By William Burroughs
1959
Reading NAKED LUNCH is much like trying to learn another language. Or even this one for that matter. Sometimes the words just seem randomly strung together one after another- A AND WAS BUT SAW DOG. Only as Burroughs writes it's more likely to read: JIZ CUM ASS GAY JUNK STURGEN.
As prose the book is written in what might seem an arbitrary order of sentences. At times the entire “story” (which sparsely exists in the text) disintegrates into wild and unkempt imagery as the sentences wantonly form in the body of a paragraph. The feeling of being taught to read continues in this way. But, unlike trying to read a security confirmation code or a “Learning English as a Second Language” instructional, Naked Lunch leaves an eerie impact on its reader. So that “The cat sat on the mat,” and “See spot run,” becomes “Cocks ejaculate in silent ‘yes,’” and “Hard-ons and bring-downs are frequent.” Burroughs writes in unsettling snippets of zen wisdom.
The main story line of the book (what of it there is) breaks down into smaller vignettes that in turn degrade seamlessly into the stream of consciousness of a madman. After the initial thirty pages anything resembling a true story is gone only to be reclaimed in the second to last installment of the book and lost again within ten pages of the its conclusion. I use the term “installment” instead of chapter to represent the sections of the book not because of the disorientation of the book but because of the false organization that the use of chapter numbers and headings would have on the text. Furthermore, Burroughs himself said that his intention with Naked Lunch was to produce a story which the reader could engage himself with at any point, and that the incorporation of a definitive chapter order was not needed or intended. This has been the saving grace of Naked Lunch for myself and I can only imagine many others. By allowing the reader to aimlessly and haphazardly roam from page to page and section to section by means of an also and altogether aimless layering of installments the greater ambiance and enjoyment of the text survives. By avoiding any hope of fully understanding Naked Lunch the siren’s call of the pornography, drug addiction, homosexuality, corruption, death, and etc. etc. is engulfing. Characters develop in no order; events unfold without full repercussions on one another and very little makes sense beyond itself.
It is widely believed that James Joyce’s final work Finnegan’s Wake is unreadable; that the cyclical story written in an almost imaginary language is incomprehensible. I believe that Naked Lunch should be added to the list of unreadable books which Finnegan’s Wake flagships. Naked Lunch has no light at the end of the tunnel. Or, better yet, as Burroughs would relate it: “’No glot… C’lom Fliday’”
Upon reading the entire Oxford English Dictionary from cover to cover Ammon Shea compared the experience to trying to a person trying to read the entire King James Bible everyday for the rest of their life or a John Grisham book-a-day a whole year. The result was entertainingly mind altering- his sanity “slipped a notch.” This was the same feeling reading Naked Lunch cover to cover aroused in me: I was entreatingly torturing myself. And, as with all good torture, I reached a breaking point where my mind simply let go on any sense of plot or timeline and my eyes were able to gloss over the words of the book without fear or comprehension. I had learned to enjoy the absurdity. I’d slipped a notch. Unlike Shea though, who read a well-organized sequence of words which together presented no ambiguity, I was instead reading a un-sequenced arrangement of enjoyable nonsensical happenings. The book appears now to me as a word game where gems like ‘JIZ CUM ASS GAY JUNK STURGEN’ appear as toys for the reader to maul over, heft into the air, and allow to fall flat on the ground in a cacophony of anamanapias.
I don’t over exaggerate the incomprehensibility of Naked Lunch. While I do stand by that the over arching “narrative” of Burroughs seminal work only exists on a few pages, book-ending the book, the rest of the work does carry some remnants of the elements of fiction in the form of character. Each vignettes does share some resemblance to the others as far as the characters and the settings of the text are concerned. Besides these two elements it is likely that the only other similarity to be found between each installment of Naked Lunch would be Burroughs’ unmistakable style and taste in themes (i.e. JIZ CUM ASS GAY JUNK STURGEN.)
Alone however these individual installations are surprisingly engaging and entertaining to read, each a look into its own obscure and obtuse narrative. Burroughs’ consideration of the book as a jig-sawed road map reorganized by the reader lends itself dutifully to the similarly insane stories within Naked Lunch. Burroughs work should not be mistaken as a novel though. At most it is a reading test, an experiment in literature. The precision with which Burroughs writes is surprising in the murky context of the book and it’s unmatched yarns. Although each part of the book is strange and filled with “weirdness” there is a constantly lurking dreadfulness to it all. Written in part during Burroughs’ withdrawal from heroin the formless narrative is in no clear way about one big “ junk score.” And while the book is permeated with dick jokes, talking assholes, and cum-imagery there is a constant attention to the pain and suffering made manifest through numerous incidents of rape and debilitating drug use. Burroughs writes about these horrors so lightly that they become playful. The skill of Naked Lunch is Burroughs’ ability to laugh at the absurdness of popular drug rumors and in an attempt to set the record straight tell a truth which is much more horrifying. This is to say that while the idea of breaking a tear dropper full of “H” off into a vain is an abysmal misconception about the everyday junky the reality of forcing a needle through thick, calloused and puss filled scabs is much less menacing. It is easy to get lost in the warped sense of humor that Naked Lucnh faints. It is important not to let this be a deterrent. To the unwitting reader the book may appear simply as mad raving pornography with no deeper intention than to stimulate the perverted reader. Not true. Naked Lunch is an expose in wickedness, a portrait of man’s desolation, fear, corruption, hatred- and all our other best abuses.
For all these purposes I impart in closing my advice to anyone considering reading this book: Naked Lunch is best read as it was intended to be read, in short and jerky ejaculatory bursts, like whilst driving to work, moving one’s bowels, or in the midst of performing your own lobotomy.
