Dark Thoughts on the Light House

48 Berwick St., London, W1 

lighthousesoho.com

 

 

I. 

 

To the Light House!

 

For Virginia Woolf, this phrase didn't merely reference a destination, but something intangible that keeps us believing in a brighter future [1]. For me, however, it means a trip into Soho and a first-time visit to Joe Corré's new venture on Berwick Street, six months after opening in September of last year. 

 

 

II.   

 

For readers who may not know, Corré is the 58-year-old son of Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren. He is usually described in the press as an activist and businessman, though we might wish to reverse these terms for the sake of greater accuracy. 

 

In 1994, he established the lingerie retailer Agent Provocateur with his then wife Serena Rees, which they eventually sold to a private equity firm in 2007, for a sum of £60 million (later revealed to be a more than generous price). The following year Corré opened Child of the Jago, an independent boutique very much inspired by the retail outlets operated by his parents in the 1970s and '80s.  

 

In 2016, Corré controversially staged a protest which involved burning an estimated five million quids worth of Sex Pistols memorabilia on a barge on the River Thames [2]. 

 

And now, Corré is the proud owner of a lovingly restored Georgian townhouse that previously operated as a chandelier workshop [3]; thus the name of his new project (as far as I know, there's no Woolf-Westwood connection, even if the former inspired many fashion designers and once famously declared that, contrary to popular misconception, clothes wear us). 

 

 

III. 

 

It would not be fair - or indeed accurate - to describe the Light House as simply a retail outlet. 

 

For it functions as a multi-purpose fashion house, atelier, and members' bar and aims to provide a platform for independent designers known for "their creative aesthetic and high quality manufacture" [4], but who often struggle to find affordable retail space to rent in what remains of and passes for the real world. 

 

The Light House also intends to host exhibitions, talks, and other events; indeed, when I visited, an exhibition titled  'Vivienne Westwood: An Active Life' was just coming to a close [5]. 

 

All of which sounds great - and is great - and Joe is to be congratulated. The venue looks fantastic and, as a concept, the Light House is a brilliant idea. 

 

And let me add that the staff are amazing, too (give 'em a pay rise, Joe!).  

 

 

IV. 

 

However, a concern remains that the Light House is ultimately a space for an economic rather than a cultural elite to gather. To become a member, for example, requires one to cough up £950 per annum - which is quite a lot of money just to be able to access a tiny bar and mingle with a few other like-minded individuals. 

 

And of course, they will be like-minded; the terms and conditions governing membership (as well as the annual subscription fee) guarantee that. If one, out of curiosity, looks on the Light House website, one discovers that membership will be restricted to those artisans, craftspeople, designers, and individuals drawn from the creative industries who agree to conform to a set of house rules that govern not only how they behave, but what ideas to think and values to hold.

 

Members, for example, are not only made aware that loud and boorish behaviour will not be tolerated, but that they musn't discuss or promote any religious or politically extremist ideology. Members must also conform to an approved dress code; no jeans, no trainers, no tracksuits, no mass market fashion, or other unattractive attire. 

 

The management of the Light House also take a very dim view of drunknenness, lewdness, and aggressiveness. Members and/or their guests will be dealt with severely if they use abusive or inappropriate language, piss on the floor, or smoke in a non-designated area. The use of all mobile devices is also strictly prohibited.

 

And, finally, to ensure everyone follows the rules, members must also consent to use of CCTV and the storage of their personal data. A membership card - i.e., photographic ID - must also be carried and shown upon request by staff. I think that just about covers everything; the Hellfire Club it ain't and whilst Joe Corré may fancy himself as a bit of an 18th century dandy and sophisticated man about town, he's no Francis Dashwood ... 

 

 

V. 

  

Whilst Corré likes to be seen offering support to "those who challenge the norms today: punks, artists, activists, thinkers ..." [6] a high membership fee naturally filters the community by disposable income rather than purely by creative merit. This can risk turning a counter-cultural hub into a private lounge for the wealthy to larp as outsiders and rebels. 

 

And whilst Corré is right to say that Soho has been transformed since the 1980s from a gritty, artistic enclave to an area dominated by private members' clubs, one might suggest that as someone who commodifies the aesthetic of rebellion while operating within the same elite structures, he is himself contributing to the very gentrification of the area that he condemns [7]. 

