . . . could . . . . . strike you with . . . . . the thunderbolt-phallus . . . . . . . after which there is no box that would allow to scrutinize . . . . . nature! . . . . . . . There’s only . . . . . . the box . . . . . and the nature . . . . that will devour you . . . . . . . . obliterate you . . . . . . .There is no man in the Box, Julliette!  

Laura finally finds a way to escape the box. Immediately leaves the stage. Doesn’t look at Georg.

Georg stops nervously pacing. Picks up his chalice. Sits down next to the desk, places the chalice in the center of the desk. Takes the piece of tofu out of the drawer - places it on the table. Looks at the cornucopia on the desk and smiles. Georg is happy.

Slowly raises the Tofu above his head.  

Georg The body of Juliette! (screams out triumphantly)

Raises the Chalice up.

Georg The blood of Juliette!

N.B. Curtain drops.

The End

[tadasvinokur]

‘Box Man’

Tadas Vinokur

‘Box Man’

N.B. This play is without scenes or acts.

The spectators will find the curtain closed. After the play commences and the curtain is raised, spectators will see a bourgeois study - a room that contains a desk (directed at spectators), a carpet, couple of drawers and a clothing rack with a women’s dress hanging on it.  Most importantly, there is a box on the stage. The box is sufficiently big enough to comfortably fit a grown woman.

On the wall, across the stage, there is a poster which says in neon letters: ‘Georg is full of shit!’.

The male actor sits at his desk. He is very well dressed. His looks should be immaculate, polished to the degree of male queerness within film noir. The model for the male actor’s overall looks should be Johnny from the movie ‘Gilda’. One of male actor’s shoes is untied.

The female actor is in the box. There’s a door at the back of the box - which audience can’t see - that will ultimately allow Laura to escape.

Throughout the play, the male actor is supposed to be working; I.e., he reads a newspaper, he scribbles something, he contemplates, he listens. Georg’s overall demeanor/attitude is a little manic. He suffers from bipolar disorder. He is often agitated/anxious. Mood swings are a frequent occurrence with respect to Georg’s character.

Curtain is raised.

Georg is reading a newspaper. Couple of moments pass. He puts the newspaper aside. Looks at the Box.

Georg (apathetically) This feels Kafkaesque.

Laura You’re mad! This circumstance is surely Machiavellian.

Georg It feels like I’m in a box..

It’s a little damp in here and my shoes are undone.

(Pauses) Ennui..

I was reading the news today, it turns out capitalism is a fickle creature.

It used to be in favor of boxed welfare, now - apparently - capitalism is reproaching that issue. (Pauses) It’s not really an issue though - it’s just that it smells weird here.

Anyhow, I need to act, I need to resist..

Either that, or neoliberalism will put boxes in the hands of the few.

Disparity with respect to boxes is very obvious already.

They will try to deinstitutionalize my asylum. Next thing you know, they will put boxed men - like me - in prison.

I shall therefore read about civil disobedience.

Where should I start?

Henry Thorough?

Ghandi?

Rawls?

No, I know!

I should tie my shoelaces first - After all, I ought to be able to stand up to injustice.

Georg ties his shoelaces.  

Laura (casually) My day was good.

Georg Good, I want you to be happy.

What is this thing behind my back? It’s slimy and hard.

Finds a chalice behind his back.

Right!

It’s the chalice I used during yesterday’s Mass. I was coming back to Jerusalem.

Oh, you should have seen it!

(with admiration) It was GRAND! Pious crowds cheered! People exalted me! Jubilations commenced!

It’s amazing what awe-inspiring things can transpire in my box.

I also had this soggy piece of tofu. Where is it? I had some coconut milk and a piece of tofu, blood and body!

(Anxiously) Where is it?

Without it I shall not resist, Without it - I can’t resurrect.

(calmly) I’m stuck in my box, I have to admit.

People will not show up for the eucharist.

Laura How was your day?

Georg You know how it was. I’m baring the box. Don’t ask me that.

Laura (apathetically) Fine.

Silence

Georg (restlessly) Well, if you really want to know..

Logistics with this box is excruciating.

By the time I’m at work I’m already weak, disabled, wrecked.

(sighs) I become a misanthrope at work. I despise those philistines around me. Their paltry existence gets on my nerves. However, I act as Moliere’s Alceste did - I try to be courteous, affable.

