Monsters: A Fan's Dilemma
One of the great conundrums of our time, I think, is what we ought to do with the beloved art of artists whose biographies repel us. In the age of information, when we become such facile voyeurs into the nasty inner lives of so many individuals, including those who lived before us, it becomes tempting to turn away from meaningful art in protest’s name. Sensitivity and social consciousness collide with the aesthetic eye. And yet, canceling individuals and the art they create(d) limits us. It also, as Claire Dederer identifies in her brand-new book, Monsters: A Fan’s Dilemma (2023), overlooks the love we may have for works of beauty despite the vile deeds of its creator. Dederer acknowledges the power of our time to fuel this puzzle: “The inevitability of monstrousness is a central occupation of the internet, which hums along, fueled by biography—the internet is made of disclosure about ourselves and about other people’s selves. The very phrase ‘cancel culture’ presupposes the privileging of biography—a whole idea of culture built on the face that we know everything about everyone” (50). In fact, this age of biography informs the very craft of her art and cultural criticism (or fan criticism?) in Monsters; this is an academic book, no doubt, but one steeped in autobiographical asides and memoir-esque scene building.
Each chapter of Monsters focuses on different artists and themes that arise when considering this issue of monstrous creators. Dederer scrutinizes artists from Roman Polanski and Woody Allen to J. K. Rowling and Virginia Woolf, Pablo Picasso and Ernest Hemingway, and so many more. She even touches on female artists like Joni Mitchell and Sylvia Plath (the abandoning-mother-type monsters). She contrasts the anti-monster of Nabokov with the beloved music made by Miles Davis who perpetrated plenty of ugliness. Monsters provides a lengthy list of artists with whom 21st-century morality struggles to reconcile our ongoing aesthetic appreciation as fans. She acknowledges the varied look of monsters among male and female artists, and spends time considering both in her book.
Dederer’s writing is both witty, conversational, and academic; it is a very contemporary blend of f-bombs and the elevated language of criticism (words like ‘apotheosis,’ ‘mutability’, and ‘insouciance’ sprinkle the text) that reflects the feel of 21st-century graduate seminar classrooms. As such, Monsters is not a book for the masses, but it is a thoughtful read for people who enjoy multi-syllabic words and references to all the who’s who of the last century of literary, visual, and film arts as well as cultural criticism. In addition to blending the conversational with academic, Dederer’s writing also mixes criticism and memoir in interesting ways. As such, some readers might stumble over points in her arguments; her Marxist-infused ideologies, for example, may lose some more middle-of-the-road readers. Regardless of her sociopolitical views, however, I found the fundamental critical points in Monsters compelling and thought-provoking. Dederer pushes back against the cancel culture that seeks to erase the creations of any individuals whose biographies prove problematic. Rather, she guides readers through the process of scrutinizing how and why we love art by providing her own relationship with consuming and creating art as a model. Monsters is certainly a timely and much-needed inquiry into a sensitive cultural subject.
As I read Monsters, I was reminded of a long-held perspective: one of the things that is moving about art—be it visual, performative, or literary—is the fact that deeply flawed individuals envision and create it. The fact that ugly, nasty humans can realize moments of beauty is, indeed, profoundly inspiring. I find it both hopeful and optimistic. Too often, of late, we crave icons of artistic genius who are also somehow characters devoid of deep moral flaws; yet, that can never be. To create art is a human act; to be human is a messy affair. This very fact was central to the tenants of modernism—revealing the muck of life, the mundanity and outrageousness of thought—and likely the reason I have always found modernist projects so compelling and fascinating. To be clear, I, like Dederer, am in no way condoning reprehensible behavior among artists (or humans generally). I am, however, aware that such behaviors exist, sometimes all the more among the narcissists and meglomaniacs who create great art (Hemingway, Joyce, Picasso, to name a few). After all, as Dederer describes, the very art of conceiving and finishing a work of art is a selfish affair, one that demands the artist prioritize creation (a lonely endeavor) over society. Suffice it to say, Monsters made me think and consider various sides of the question of aesthetics and artists; as such, it is a book I encourage anyone interested in art and cultural criticism to pick up.
Bibliography:
Dederer, Claire. Monsters: A Fan’s Dilemma. Alfred A. Knopf: 2023.
A Few Great Passages:
“We don’t always love who or what we’re supposed to love. [. . . ] Auden said it more nicely, as he said almost everything more nicely: ‘The desires of the audience’s heart are as crooked as corkscrews.’ The desires of the audience’s heart are as crooked as corkscrews. We continue to love what we ought to hate. We can’t seem to turn the love off” (9).
“When you’re having a moral feeling, self-congratulation is never far behind. You are setting your emotion in a bed of ethical language, and you are admiring yourself doing it. We are governed by emotion, emotion around which we arrange language. The transmission of our virtue feels extremely important, and strangely exciting” (38).
“Greatness isn’t something that is simply agreed upon by authority—as we’ve seen, that authority too often runs contra to the interests or the experiences or simply the aesthetic tastes of too many people. What makes great art depends on who we are and what we live through. It depends on our feelings” (75).
“Consuming a piece of art is two biographies meeting: the biography of the artists that might disrupt the viewing of the art; the biography of the audience member that might shape the viewing of the art. This occurs in every case” (80).
“The genius is one who is able to exert control over his materials and his helpers while simultaneously absolutely losing control over himself. He is masterful at performing a servitude to something greater that himself” (85).
“The ambition and the finishing: These are what make the artist, Thew artist must be monster enough not just to start the work, but to complete it. And to commit all the little savageries that lie in between” (172-173).
