Last week's issue of The New Yorker carried a riveting piece of writing by Jennifer Egan titled "Black Box". The style of writing was enthralling - 47 short 'chapters' written in the second person from the perspective of a beautiful, electronically- enhanced citizen-agent who has been sent to retreive some sensitive information from her target or 'Designated Mate'. It's written in a series of deadpan declarative sentences which at first glance seems to depersonalize the main character who is never allowed to speak at all, and only thinks 'thoughts' in line with the good of the State. The speaker's voice relates her most personal experiences as if they came from a well-thumbed handbook, yet this device ends up creating an almost stifling intimacy. It's worth a complete read. While reading this story, I couldn't help but flash on Janelle Monae, a young recording and performing artist who made her breakout appearance at the 2011 Grammy Awards. Janelle is one of those ultra-original human beings who inspires fascination...mine at least. She dresses only in black and white, and mostly in tuxedo-inspired outfits. She writes her own music and is an accomplished dancer as well - not to mention, a very beautiful young woman. She also has a real-life and artistic alter-ego: a robot named Cindi Mayweather, which is why she came to mind.
In Black Box, the other women are just mindless 'beauties', whereas the protaganist is an operative who uses her beauty as a weapon, and suffers for it. It's interesting that Janelle Monae identifies as a robot. She states that Cindi is an ArchAndriod with a mission to liberate others from conformity and sameness, but I wonder if that device was also meant to mitigate her own physical beauty, or perhaps be a commentary on it?
I don't know a woman who doesn't want to be beautiful - even if it's a diminishing possibililty for her,
the quality of the wanting will simply be wistful instead of wilful.
Can we separate beauty from the somewhat rote responses that it elicits?
Can we as women resist the urge to work what it evokes? Should we?
And can we resist the outrage which arises when it ceases to work?
Can we be beautiful beyond description and beyond the need to have it said just how we meet that definition?
In other words, beautiful without qualification?
In other words, beautiful where everyone and everything qualifies?
From 'Black Box', by Jennifer Egan:
Your physical person is our Black Box;
without it, we have no record of what has
happened on your mission.
It is imperative that you remove yourself
from enemy possession.
When you find yourself cornered and
outnumbered, you may unleash, as a last
resort, your Primal Roar.
The Primal Roar is the human equivalent of
an explosion, a sound that combines
screaming, shrieking, and howling.
The Roar must be accompanied by facial
contortions and frenetic body movement,
suggesting a feral, unhinged state.
The Primal Roar must transform you from a
beauty into a monster.
The goal is to horrify your opponent, the
way trusted figures, turned evil, are
horrifying in movies and in nightmares.
Read more http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2012/06/jennifer-egan-black-box.html#ixzz1xhkHoiQh
You're free, but in your mind
your freedom's in a bind.
- Janelle Monae ( Many Moons)
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