(thinks) You know, Laura, at work there is this lady - her name is Celimene. She keeps bossing me around.

But I don’t mind it. I mean, such behaviour is only fitting.

I love Celimene, she’s a lady of good grit.

I hate the others, they’re too courteous - they’re cogs in the system.

(disgusted) They’re slaves.

Scum.

Vermin.

Celimene is a lady that tells me how it is.

Oh, by the way!

I love you Laura.

Laura I love you too.

Georg As far as my love is concerned - it’s no charade.

True, I’m with the box, but I can nonetheless appreciate love. I learned this from Diotima of Mantinea.

(Hyperbollicaly) In the mean of the wise and the ignorant I attain love. In the mean of the box and the open-space I solidify love. In the mean of depression and elation I redefine love again..

Laura (interrupts Georg)  Perhaps it’s a case of bipolar disorder?

Georg Be that as it may, mortal nature is seeking as far as possible to be everlasting and immortal. My love is in the mean of two opposites - mortal and immortal. I mediate those opposites, hence - I love you.

Laura I don’t understand. Sounds like a bunch of platitudes.  

Georg Of course it does. I’m baring the box.

Guilty as charged!

Strike me - if you will - with electro convulsive treatment.

It’s a damn box! Only soundbites can reach you!

It’s a verbal hypomania - I will use ‘pressure of speech’ and ‘flight of ideas’, I will be punning and I will make humorous associations between concepts.

But I can’t prove my love to you, can I?

I can’t make love to you..

I can only talk love to you..

Laura I guess you can’t. Georg I can’t what?

Laura You can’t love me.

Georg (shouts) No! You wicked Celimene!

(calmly) My apologies, I didn’t mean to be scathing.

Listen, Plato said philosophy is love. And that’s absolutely crucial!

Like Diogenes, I sit here baring the box.

All I have is my sun. Well, in this case I only have my chalice. Can’t find the tofu..

(mutters to himself) there should be some tofu left on the altar..

What was I on about? (thinks)

Right.. Love!

(enthusiastically) Well, Rimbaud said we need to reinvent love.

That’s what I do here in this box.  

And you should appreciate, nay - you should be thankful, Laura!

Just, consider this for a second:

there’s disjuncture here, you roam around the world, I sit baring the box.

Our situation involves two people.

Two.

Two perspectives that are very different.

I can’t inflict upon you what Paris inflicted upon Helen - I can’t abduct you, I can’t put you into my box.

We would lose something, wouldn’t we? I wouldn’t dare to undertake such an escapade. Two perspectives would be lost. We would encounter each other - I would be a man with no box to bear.

A man with no box to bear  is no man at all.. Consequently, we are in luck. We are two people, and we construct the perception.

It’s not a perception of one person, but a perception of Two.

You see, through us - both of us - imagination takes power!

(solemnly) L'imagination prend le pouvoir!

Laura What’s wrong with encountering each other?

Georg Why do we have to get bogged down in these quaint, romantic cliches? It’s much better this way - this situation makes us equal.  

This situation is egalitarian, we participate mutually through each other’s perspective.

If you had been a woman with a box, that wouldn’t have made sense - we couldn’t encounter each other at all. We would be blind, deaf, oblivious..  

Now, It’s a perfect match, isn’t it?

I sit here, you wander around over there..

We don’t have to worry about the encounter!

No, love has nothing to do with an encounter.

We are better protected this way - if we were to see each other we would not live up to each other’s expectations.

Imagine us confronting the corporeality of each other?

That would be obscene, grotesque..   

(emphatically) Horrendous!

Now, luckily, we know exactly where we stand - I have a box and you don’t.

Simple as that.

Remember Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde? Well, Laura, you see what happens when two people deprive themselves of boxes?!

Sad!

Tragic - very bitter indeed!  

One ought not to tear the confines between Beatrice and Dante! By the same token, I shouldn’t be deprived of my box.  

(silently) Apparatchiks will take me to prison, soon.

Very soon.

I shall blame R. D. Laing… (pauses)

Indeed, come to think of it - I’m much like the florentine bard.

You will take me to heaven and I will lurk there in a box - I will sing the dithyramb.

You know, if this box is worth a damn, it is because this box forces Dionysius to jubilate.

