Asclepius’ Dream, 2016 by Agostino Arrivabene (b. 1967)
Slither, 2018 by Dana Holst (b. 1972)
The Room No. VI, 1948 by Eldzier Cortor (1916–2015)
Source of the Blue Loue, 1982 by Mark Tansey (b. 1949)
Tuesday, 1961 by Peter Blake (b. 1932)
Painter’s Deathbed, 2008 by Nigel Cooke (b. 1973)
Hunting, 2017 by Xiao Guo Hui (b. 1969)
Hide Out, 2018 by Toyin Ojih Odutola (b. 1985)
Stay Friends, 2018 by Falk Gernergross (b. 1973)
The Arrival of Late Lucys, 2011 by Helen Verhoeven (b. 1974)
The Magpie on the Gallows, 1568 by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (c. 1525-1569)
Float, 2015 by David Bailin
The Land of Extreme Happiness in The West, 2019 by Mu Pan (b. 1976)
Untitled (Stage), 2018 by Kerry James Marshall (b. 1955)
The Pillow, 2006 by John Currin (b. 1962)
Klop, Klop, Klack Klack Klack, 2018 by Kati Heck (b. 1979)
RIP Alasdair Gray, 1934-2019
The Scottish novelist and artist Alasdair Gray died today, one day after his 85th birthday.
Gray’s first novel, 1981’s Lanark, is one of the strangest and most memorable novels I’ve ever read. Part dystopian fantasy, part realist autofiction, part Kafkaesque anti-quest, and part Künstlerroman, Lanark deconstructs the traditional novel, braiding multiple narratives into a complex, sharp, satirical epic.
Lanark included original artwork by Gray, a trend that would continue over the course of his career as a novelist. Gray was trained as a muralist, and if I ever make it to Glasgow I plan to see his murals.
Gray’s art of course adorns his follow-up to Lanark, 1984’s 1982, Janine, a challenging novel of debauchery. 1982, Janine is conceptually, formally, and typographically challenging, a kind of answer to Finnegans Wake, and like Joyce’s big weird fun hard novel, Gray’s sophomore jaunt is a jam I return to again and again without the hope of truly ever finishing. 1982, Janine also has the best blurb I think I’ve ever read—you can watch Gray read it in this 1993 STV documentary about Gray (around 15:34)—
The Gray Matter also features Gray discussing his novels and reading from them, as well as his art. It makes a neat primer to the Gray’s work, and while I’m no expert—just a big fan of those first two novels and his art, to be clear—I think it does a nice job of letting the artist speak about his art.
I’ll close by reiterating that Lanark has stuck with me in a way that most novels don’t. It might seem a daunting read at nearly 600 pages (not to mention its four-book structure, which begins with Book Three before going to Books One and Two and then concluding with Four—and, oh the books are formally/stylistically varied)—but Lanark might be the cult novel you’ve been missing from your life.
Biblioklept 