 

When membership of a club is restricted to those who can afford it, the curiosity and conversation that Corré hopes to foster may lack the friction and diversity of thought found in truly public or more inclusive spaces. 

 

Ultimately, I'll leave it to readers to decide: is Joe a genuine 'punk' saviour and cultural 'terrorist', or is he merely a wealthy beneficiary of the system he criticises? Whilst fans of Westwood and defenders of the faith will love what he's doing, I'm sceptical to say the least ...

 

The Light House may be shining bright on Berwick Street, but for the freaks Corré claims to champion, the door remains firmly closed.  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] To the Lighthouse is novel by Virginia Woolf (Hogarth Press, 1927). It is arguably her best novel alongside Mrs Dalloway (1925), and widely considered a seminal work of modernist literature. 

 

[2] See 'Carri On Sex Pistols: Comments on the Case of Joe Corré and His Bonfire of Punk' (19 Dec 2016): click here.

      In this post, I argue that Corré's rather feeble (and belated) gesture was unnecessary; that his father working in collaboration with Jamie Reid had already alerted us in The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle to the fact that the Sex Pistols were fast becoming merely another brand name and that Bambi had already been butchered.

 

[3] Corré explains on the Light House website how he had been on the hunt for candlesticks for use in an art project, but ended up purchasing the entire building at 48 Berwick Street: click here. It seems that whilst you may or may not be able to buy happiness, you can certainly materialise your dreams when you have a significant sum in the bank: Lux ducit, sedpecuia eam realem facit ... 

      (I'm punning here on the Latin slogan used by the Light House: Lux me ducet - the light shall lead me forward. The phrase is often associated with the 19th century Italian writer Carlo Collodi, author of Pinocchio (1883), who adopted it as the motto for his magazine, Il Lampione. Along with other similar classical Latin phrases, it is commonly used to express inspiration, intellect, or spiritual guidance.)

 

[4] I'm quoting from the Showcase page on the Light House website: click here. 

 

[5] The month long exhibition celebrated the life of the iconic visionary and activist Dame Vivienne Westwood. It was an interesting collaboration between the Vivienne Foundation, celebrity portrait photographer Ki Price, and life-long Westwood devotee, Steven Philip. Not only were limited edition prints of Price's pictures available, but Philip curated a sale of over a hundred vintage Westwood items drawn from his own collection. 

      For full details, see the Spotlight page on the Light House website: click here. 

 

[6] I'm quoting from the Showcase page on Child of the Jago on the Light House website: click here. 

 

[7] See, for example, his piece in The Standard titled 'My mother showed how fashion can bring light to dark days - it's a legacy I won't let die' (21 Feb 2026): click here. 

      Corré claims that once vibrant areas like Soho "have become sanitised and homogenised to the point where they resemble a shopping mall of zoned, soulless cubes of shite" and that his mission is to reverse the tide and "bring back the freaks". The Light House, he says, is a hub for people who love to dress up and discuss "artistic, intellectual and cultural ideas" - providing of course they pay their membership fees and respect the rules.  

Turning a Beady Eye on the Work of Liza Lou

The artist Liza Lou 

Photo by Mick Haggerty 

ropac.net

 

'Somehow, I too must discover the smallest constituent element, the cell of my art, 

the tangible immaterial means of expressing everything ...' [1]

 

 

I. 

 

If asked, I could probably name at least three culturally significant events that happened in NYC in 1969: Woodstock; the Stonewall Riots; and the birth of American visual artist Liza Lou. I believe there was also a huge ticker-tape parade for the Apollo 11 astronauts, but, like Picasso, I'm indifferent (if not hostile) to moon landings [2]. 

 

Best known for the use of glass beads in her sculptures and paintings, Liza Lou has a new solo show opening next month at Thaddaeus Ropac here in London [3] and I'm very much looking forward to going along and learning more about her work. 

 

For anyone who can transform a domestic setting such as a kitchen or backyard into a magical space [4] deserves respect and I'm interested in how her practice is grounded in labour and community, emphasising the material many-handed process of production rather than simply the conceptual genius of the artist.

 

But I'm also interested in how her more recent work - born of the solitude of the Mojave desert in southern California, rather than a studio in South Africa employing a large highly-skilled team of Zulu bead workers - is rather more personal in its expression. 

 

Or, as it says in the press release for the forthcoming exhibition, how Lou has "rediscovered her own individual mark, along with a focus upon colour as both subject and object" [5]. 