All my quips aside, really! And I’m not talking about myself. No. With or without me - this box is special.

That’s where the events transpired - I came back to Jerusalem. If it wasn’t a box it would be the holy grail. With some tofu inside.

(mutters quietly, looks around the room) Can’t find it. There was the liturgy and then the rite, a little tefillah.. Where could it be? Perhaps deacon took it.

No, I’m certain he was on secondment to Damascus.

I hope he is able-bodied.

I worry about him, he’s a feeble man - prone to epilepsy.

(Saddened) Ennui, ennui again..

Lack of tofu.

Dreadful privation.

And to top it all of - they might take me. They really can! I communicate authentic, vivid experiences, verisimilitudes.

(thinks)

They’re supposed to contribute to my schizophrenia, they mustn’t affirm my identity, let alone romanticize my trauma. Again, I blame Szasz.

(growls, fidgets)

Going back to the subject of sex-antagonism.. Was that what we talked about? Or was it love?

Doesn't matter - the crux of the matter is that it’s not over.

Laura What’s not over?

Georg Well, as Rebecca West said, it’s not over.

Laura What is?

Georg Sex-antagonism. But don’t be dazed just yet! I love you nonetheless.

Laura Love you too.

Georg That’s how we overcome said antagonism - I sit here, baring the box.

Castrated and - I know, it might be of surprise to you - a little anxious.

Really.

Somebody might damage the most important of my jewels and frankly - I’m experiencing a little bit of restlessness.

I’m afraid one day I will not be able to tend my box anymore.

Somebody might show up and say that the existence of boxes does not entail the identity of a boxed man.

And then they will take it away, I swear.

Once, they actually did try to take it away. (sighs)

I was in between of ages three and five. I played with my favorite tin soldier by the name of Werther. Once, Werther lost the battle of Leipzig. It was just a matter of bad luck.

A trifle, a non-event!

However, the parent of the same sex nonetheless approached me, disciplined me for not appreciating the gravity of the situation and threatened to damage my box.

Then I got expelled to the Elba orphanage. From that point on, I developed an unconscious fear of damage that could be inflicted upon my box.

God forbid!

It could be taken away! (calmly) I swear.

Hence, as long as I still bear the box, you should remember how democratic this situation is: it’s not a monologue of the box, but a dialogue of two. I put forth a thesis, you answer with an antithesis. I sit in the box - you roam out there. Free like the feminine of Goethe's likings. Unfettered.

Don’t forget that, my dear Celime..Laura.

Laura I bought myself new earrings today.

Georg They look great.

Laura You’re no witness to my purchases.

Georg Are you saying I can’t appreciate your accessories because I’m in this box? Nonsense.

Listen, Laura, earrings are great - Shakespeare wore it.

I wouldn’t do that though - I have no penchant for body modification.

For me, committing to a body by altering it means sitting in a box and pretending that I’m galloping in the meadow while the rest of the laymen yearn for my carnal, mutated, fleshy organic mass.

That would entail servitude - scopophiliac schmoozing between master and the slave.

I have no appetite for titillation of master’s gaze.

I’m closed.

I’m baring the box, and hence I’m liberated. Shackled.  

No one can observe, monitor or eyeball me.

There’s no tacticity, voyeurism - mere sound-bites coming out of the black abyss..

(thinks)

Earrings!

How would that look?

Laura Are you asking whether they look good on me?

Georg No, you sweet scoundrel. I know it looks marvelous. I’m asking in what way do they look so dazzling?

Out of mere curiosity I voice the latter interest.

If I’m not galloping in the meadow - surely you are.

Unrestricted soul can readily enlighten the tethered one, oh mistress - set me free.

I therefore want to know: where do those earrings appear in the spur of the moment?

For example, do they hang or do they clasp?

Are they gold or silver?

Are your ears at ease when you wear them?

Are you conscious of wearing the earrings while you do?

If yes. Do you wear the earrings because you endure the stimuli?

If yes. Can one bear an accessory that would be strictly extraneous without the overpoweringly visceral reminder that one is a coquette that accessorizes?

If you’re the lady that accessorizes, do you accessorize for me, for my dreams?

For my affliction and jubilation when I’m situated in a dark, humid box?

If that is the case, can you be my wish-fulfillment then?

