Saturday, April 5, 2014

Out of Cacophony : Majestic Travesty of Storytelling from Darkness (part 3/1)


The Sound of Refacement : The Hybrid Word in Glamvoid


Strangely Akin : The Setting as a Social Commentary


Q : How does one tell the dream of the sublime in a dedivinized world?

A : By telling a story about scoring.


In the world in which all solid dissolves into the traces of their own insubstantiality, an apocalypse does not reveal anything. Such a world rewards its dwellers with hardly anything more than an awareness of the implausibility of such a status. It tends to reduce them to occupants of mutable spatiotemporality void of any affinity to perseverance. Elusiveness of the surrounding entails an increasing capacity for ever further eroding of the constituents enabling the environment to be called so. In such a world, mediated experiences tend to assume the status they themselves deny. Mediation that almost forgot that it is integral to the dazzling world of glamacams, wall screens, visionplex, portapops, telebugs, and other sound-vision machinery seems to be not just what happens in the world of omniconnectivity, but the very world. The world that feeds on the ecstatic almost forgot that thriving on glamour is an advanced version of highly commoditized social relations. In such a world, commodity knows no difference between what is sold, how it can be bought, who does the trade, and other subtleties of such complex socialties. Or, so somnambulist logic wants one to believe.

In the world in which all solid dissolves into the traces of their own insubstantiality, an apocalypse does not reveal anything. Such a world leaves little room for immersing oneself in the very activity, be it even a crudely antikinetic variant of dynamics. Instead, it’s all about scoring. It is a dystopian world. One might even be prone to identify such a world with the classification of Jeff Noon’s novels. One might be tricked to think that formal interventions as experimental storytelling means are solely tales of bland surfaces, faceless facades of architectural specimens in a world of unanchored signifiers. Few things are more erroneous than such assumptions. We don’t buy it. If Noon invents a world, it communicates doubts, affirmations, disentanglements, disambiguation, reintegration within secret passages through noise in the communication channel. It, in other words, disrupts dystopian narratives with a slightly different cyberpunk shade of storytelling.


Where oxymoron and paradox are in a mutually fuelling relationship--the world populated by characters whose bodies are but diverse responses to parasite signals--Noon’s stories weave a strangely invigorating nexus consisting of the setting and social commentary told in the key of the poetics evaporating from electric spores, sleazy surfaces, high voltage flashes, paralyzing static, electrifying euphorias,  self-referential arena of the spectacle, imperialism of the ocular plugged into itself, self-dissolving insipidness of the exhaustion by insatiable thirst for thrill, darkness of aloof hotel rooms, emptiness of freeways, spaces of crowded loneliness, solitude in glamvoid. If Noon invents a world, it is a stunning portrayal of the mutually conditioning relationship between reading-writing and cultural realities. It is language against noise.

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