I love Dick

This book is phenomenal. It's a story, a memoir, a commentary on art and an unconstrained critique of the patriarchy and the way women are portrayed or reviewed in the art world.

It's also cool to see how far we've come.

“It seemed strange that people would be interested in any conversation between such a homogenous crew: four straight white European men in their 50s, all divorced and now with childless younger women in their early 30s. “ (From the chapter “Add it up”).

The quote from the book here is no longer a very new statement, now it's become the norm to question a panel where the members are all white straight males.

The book is really a sort of reflective spiralling into the mind of Chris. She falls in love with (the idea) of Dick. It's a hell of a ride.

I didn't finish this book, but I am finished reading this book. I decided to stop reading because I got bored with it, even though I know that's an unfair response. What does it mean to be bored with a piece of art that changed the world?

Let's take a look at what this book is, for a second. I think it's at least three things: it's a relationship memoir, it's an anti-novel that self-consciously inverts its tropes and standards, and it's a piece of postmodern cultural criticism that argues, for example, that the intellectual/inner life of women is so poorly represented in academia that the thought and critique must be contextualized and grounded in an individual's experience. I Love Dick was one of many pieces of art that was operating on this wavelength: the films of Jane Campion, Liz Phair, Mary Karr, etc. were all part of this zeitgeist. And they kind of won. Not a total victory, the patriarchy is alive and well and coming for your rights. But I think they did successfully expand what was “in bounds” regarding subjectivity, women's narratives, and deep structures of the patriarchy. That's part of why it's a little bit of a slog for me, reading in the present.

For example, the sloppy, confessional, raunchy and intellectual tone that must have been so refreshing when the novel (?) came out in the 90's has become the default tone of the feminist internet. Now that that tone is not as shocking, the callous way that she describes evicting her tenants, the “hicks” she lives around in various rural places across the country, and the mystical encounters she imagines with Guatemalan activists comes across as less savory, and out of step with the feminist conversations that are going on today.

In a similar vein, there are some clearly argued reasons why I Love Dick had to be written with real names and real ideas and real vulnerability. The part that hasn't aged so well is the aspect of it that is a comedy of manners among academics and artists–juice from a goose that's been cooked.

Anyway, if anything you've read about this book calls out to you, definitely go out and read it. But don't be surprised if the ways in which its dated leave you a little cold.

Picking this book up from the communal bookshelf in a friend's shared house to find it intensely annotated, with brightly coloured tabs on many pages, I was intrigued. I downloaded the audiobook for the drive home and found myself completely compelled by Chris and her journey, her honesty, her relationships and her tangents. As a filmmaker (though I make little of my own work, instead committing my time to assist others in making sunday night television and rap music videos) I like to think I have something in common with Chris, or at least we have a lot of shared interests. Her reflections on art and polite society were greatly entertaining, and her draw toward this mysterious academic man being so intertwined with revitalising her fading relationship with her husband made for a complex and fascinating story.

Very McEwanesque in style. The narrator/main character's neuroticism and insecurities make the book difficult to engage with at times, but that's the whole point. It's like a book about self-discovery with almost no self-discovery. The acknowledgments and admissions are often lost in he narrator, but again, that's the point! And the ending . . . Oh my goodness, totally worth the read.

This was disturbing and heartbreaking to read.

Chris Kraus is so infuriating! Although, is there anyone in her life who doesn't love her and hate her at the same time? She's narcissistic/selfish and self-victimizing but she's too brainy and honest and I can't help but forgive her even though this is so stalkerish I want to hug Dick and apologise to him on her behalf.

Chris wondered why ‘female lived experience' has been read only as ‘feminist' in her book and I don't want to do that. This isn't just a wonderful book because it talks revealingly about female sexuality and creativity and the creativity bias against women. It is wonderful because I feel like no book can come closer to capturing how being in love really feels, which is ironic, because this is the opposite of a love story.

Chris opens herself up and show us how being in love has truly been for her - how those butterflies in stomach were more nausea than exhilaration, how unhealthy obsession has been love's split identity for her (like every relationship's a disorder), how it's always been one-sided - which is brave.

This isn't the book you're imagining it is and you might be disappointed. This is bitter, has an unreliable narrator and can read like one long rant; but C. S. Lewis once wrote “We do not write to be understood. We write in order to understand.” and I think that's so true for Chris Kraus. Remember that when you read this. This is fascinating because it is showing you the bare bones of writing.