Can my dreams relieve me of the pain that I feel when I’m no witness to your earrings?

Will the dream-work soothe my dementia?

Will I displace my grudges by positioning your earrings within the illusionary mise en scene?

Will I condense my fright, anguish, lust, claustrophobia onto the earring?

Surely, that might happen, but first I need to fathom the following:

(slowly) Do they clasp or hang?

Gold or silver?

Are they small or large?

What style are they?

Are they vintage, contemporary?

Can one detect symbolism in them?

Laura is silent.

One has to imagine a mirror,

I see you, Laura, in that mirror,

wearing earrings, tenderly awry,

flesh-and-blood of the picture effortlessly curbed,

Phenomena of your attributes soars through the warped insignia,

Your earrings glide within unruly dream-work,

They fuse, proliferate, like shreds of paper in windswept dusk,

Madonna, in a room of her own - gripping 500 pounds,

Proud and resolute in her monumental deeds,

Like George Eliot, though without phallocentric boxes,

Illustrious in her uncluttered meadow,

Like Shakespeare’s sister, yet without a tainted body,

Eschewing hindrances - trumping obstacles,

Proving suffragists passe,

Creating new instruments,

Inventing, molding, shaping future,

Serving avocado toast for breakfast!

With earrings, tremendously compelling,

Synecdoches of ecriture féminine,

Laura becomes, she becomes a woman,

Accepts masculine values and harnesses history,

Doesn’t cling to the privileges of the Box,

Becomes a full-scale human being,

At the great moment of awe - it knocks me down,

When I gaze at you, out there, autonomous and apathetic,

No interest in me - I recall Rita Mae Brown,

Then I know - you will not make love to me.

You were never meant to encounter me, touch or caress me, Even if you wished for it - we know it’s erroneous!  

I’m the monster, phantom, leppard of the Box. Utterly beneath you!

You wield the history - unboxed.   Laura, paris veut une masse! Relinquish fleshy intimacy and wear your earrings proud!

(pause)

You wield the history, unboxed..

I know this, because I’m in the box,

The box, that deems me Other,

Fixed, like Odysseus’ duty

Stagnant, threatened by the inevitable - prison,

Natural lump at the center of the burgeoning space ,

Box, that renders me mystical, exotic and veiled,

Confused male mystique,

A non-human, that will be brought to justice,

Now, (laughs) I’m denied justice due to social deviance - (screams) THE BOX!

They will separate psychiatry from the state,

Then they will castigate involuntary treatment,

They will give me legal rights,

And I won’t find my tofu.. My flock won’t assemble! No doubt about it!

Don’t abolish insanity defense,

Insane, they require Boxes!

Like junkies need dope, comedians need tyrants,

Mad need their cells!

Hence I demand, I demand coercive box-policy!

While you, Laura, go! Wield the history! Godspeed!

Laura Georg, we should wield our relationship first - tell me, where we going to live from September on?

Georg (emphatically) Laura, isn’t clear that I’m stuck here?

(mutters) unless of course, they will take me..

Laura Oh, I forgot to tell you, I met this person.

I told them about your box.

Silence

Georg What do you mean?

Laura I told them about the box.

I told them about the tofu, chalice, coconut milk, Jerusalem - the whole lot! The person knows that you’re afraid of someone taking your box.

Georg That’s private. I mean, such information is very delicate. You know that, right? Laura?

Laura This person had some good suggestions though, they can help me to help you!

Georg There is nothing you can help me with. Just settle down and be free!

Stay there and live . . . . . stay there and blossom . . . . stay there and thrive! . . . .Stay there and begin to fathom how lucky you are . . . . . . stay and roam, wander - meander gleefully . . . . . Stay bodily, let loose the ethos . . . . .Like the Cartesian that once ruled the dictum . . . . . Bow! . . . . Reshape yourself with intellectual prowess,  

(melancholically) settle down, kind Laura, settle down...

Forget Hans Castorp’s x-ray - disavow your flesh!

Idle, Laura, Idle!

With no box to bear - your agency is immortal!

With no box to bear - you can stay there . . here - at liberty!

With no box to bear - dare to use your own reason!

Idle! Disseminate the erudition!

With no box to bear - you are the Gaia without Chaos,

Without male assistance - open up the skies! Where boxes, like gods and druids, are bereft of life!

