Portrait of a minimalist fiction writer/performance artist as a young man - and before, as a kid growing up in Brooklyn, and after, as an older man, again in Brooklyn. The author’s first lines: “I plan to publish my autobiography without words. The book will consist solely of blank pages in white and black shades of gray.” Actually, seen in a slightly different light, the blank pages include 83 short chapters, each chapter a compact snapper capturing a memorable moment in the author's life. To share several snapshots from the album, below are a handful of snaps of the snaps, complete with chapter titles, author quotes and my modest comments.
YOUNG PETER CHERCHES, A FILM BY MARTIN SCORSESE
“I must say I was rather disturbed that the kid was wearing a yarmulke. He didn’t look Jewish, though. As a matter of fact, he was blond with a little goyish nose and looked a lot like Jay North from “Dennis the Menace.”" ---------- After conversing with the kid actor, Peter tells Martin Scorsese he doesn’t think he’s right for the part, not enough irreverence. Scorsese reassures Peter the kid will make a terrific eight-year-old Peter Cherches. We can almost see Peter rolling his eyes, wondering if such a wholesome-looking all-American kid will communicate to an audience how, as Peter wrote recently, “My greatest accomplishment in life was surviving my childhood. And I’m not kidding.”
NEW DADDY WITH A MUSTACHE
“Whenever I was out with my mother and saw a man with a mustache, any man with a mustache, I would go up to him and ask, “Will you be my new daddy with a mustache?” My mother found this very embarrassing.” ---------- Peter’s dad died of leukemia when Peter was two years old. A few years later, Herbie, a man from the neighborhood, used to visit and dance the cha cha cha in the living room with Peter’s mom. Herbie had a mustache and seemed like a nice guy, thus Peter asked other men with mustaches he encountered in public if they would be his new daddy. Turns out, Peter’s mom remarried when Peter turned six - his new dad didn’t have a mustache but his mom was spared future public embarrassment.
A BUS RIDE
“So, we were driving through this mysterious tunnel for quite some time, and I was a little anxious, a bit short of breath, minor heart palpitations. Perhaps the tunnel’s a shortcut, I thought. When we finally exited the tunnel we were in familiar territory. Unfortunately.” ---------- Very unfortunate. For Peter quickly understands the tunnel is a time tunnel and he's on the Peter Cherches tour, the bus ridding through the Brooklyn of his childhood, the tour guide pointing out a number of different landmarks, like the Kent Theater on Coney Island Avenue where she tells everybody "this is where Peter went to matinees as a child." Not a happy bus tour, to say the least, since Peter tells us directly how he had a miserable childhood filled with horrible memories and taking a tour along memory lane was always as if returning to the scene of the crime.
THE WORST THANKSGIVING
“You can’t tell a depressed teenager that they have everything, or that they’re being selfish, or that things will get better (even if they usually do.) Their despair is real. I know. If I could tell a teenager on the brink of suicide anything it would be: hang in there, I know it’s unbearable, but there’ll come a time when you can call the shots, when you can tell all the people who are fucking you over to go fuck themselves, or ignore them, it’ll be your choice.” ---------- Words of wisdom spoken from someone who has himself lived through many of the deepest pits of teenage hell.
BECOMING PETE
“Peter. The writer, the man obsessed with crafting sentences, and with a certain kind of order.” ---------- Ah, yes! Peter aka Pete recounts his breakthrough in his early 20s to the world of writing and the arts. And to add fuel to his literary fire, he notes: “The real turning point in my life came when I moved to the East Village, in 1979. For a Brooklyn kid, finally getting to Manhattan was a triumph. I felt I finally had control of my life. And I was fortunate to dive headlong into one of the most vibrant literary and performance scenes New York City has ever known. I don’t think I’ve ever been really, truly miserable since.”
DOWNTOWN MADE ME
“So I turned my texts into performance pieces. It worked. I was hooked, and for the rest of the decade I was a performer as well as a writer.” ---------- A lively section of the story – Peter’s rousing success as a performance artist adds yet again another artistic dimension to his identity as a recognized author of short prose. At this point in his life, Peter is really cooking. And why not? The sizzling East Village performance and experimental art scene back in the 1980s – for an artist with a unique voice such as Peter, life doesn’t get any better.
MR. CHERCHES MAILS A LETTER
"Mr. Cherches puts on his jacket. Mr. Cherches puts on his cap. Mr. Cherches leaves his apartment and greets the day. It is a bright, sunny day. Mr. Sun smiles at Mr. Cherches. Mr. Cherches smiles at Mr. Sun." ---------- This is a snippet from one of Peter’s charming absurdist fictions, a piece included as its own chapter. There are also chapters where Peter visits such locales as the planet Mars, India, Spain and working with Frank Perdue and his chickens, all told with quirky flare and a light touch.
And since I am particularly drawn to absurd minimalist writing and Peter Cherches is among my favorite authors, to end my review with the hope of whetting your appetite for this delicious little autobiography, here is one of Peter’s chapters in its entirety:
COMPASSION
A man who looked like my mother with a mustache told me I must be on the wrong line. Isn’t this the line for compassion? I asked. Let me see, he said, I think the compassion line is down that way (he pointed), between mustard and indignation.
I started walking toward mustard and indignation, but I could find no compassion, as the line between mustard and indignation turned out to be the one for bird calls.
I asked the guy at the end of the bird call line if he knew where the compassion line was. I think I remember seeing it when I was heading over here, he said, let me think. Oh yes, it’s over there (he pointed), just past incontinence.
I didn’t really feel like passing incontinence, so I waited on the bird call like instead. I waited 45 minutes and, then my turn came. I was given a Swainson’s Thrush. It was stunningly beautiful. As beautiful, I’d venture to say, as compassion.
"When Mr. Cherches got off the rocket he saw that thousands of Martians had come to greet him. Many of them were carrying signs, which said things like "Greetings Earthling! and "Welcome to Mars, Mr. Cherches." ----- From MR. CHERCHES GOES TO MARS
"The restaurant we mostly patronized was Joy Fong, on Avenue J, a now-defunct place that retains an almost holy status in the memories of Brooklyn Jews of a certain age. I wouldn't be surprised if people visit the site of the former restaurant and wail against the wall." ----from CHINESE FOOD, THE EARLY YEARS
Comments
Post a Comment