āTheyāre faggots. Theyāre writersāquelle surprise!ā
I had to ask Gayās the Word to order Castle Faggot in for me. I used a Ā£7.99 discount token from their pay-it-forward scheme to buy it when it arrived, povo that I am. I spent that Ā£7.99 on one pint at some Bloomsbury pub and read it all in one sitting, twisting the book upside down, inside out, trying to make sure every toff in a gilet could see what I was reading. This is one of the reasons the book is such a powerful object: it branded me. Itās by a faggot, for faggots. No hetero would be caught dead with it in his hands.Ā
In the bookās afterword, Dennis Cooper says āIt does everything itās doing in three-dimensions.ā Castle Faggot is a real space, an orgy of dead faggots and an amusement park. Itās a scatological Disneyland and a place for faggots to die. Itās a book that at once inspired and destroyed my own work, took a real big shit on it. Derek, as I try to, leans into consumerism with joy and horror simultaneously, locates us in the products we buy and the sugary cereal we crave. Itās also totally absent of literary goop, full of human goop, faggot goop; itās slender ninety pages make it the perfect artefact. He doesnāt mince words, but heās a mincer. Itās everything Iāve ever wanted to be.Ā
I hold a real space for myself in my writing and feared it came off as forced, the I character always some more handsome version of me. Derek doesnāt need to include his name for us to know what sickly disturbed fag is talking. When he does do it, it comes off as a joke. As if we didnāt already know. His input is never conceited or dishonest; he pushes out from every shit-smeared hole laughing, screaming, self-loathing. He made me better at inserting myself into my writing and inserting myself into another man.
Castle Faggot isnāt just one of the most important pieces of post-AIDS writing, itās one of the most current pieces of post-AIDS writing. It writes to a world which, honestly, didnāt really experience that tragedy, but which is littered with its bodies. Derek McCormack saw a dead faggot and thought, Iām gonna write on this, or Iām gonna write in this, or Iām gonna write with this. The whole book is a dead faggot crying out against our century, lost in an amusement park, how is this even possible? Itās a mass grave of a book.
At some point in the book you have to flip it upside-down, be reminded youāre holding an object; but youāre also forced to read backwards, rescind into a haunted past of faggotry and debauchery. He plays physical tricks with his work that make him a sort of architect. Nothing has ever been written like it, but we need more, and thatās why this book is so important. It sets a precedent. Derek takes the faggy artists of oldāthe fin-de-siecle writers, or āfag-de-siecleāāand transforms them into post-AIDS monuments, puerile shit-filled replicas. Itās a childrenās book for faggots. Itās the childrenās book I always needed as a child but didnāt know I did. Itās a book that reminds us that, as faggots, weāre already dead; but in being written, existing, it encourages us to go on and create. Itās like the faggotsā nuclear bomb, our weapon of mass seduction. Itās hot enough to melt Walt Disney.
Castle Faggot is, to me, the logical progression of all faggot art, the consolidation. Itās an exhibition piece on communal existence with AIDS and a call for young faggot writers to acknowledge that they come from a lineage of shit and death, that itās inescapable, but that there are new things to be done. It explodes traditional narrative expectations and arrives at some other end of the novel, some new territory. It faggots the writing process and the book itself is a dead fucking faggot.Ā
When I finished reading Castle Faggot I held it the whole way home. On the tube I wore it like a band t-shirt. By this point, though, I didnāt just want to be branded, an obvious faggot where Iāve before been called āthe straightest personā gym bro in my art class had ever seen; I wanted to be a model for Derekās work, for someone, anyone, some faggot, to look it up, read it, and start writing, start breaking the mould.