Settle down, Laura! Observe me!

. . . . . Look at me! . . . .  a captive of Tartarus.

Me? ‘I am body and soul!’ - I assert this due to the box I bear,  

Like Zarathustra, I perform the box - I perform my body,  

My spirit is the accomplice to the box,

A trifle without it!

Bid farewell to the box - become dumb, become imprisoned!

Bid farewell to the box - abdicate fidelity to ethics. To you, Laura!

Bid farewell to the box - be a slave to the temporality of instance!

No loyalty, no allegiance, no devotedness - no reciprocity!

Unaware of eternal recurrence - I would endure the metonymy without sacrifices of the Jester!   

Laura You wish that everybody had boxes?

Georg For some of them - it’s not a matter of choice.

Some of my parishioners are members of the political society, they wage bloodless war against the naysayers - the boxed men and women, members of the civil stratus.  

They would rather see proletariat imprisoned within the gig economy.

Wherein you constantly reinvent yourself - construct a plethora of masks and spectacles.

To quote Kierkegaard: ‘Do you know that there comes a midnight hour when every one has to throw off his mask?’  

Do you know, Laura?

I can love you, because I can reveal myself. To state the obvious - I’m the Box.

No spectacles here, no ploys or charades.

I say mea culpa, but that is the truth of the matter..

Can one say this even more crudely? I’m the hamartia! The serpent! Persona non grata! Seed of the serpent!

(sighs)

Elephant in the room..

Laura I’m actually really intrigued - I want to make you squirm! Oh, dapper, you!

Georg! The forbidden fruit!

You will shriek and howl.. (thinks)

(casually) But that’s just inevitable..

I have to test your capacity to reveal yourself - your buttox,

your penis,

your skin,

your saliva.

Until it fidgets, drips or is rendered stiff - I will not capitulate.

Georg (anxiously) What do you mean? You’re mad! I’m barred from you, Laura. You can’t change me, I’m already a pariah - a Boxed man.

Through my bowels currents of revolution flow.

Laura  Even a boxed man is not impervious to stagnation.

Georg Either kill me or take me as I am, because I’ll be damned if I ever change.

Laura I will call you Juliette. You hear me, Georg? I will call you Juliette!

You’re in the box, does your name even matter?

Don’t be afraid - I will merely set your body free.

Now, Juliette, allow me to see you!

Georg slowly starts undressing, he is confused and petrified. Georg’s hands are shaking.

Georg Stop this interrogation, I demand you, Laura!

This is an infringement of my privacy!

Your words, they penetrate, they mutilate my Box.

I thought we had an understanding - we partake in the relationship between two equals.

We cooperate in the dialog between the free and the fettered.

You roam out there - I sit in the Box.

Simple as that.  

We embrace the experience of the world from the perspective of difference.

Listen, Laura, life is being made - no longer from the perspective of one, but from the perspective of two!

Georg puts on a woman’s dress.

Laura begins kicking, punching the walls of her box.

Georg Stop it!

You can’t see me!

I won’t allow it.

You sweet virago!

You can’t take away my box!

You little scoundrel!

Laura (screams) I’ll show you the world. You said you were orphaned, Juliette?

(brazenly) Would you like to meet Noirceuil and Saint-Fond?

You could be their mistress, Georg!  

Anatomically boxed in a male body,

You could easily be feminized!

Aren’t you goal oriented, Juliette?

‘L’impossible Monsieur Juliette’!

Georg Stop it! Don’t damage my box! You damn Celimene!

Laura You committed a crime, Juliette! A serious one at that! Remember the robbery? When you wore men’s clothing and you robbed me of my box?

Georg You’re delusional.  (starts pacing nervously around the stage, makes grimaces, grotesque hand gestures)

Music . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Laura keeps on trying to escape - to break through. Some scratching, moaning, gasping can be heard.  

