The most fitting caution I’ve heard about reading Kathy Acker is that you must really desire to read, to read actively, to engage with each paragraph or sentence, or even word. Why? Because Acker’s texts communicate dis-ease, disturbing you, breaking the walls between book and reader; comfort and ease are not elements of Acker’s writing.
Chris Kraus’s After Kathy Acker gives readers a long-awaited account of the experimental writer as a living, breathing, fucking, and frequently, sick human being. Masterful in detail, drawing on deep archival sources and interviews, Kraus’s account grounds Acker’s project in the physical environments of late-20th-century New York, California, and London.
Peace to my sick home, city of AIDS or the death of love. (Empire 168)As evidenced in this selection, Kathy Acker’s Empire of the Senseless screams postmodernism with a blatant rejection of grammatical conventions and linear tradition and an impassioned engagement with contemporary political issues.
In 1972, American postmodern writer Kathy Acker self-published a chapbook entitled Politics, a blunt, jumpy account of the brief time she spent performing in a 42nd Street sex show.It was stylistically different from Acker’s later work—more free verse than prose, for one thing—but its obsessive, hyberbolic anatomization of sex and power established the subject that would define her.
I, I, I, I, I, I, I, Kathy Acker begins with a timeline of Acker’s published works, offering an insight into the layered ways in which Acker approached the circulation of her writing; at times self-publishing and self-distributing, as well as re-versioning texts as they appeared in different magazines and journals and as sections within her novels.