Monsters: What Do We Do With Great Art By Bad People? by Claire Dederer: nonfiction book review
Overview: Monsters is part memoir, part criticism, part almost history of artistic monsters that society grapples with. The thesis of the book comes in the subtitle. What are we meant to do with the great, acclaimed, beloved works by artists who turn out to be horrible people in their private lives (which are public by virtue of their celebrity). In the wake of "cancel culture" and the great debate about the validity of all of that, Dederer attempts to look at the question through a variety of angles and through the lens of a number of "monsters." Dederer also offers chapters on the validity of the term and idea of a monster, thoughts on art critics and who gets to hold that title, and the place that women artists have in this conversation and in society in general. This is a captivating read that truly does meld beautifully written memoir and reflection with pieces of art history you might learn a new thing or two from. Overall: 5
When I first interacted with Monsters, it was shortly after the book came out, and I downloaded the audiobook from the library because it seemed in-line with my general interest in art criticism and writing about fandom. But I quickly returned the book, its tone not what I was looking for at the time. Then, I saw it on a table in a bookstore in Dublin well over a year later, and I started reading the opening essay about Roman Polanski, immediately having a new sense of appreciation for both the melding of style happening and the quality of the writing. I bought the paperback and read it when I got home with a highlighter in hand.
The book is enrapturing. I read it in just about two days, unable to put it down until I reached a chapter break. I learned about artists I hadn't ever engaged with in the film and art worlds. I learned more about writers that my patchy knowledge of the classics hadn't filled in. I watched Dederer run against the same unanswerable question over and over again in light of new artists. I appreciated the way she wrote about fandom in sections about JK Rowling and Bowie. Despite not being a fan of either person, I did identify with the way Dederer wrote about how our fandoms become us, how the parasocial relationships we inevitably form rest somewhat on a person's biography. The point about what we love artistically becoming a part of our identity particularly stood out. Horrible deeds by people you've let become part of your fabric feel especially difficult to parse. She grapples with the question of whether the communities that form because of the art eventually transcend the creator or if the engagement will forever be tied to the artist. I also sat with her observation that parasocial relationships are a capitalist construct, manipulating emotions for financial gain. I've known this to be true, but seeing it spelled out so bluntly on the page is hard to square.
I enjoyed the asides in this book as much as the central argument. The chapter about art criticism and the voices that tend to be centered was astute. I agree with Dederer that criticism feels incomplete when a writer attempts to remove any idea of subjectivity or "I" from the piece. I also enjoyed (thought that feels like the wrong word for the true emotions of it) her observations on art and womanhood and art and motherhood. How the two are somewhat fundamentally at odds. At how rejecting the construct of motherhood is one of the fundamental sins a woman can commit in the public's eye. It was a crushing confirmation of things I instinctually knew, but seeing her grapple with it on the page was thought provoking to say the least.
The book also happened to teach me more about a few stories I'd heard bits and pieces of over time. The story of Valerie Solanas... Also, the full story of Ana Mendieta, who I'd become familiar with through the novel Anita de Monte Laughs Last and a random Goodreads review I read flagging its connection to a true story. That reviewer was correct, the entire plot of the historical thread of the novel was lifted from this woman's life in a complete play by play with an altered name. I found myself recalling the story from the novel right alongside the true one unfolding in front of me. I was glad to finally know the full, nonfiction account and learn this artist's real name.
Mostly, though, I have to give Dederer props for ending the book with a conclusive answer. So much of the book asks open-ended questions, meandering through an abyss of ambiguity and arguments that could go a number of ways. I didn't expect much from the ending, which was fine. But I found it bold the way she ultimately lands on the reality that what we love is complicated and messy and sometimes ugly. That it's inconsistent and strange. The way we handle the work of one bad man might differ completely to that of another who committed the same crimes based on our existing relationship with the work. She absolves the reader of trying to make a moral or ethical choice in this framework. That the system and its flaws are so much bigger than a single individual's choice. That a choice as a consumer is a false place to begin enacting change from anyway.
Particularly, I was moved by this passage that concludes, "The question, 'what do we do with the art?' is a kind of laboratory or a kind of practice for the real deal, the real question: what is it to love someone awful?" I've always seen fandom, parasocial relationships, forged connections with art, to be a kind of training ground for how we interact with the real world. From learning what you value in a partner through a celebrity crush to finding a sense of connection through a shared person that seemingly outlines a kind of code of values in fandom friendships, we are workshopping how to live life. The hypothetical and the remove of these people feeling both very real and being deeply personally inaccessible creates the room to safely work through feelings and form an understanding of self. Naturally, what to do with the art of people who have done bad things is another of these juncture points, albeit a less pleasant one. It's easy to toss out the art of someone you never cared about, didn't like, or hadn't engaged with. I'll say that I feel better not engaging with art, even if I'd been casually interested, if I learn the person has done something that gives me "moral feelings," as the book would say. But when it comes to an artist you've already forged that bond with, the stakes aren't the same, but the feelings are akin to dealing with friends or family or partners who let you down in big or small ways. Where do you draw the line?
I feel like in today's absolutist climate, that's a hard stance to land on, but it ultimately feels right and honest both to the experience of being a fan and of being a person. Love is inconvenient and frustrating and wonderful, and Dederer ultimately captures that.
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