Book Review:An Evening with JonBenet Ramsey:A Play and Two Essays by Walter A Davis
December 20th 2006 13:56
An Evening with JonBenet Ramsey:A Play and Two Essays by Walter A Davis
I first heard about Walter Davis on Kboo.Fm, where he appeared as a guest. His unflinching attack on the Mass Media I found fascinating, and when he left a e-mail address we had a brief corrispondance. I told him I wrote reviews for indymedia, and he was kind enough to send me an autographed copy of this book.
The book is thick with facts, the essays are rich and full of verifiable, in-your-face anti-corporate mentality. That’s not what will attract you to this reading, however useful the information is.
The play, the first part of the book, “An Evening with JonBenet Ramsey” explores the what if JonBenet had survived her ordeal, and then grew up.
That needs to scare you, because as JonBenet grows up in this mythology, she becomes aware of the sexual object that she was glamorized into, and she is able to look at her parents, our culture, our world with biting sarcasam and acidic lips. She tells the story of her childhood and life experiences as only she can, from her first-person perspective.
Technically, the play could easily be produced, but I’m unsure if any theater groups have the balls to do so. Fortunatly, we can simply buy Walter Davis’s book and get the whole thing in our hands.
Brilliant writing, but not for the faint of heart or illiterate, Davis writes up, not dumbed down for the masses. If you want a piece of solid, meaty, anti-corporate writing, then this is it.
http://www.walteradavis.com/
Snippet (selected from his website):
I remember, in high school, I'd lie awake — after — rigid but my mind racing, unable to halt the rush of images that projected themselves on the ceiling above me like pictures on a screen, a home movie superimposed on the idiot wallpaper Mitzi'd chosen for my room, a collage of Disneyfied monkeys, ducks, and mice grinning. It was like I was exploding out onto the ceiling, thrown from myself then coming back at myself in a whirl of images. But as dark shifted to shadow and become dawn I'd slow it down until there was a single picture, a snapshot preserved, refined, and stored here (tapping head) as a tablet against forgetting.
That I did it — to myself. The pageants. To myself, ten cents a dance. That I would do anything — to win your love. That you let me do it. Saw I was doing it and couldn't stop yourselves. I was a child, how could you let me do that to myself
| 64 |
| Vote |
Add To: 
subscribe to this blog
