Chris Kraus (American Writer) - Works

Works

I Love Dick I Love Dick is an epistolary novel. The text, a series of love letters to an elusive addressee, is anchored firmly in a tradition that can be traced back through Derrida's La Carte Postale, the letters of Madame de Sévigné (and their immense influence on Marcel Proust), Laclos' Les Liaisons Dangereuses and the letters of Héloise and Abelard, as well as art concret and the confrontational performance art of the 1970s. Its implicit conceit is the connection between the novel (in French, le roman) and romance: I Love Dick manages to be both a sincere lover's cry and a feminist manifesto. I Love Dick's narrator invents a genre she names, variously, "The Dumb Cunt's Tale", "lonely girl phenomenology", and "performative philosophy", treating, among many other subjects, the paintings of R.B. Kitaj, the correspondence of Gustave Flaubert and Louise Colet, the activism of Jennifer Harbury, and Felix Guattari's Chaosophy while deconstructing the institution of marriage and the life of the mind.

In an introduction to the second edition of the novel, Eileen Myles writes, "Chris' ultimate achievement is philosophical. She's turned female abjection inside out and aimed it at a man. As if her decades of experience were both a painting and a weapon. As if she, a hag, a kike, a poet, a failed filmmaker, a former go-go dancer—an intellectual, a wife, as if she had the right to go right up to the end of the book and live having felt all that. I Love Dick boldly suggests that Chris Kraus' unswervingly attempted and felt female life is a total work and it didn't kill her."

Some say that I Love Dick is not fiction piggy-backed on non-fiction or vice versa, but a sustained critique of the laziness of its readers.

Aliens and Anorexia Perhaps Kraus's wildest novel, Aliens and Anorexia zooms back and forth in time and location, tracing the life and activism of Ulrike Meinhof, the downtown theatre scene in late seventies New York, the drug experiments of Aldous Huxley, the paintings and writings of Paul Thek, through the narrator Chris's fruitless attempts to make and sell a feature film, "Gravity and Grace", (which takes its title from the Simone Weil volume of the same name). Turning the "I" of I Love Dick even further outward, Kraus writes, "Sartre thinks that those who experience an intolerable situation through their bodies are manipulative cowards. It's inconceivable to him that female pain can be impersonal." Aliens and Anorexia is a kind of archaeology of embodied suffering, following the narrator's Crohn's disease back to Simone Weil's self-mortifying ethics, political theology, and eventual death by starvation. "All her life," Kraus writes, "Simone Weil suffered viscerally from the collapse of beauty. Without justice and the harmony of social life that it implies, there can be no beauty." And, "Food's a product of the culture and the cynicism of it makes me sick." Further, "Weil as the 'anorexic philosopher...' Though Friedrich Nietzsche suffered blinding headaches, The Gay Science is not interpreted as a Philosophy of Headaches." A hunger for understanding afflicts the novel's many characters, from a struggling artist in downtown New York who cannot bear to eat to New Zealanders who congregate to contact aliens. The real aliens are Simone Weil and a choir of woman radical heroes, none of whom quite become saints because none of them, to paraphrase Kraus, ever loses her intelligence.

Video Green A series of 23 essays written between 1998 and 2003, mostly in her column "Torpor" in the magazine Artext, Video Green is dense with the literary, the personal, and the culturally marginal, like all of Kraus's writing. A few of the collection's notable essays not about L.A. include the elegiac "Posthumous Lives", about the performance artist Penny Arcade's loving curation of the estate of the filmmaker Jack Smith, and "How to Shoot a Crime," about Kraus's 1987 film of the same name. The volume's first essay and its lengthiest, "Art Collection" echoes both Walter Benjamin's "Unpacking My Library" and Wallace Stevens's "Prelude to Objects". The essay finds that "Collecting, in its most primitive form, implies a deep belief in the primacy and mystery of the object, as if the object was a wild thing. As if it had a meaning and a weight that was inherent, primary, that overrode attempts to classify it. As if the object didn't function best as a blank slate waiting to be written on by curatorial practice and art criticism." Reading texts on collecting and abjection, Kraus states, "We are witnessing a daily life that's so contemptible and trite that pornography becomes its only appropriate rejoinder." She follows the idea of collecting through L.A.'s M.F.A. art scene and real estate market, ending up in rural upstate New York with the extraordinary poetry—and art collection—of the all-but forgotten William Bronk.

Torpor Torpor follows Jerome Shafir, a literature professor at Columbia, his wife, Sylvie Green, a writer and filmmaker with an inconclusive career, and their dog Lily through rustbelt New York, Paris, Berlin, and the Eastern Bloc at the dawn of the New World Order. As much a shattering portrait of Holocaust survivor as portrait of a marriage, Torpor is also the portrait of a lady rarely found in literature: a down-and-out intellectual bearing witness to a culture in collapse.

In Torpor, Kraus shifts out of the first-person narration of I Love Dick, employing a kind of free-indirect discourse that has led many reviewers to compare her style and devastating irony to that of Flaubert. In naming her central characters Sylvie and Jerome, Kraus alludes to the hapless, interchangeable protagonists of George Perec's first novel, Les Choses. Perec, a childhood friend of both Torpor's Jerome and Kraus's real-life husband, Sylvère Lotringer, is quoted several times in the novel. Felix Guattari and Nan Goldin also make appearances, among other cultural figures, though Kraus's use of "reality" comes to more subversive effect than a simple roman à clef.