Laura - Music (together) Remember. . . what . . . . . Noirceuil. . . . . . asked you to do? . . . . . . . . . . . . Juliette? . . . . . He asked you. . . . . . . . to worship his . . . . . . . erect . . . . penis . . . . . . . . . . . . . You probably . . . . . . are aware . . . . . . . . how dangerous . . . . . . . are men . . . . . . . .when their boxes are erect . . . . . . . . . . . sometimes I think . . . . . they would just love it . . . . . . . . if the whole . . . . . . . . . . universe would . . . . . . .cease to exist . . . . . . . while . . . . . . the box is still erect! . . . . . .Moberti said that! . . . . . . . . . . . Remember, Juliette?. . . . . . . . Georg? . . . . . Who has the box? . . . . . .Can you answer me that? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Your fright . . . . . . Your angst was always belated . . . . . . my lack of box . . . . . . . . . my absence . . . . . . . . . was . . . . always secondarily so . . . . . . through . . . . . . . the specular turn . . . . . . . . . you arrived at my genitals and . . . . . . . . said ‘Lack’! . . . . . . . . . . the anxiety of castration . . . . . . . . . . .became coherent . . . . . . . . when you looked at me . . . . . . . . . .and fathomed . . . . . . my present absence . . . . . . . . my ability to move while staying . . . . . . . . my ability to roam while settling down. . . . . . . my present absence of the box . . . . . . the penis . . . . . . . . Binaristicaly . . . . . . you . . . . . put my clitoris . . . . . . . under . . . . . the narcissistic ideal . . . . . . . . . . . under the . . . . . . atrophied Positivity! . . . . . . . You thought . . . . . . you stage . . . . . your own servitude? . . . . . . . By shackling yourself? . . . . . . How is Dominatrix . . . . . . .  a free agent?  . . . . . .  Juliette?! . . tell me! . . . . . . . . I could not even . . . . . carry out violence! . . . . . . . I was rendered . . . . . . cold and apathetic . . . . . .the moment . . . . . you instigated . . . . a theatrical . . . . . . . . reciprocity . . . . . . . . . . . one based on . . . . . . . . . . suspension of violence . . . . . . . . through the endless . . . . . . repetition of the . . . . . . . interrupted gestures . . . . . . . . . . . . Juliette! . . . . . . . . .  Georg! . . . . . . you establish . . . . . .  you decided . . . . . what I am to think about you . . . . . . . . . how should I feel . . . . . .what earrings I should wear . . . . . . . . you assumed the stance . . . . . of the stage . . . . . director . . . . . . . . and kept explaining . . . . . . . the parameters . . . . . . . of our ‘boxed’ situation . . . . . . the most intimate desires . . . . . . became . . . . . . . objects . . . . . . . of contract . . . . . . . . and composed . . . . . . . . . . consultation! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and you have never . . . . . . even seen me! . . . . . . Through point de capiton . . . . . . . you communicated me . . . . . .through . . . . . . signification that is limited . . . . . . .retroactive . . . . . . . .within . . . . . the limited . . . . . . boxed . . . . . . bounded . . . . . . .context . . . . . . . . . . . when the materiality of the boxes . . . . . . unfold . . . . . Juliette! . . . . . . you will comprehend the  . . . . . . . excess materiality . . . . . . . which . . . . . . has no boxes . . . . . . No boxes! . . . . . There is no Man in the Box! . . . . . . Juliette! . . . . . . . This is about . . . . . . . the search . . . . . . for libertines . . . . . .who . . . . . could . . . . . strike you with . . . . . the thunderbolt-phallus . . . . . . . after which there is no box that would allow to scrutinize . . . . . nature! . . . . . . . There’s only . . . . . . the box . . . . . and the nature . . . . that will devour you . . . . . . . . obliterate you . . . . . . .There is no man in the Box, Julliette!  

Laura finally finds a way to escape the box. Immediately leaves the stage. Doesn’t look at Georg.

Georg stops nervously pacing. Picks up his chalice. Sits down next to the desk, places the chalice in the center of the desk. Takes the piece of tofu out of the drawer - places it on the table. Looks at the cornucopia on the desk and smiles. Georg is happy.

Slowly raises the Tofu above his head.  

Georg The body of Juliette! (screams out triumphantly)

Raises the Chalice up.

Georg The blood of Juliette!

N.B. Curtain drops.

