Skip to main content

A Wild Swan

Like James Marshall, Michael Cunningham is a gay artist. Like Marshall, Cunningham is especially interested in how people talk to each other.

Cunningham's most-recent book--"A Wild Swan"--uses fairy tales to examine Cunningham's favorite subject, the complexities of modern marriage, modern dating. (Which other gay artist has a major interest in fairy tales? Stephen Sondheim.)

My favorite of Cunningham's re-tellings involves Snow White, and it's a story called "Poisoned":

_You wanted to last night.
_And tonight, I don't think I want to.
_Why, exactly, is that?
_It's weird. Don't you think it's at least a little bit weird? And I'm, well, getting tired of it.
_When exactly did you change your mind?
_I didn't. Okay, I'm tired of pretending that I'm not tired of doing it.
_Is it because of that apple joke, today at the market? Did that bother you?

We don't quite know what we're reading, at first, but soon enough things are clear. The Prince isn't actually drawn to Snow White. He just has a weird fetish about making out with a pseudo-corpse. Ever since Snow White has teamed with the Prince, the Prince has been forcing Snow White to take just a small bit of poison regularly, to re-enter her corpse state (for sex).

Snow White is "poisoned"--for erotic reasons--but, also, it seems that the relationship itself is poisoned. "I'm tired of pretending that I'm not tired of doing it."

Do you have to be a gay reader to appreciate Cunningham's dark, dark humor? Probably not. But it doesn't hurt.

Recommended reading.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...
Post a Comment
Read more