As prose the book is written in what might seem an arbitrary order of sentences. At times the entire “story” (which sparsely exists in the text) disintegrates into wild and unkempt imagery as the sentences wantonly form in the body of a paragraph. The feeling of being taught to read continues in this way. But, unlike trying to read a security confirmation code or a “Learning English as a Second Language” instructional, Naked Lunch leaves an eerie impact on its reader. So that “The cat sat on the mat,” and “See spot run,” becomes “Cocks ejaculate in silent ‘yes,’” and “Hard-ons and bring-downs are frequent.” Burroughs writes in unsettling snippets of zen wisdom.
The main story line of the book (what of it there is) breaks down into smaller vignettes that in turn degrade seamlessly into the stream of consciousness of a madman. After the initial thirty pages anything resembling a true story is gone only to be reclaimed in the second to last installment of the book and lost again within ten pages of the its conclusion. I use the term “installment” instead of chapter to represent the sections of the book not because of the disorientation of the book but because of the false organization that the use of chapter numbers and headings would have on the text. Furthermore, Burroughs himself said that his intention with Naked Lunch was to produce a story which the reader could engage himself with at any point, and that the incorporation of a definitive chapter order was not needed or intended. This has been the saving grace of Naked Lunch for myself and I can only imagine many others. By allowing the reader to aimlessly and haphazardly roam from page to page and section to section by means of an also and altogether aimless layering of installments the greater ambiance and enjoyment of the text survives. By avoiding any hope of fully understanding Naked Lunch the siren’s call of the pornography, drug addiction, homosexuality, corruption, death, and etc. etc. is engulfing. Characters develop in no order; events unfold without full repercussions on one another and very little makes sense beyond itself.
It is widely believed that James Joyce’s final work Finnegan’s Wake is unreadable; that the cyclical story written in an almost imaginary language is incomprehensible. I believe that Naked Lunch should be added to the list of unreadable books which Finnegan’s Wake flagships. Naked Lunch has no light at the end of the tunnel. Or, better yet, as Burroughs would relate it: “’No glot… C’lom Fliday’”
Upon reading the entire Oxford English Dictionary from cover to cover Ammon Shea compared the experience to trying to a person trying to read the entire King James Bible everyday for the rest of their life or a John Grisham book-a-day a whole year. The result was entertainingly mind altering- his sanity “slipped a notch.” This was the same feeling reading Naked Lunch cover to cover aroused in me: I was entreatingly torturing myself. And, as with all good torture, I reached a breaking point where my mind simply let go on any sense of plot or timeline and my eyes were able to gloss over the words of the book without fear or comprehension. I had learned to enjoy the absurdity. I’d slipped a notch. Unlike Shea though, who read a well-organized sequence of words which together presented no ambiguity, I was instead reading a un-sequenced arrangement of enjoyable nonsensical happenings. The book appears now to me as a word game where gems like ‘JIZ CUM ASS GAY JUNK STURGEN’ appear as toys for the reader to maul over, heft into the air, and allow to fall flat on the ground in a cacophony of anamanapias.
I don’t over exaggerate the incomprehensibility of Naked Lunch. While I do stand by that the over arching “narrative” of Burroughs seminal work only exists on a few pages, book-ending the book, the rest of the work does carry some remnants of the elements of fiction in the form of character. Each vignettes does share some resemblance to the others as far as the characters and the settings of the text are concerned. Besides these two elements it is likely that the only other similarity to be found between each installment of Naked Lunch would be Burroughs’ unmistakable style and taste in themes (i.e. JIZ CUM ASS GAY JUNK STURGEN.)
Alone however these individual installations are surprisingly engaging and entertaining to read, each a look into its own obscure and obtuse narrative. Burroughs’ consideration of the book as a jig-sawed road map reorganized by the reader lends itself dutifully to the similarly insane stories within Naked Lunch. Burroughs work should not be mistaken as a novel though. At most it is a reading test, an experiment in literature. The precision with which Burroughs writes is surprising in the murky context of the book and it’s unmatched yarns. Although each part of the book is strange and filled with “weirdness” there is a constantly lurking dreadfulness to it all. Written in part during Burroughs’ withdrawal from heroin the formless narrative is in no clear way about one big “ junk score.” And while the book is permeated with dick jokes, talking assholes, and cum-imagery there is a constant attention to the pain and suffering made manifest through numerous incidents of rape and debilitating drug use. Burroughs writes about these horrors so lightly that they become playful. The skill of Naked Lunch is Burroughs’ ability to laugh at the absurdness of popular drug rumors and in an attempt to set the record straight tell a truth which is much more horrifying. This is to say that while the idea of breaking a tear dropper full of “H” off into a vain is an abysmal misconception about the everyday junky the reality of forcing a needle through thick, calloused and puss filled scabs is much less menacing. It is easy to get lost in the warped sense of humor that Naked Lucnh faints. It is important not to let this be a deterrent. To the unwitting reader the book may appear simply as mad raving pornography with no deeper intention than to stimulate the perverted reader. Not true. Naked Lunch is an expose in wickedness, a portrait of man’s desolation, fear, corruption, hatred- and all our other best abuses.
For all these purposes I impart in closing my advice to anyone considering reading this book: Naked Lunch is best read as it was intended to be read, in short and jerky ejaculatory bursts, like whilst driving to work, moving one’s bowels, or in the midst of performing your own lobotomy.
I have no concept of what I read, but what I what I conceive of it I love.
Caleb Michael, reader
Caleb Michael, reader
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