The End

[lordbelatiel]

The Promise of the Child (Tom Toner)

1 star Ok, so I actually had a couple of other reviews lined up to write before this, but I feel I need to talk about this one now. I'm usually a fan of darker books, I don't tend to get turned off by violence, or gore, or things that are just plain weird, but I do have a real bugbear with the unnecessary use of sexual violence…that, and books without a single female character of note. So, the book… It's touted as an epic space opera in the style of Banks or Reynolds, and it is pretty big…but also wallowing and lacking direction. We follow the POVs of a good ten or so different characters throughout the story, but only two that you'll actually have any interest in. It's basically set in our universe but approximately 12,000 years in the future. Humans left earth, some became the immortal Amaranthine, others evolved into strange Prism races, all seeming to be at war with one another. The Amaranthine, being immortal, ended up holding power, but a power that seems to be waning as infighting weakens their society. Chapters leap around a bit, there's one set in 14th century Prague that seems to be literally never mentioned again, a couple in the 20th century Mediterranean that turn out to be dreams, and most set in the 147th Century. I'm sure that some of the more superfluous seeming chapters may be important in later books, but since I found them horrendously dull and pretty irrelevant I won't be reading the later books to find out. This book could have done with some serious streamlining. I know it was supposed to be some grand space opera, but it wallowed in a way that the greats, the Herbert's and the Bank's did not. Lycaste, the main POV for the novel, is a member of a colour changing race of giants living on Earth. The blurb describes him a 'lovesick recluse'. What that doesn't tell you is that he spends the entire book bemoaning the fact he has been friendzoned, and basically ends up trying to kill the man that his 'beloved' loves instead. I also really did not like that his 'reclusiveness' and the fact he is generally unlikeable seems to be 'explained away' by him being on the autistic spectrum…seriously, if you're going to try and write an autistic character, maybe talk to some autistic people beforehand and don't make already rare autistic characters into gross stereotypes. Needless to say, I didn't like how Lycaste's character was handled at all. There was some really cruel ableist language chucked around that could really hurt readers on the autistic spectrum. The second POV that gets the most page space is Sotiris, a 12,000 year old Amaranthine, who originally lived his life in contemporary Cyprus. Personally, I think this entire book would have been much more interesting and much more readable if Sotiris had been the main character. I want to read books about amoral space Immortals, not whingy young men (well, giants) from Earth. Sotiris also gets the most interesting, and least offensive plot line. I'm going to sit here and mourn the epic story that could have been. So, what is wrong with this book… Whilst the inclusion of rape, sexism, homophobia and ableism in a book isn't in itself a red flag, how it is dealt with, and whether it is given the grief it deserves in book, really is. I mentioned the problematic depiction of a character on the autism spectrum earlier, and the fact that the book is just generally too long and poorly paced, but there's more. There are only a handful of named female characters in this enormous book and pretty much all of them either get raped or die…sometimes both. There's even an attempt to explain away the lack of older female Amaranthine by saying they all 'go senile' earlier than the men…which doesn't follow medical statistics at all, but, well, you do you. Also, I'm not going to go into detail about it here because I know it could hurt people, but the character I mentioned earlier, the one who doesn't love Lycaste, literally…I'm not sure the author really intended it to be this way…but it reads like a friendzone revenge fantasy . I had to skip that part entirely, it was so gross and hurtful and unnecessary. All I'll say is that it involved pregnancy and sexual assault… There's also some really rampant and completely out of place homophobia in this book. One character goes on a rant about how he thinks it's disgusting that two men loved one another, just, out of nowhere, for no real reason. Later, a character is goaded by another character that he's a 'pretty man' and 'gay', as if it's a bad thing?? Then later some dude, that looks like a kid, drugs Lycaste and tried to sleep with him?? Why a) are any of these scenes necessary and b) how did no-one read any of this and think 'maybe this is a little bit homophobic?' As I mentioned earlier, you can put the most horrible, disgusting content in your books as long as you justify in text that the actions are abhorrent. You're allowed to make points, to use shock and horror, as long as it doesn’t read like torture or revenge porn. Using rape to make a character look like a monster is maybe not advised but possible, however, take care with context! If you're writing a book and you don't take care not to romanticize that act, then you've written something that actively damages rape victims of any gender. Conclusion… This a big book with an interesting plotline and envious scope…but it rolled some critical fails when it came to nuanced use of gendered violence. As a woman, specifically a queer woman, this one was not for me. Many thanks to Netgalley and Gollancz Publishing for a copy in return for an honest review. Review originally posted at Moon Magister Reviews