 

But while the material focus of her practice "has expanded to incorporate drawing and painting", she has, I'm pleased to see, remained "committed to the bead as the generative cell of her art" [6]. Because just as you take away his soul when you remove the hunchback's hump [7], Lou would strip her own art of its essential element were she to abandon the beads; "her signature unit of art making for more than three decades" [8].

 

 

II.

 

Etymologically, the modern word bead derives from an Old English term (of Germanic origin) for prayer: gebed (meaning to ask or entreat) - and one wonders what it is Lou is asking of herself and of us as viewers [9] of her new works combining (presumably mass-produced) glass beads and oil paint on canvas.

 

I don't have an answer to this question, but I like to think that we are being invited as viewers not simply to take something away, but give something back; to enter into an exchange with the artist of some kind (beads are thought to be one of the earliest forms of trade between peoples and bead trading may even have helped shape the development of human language [10]). 

 

I also like to think that this exchange is symbolic in nature rather than commercial; i.e. a non-productive and reversible form of exchange based on gift-giving, ambivalence, and reciprocity rather than economic value; a ritualised interaction that strengthens social bonds and directly challenges the capitalist system of consumption and commodification.  

 

Art should never be a one-way thing or a finalised transaction; as much as a work should challenge us, we should challenge and interrogate it. Great art criticism is not a form of appreciation, but of defiance and of daring the artist to go further in a game not so much of truth and beauty, but of life and death.  

 

Perhaps that's why Lou says that every brushstroke requires full fetishistic seriousness and every mark made upon a canvas becomes a holy shit experience. I don't know if this requires one to be heroic, or just a little bit reckless and foolish. Maybe a combination of all these things - not that there's anything careless or crazy in the pictures: 

 

"Lou uses her chosen material to denaturalise the spontaneity of the brushstroke, juxtaposing each painted drip and spatter with a process that demands painstaking care and precision. By translating fluid pigment into cell-like particles of colour, she forges a new experience of painting grounded in what she describes as the push and pull between 'absolute control and total abandon'." [11] 

 

 

III. 

 

Unfortunately, we now come to the problematic aspect of Lou's FAQ exhibition: 

 

"'These works are about amplification, about making things more ideal [...] in this body of work I'm using my material as a way to make paint more paint than paint.'" [12]

 

What Lou describes as ideal amplification is exactly the process Baudrillard discusses in his concept of hyperreality; a process wherein something is engineered to be more X than X, so that the real object or event can eventually be replaced by its ideal. 

 

What on earth does Lou hope to achieve by making paint more paint than paint - unless it is to make it more colourful, more vibrant, more perfect than the messy, unpredictable, slow-drying original paint which is just particles of pigment suspended in linseed oil. Such hyperreal paint would be a kind of lifeless version of real paint; cleaner, safer, even if more saturated with colour and productive of hi-res images perfectly suited to their digital reproduction and transmission on screens.  

 

Surely that's not what Lou wants; to turn glass beads into pixels (or hyperreal Ben Day dots)? I'm going to be disappointed if it is, but I suppose I'll find out next month ...

 

  

Notes

 

[1] Rainer Maria Rilke, writing in a letter to Lou Andreas-Salomé, 10 August 1903, in Letters on Cézanne, ed. Clara Rilke, trans. Joel Agee (Northpoint Press, 2002); lines that Liza Lou likes to quote. 

  

[2] I'm quoting Picasso who, when asked by The New York Times to comment on the moon landing replied: "It means nothing to me. I have no opinion about it, and I don't care." His remark was published on 21 July, 1969, the day after Neil Armstrong simultaneously took his one small step and one giant leap.

      Some readers might be shocked by his lack of interest in technological achievement - and some interpret it as a sign of weariness and old age (Picasso was 87 at the time) - but I think it's more an affirmation of his privileging art over and above science; his way of staying true to the earth and the body, rather than thrilling to the thought of outer space and rocket ships.    

 

[3] Liza Lou, FAQ (10 April - 23 May 2026), at Thaddaeus Ropac, Ely House, 37 Dover Street, Mayfair, London, W1. Click here for details. This exhibition marks the artist's sixth solo show with the gallery.  

 

[4] Lou first came to the attention of the art world with the 168-square-foot installation entitled Kitchen (1991-1996); a to-scale and fully equipped replica of a kitchen covered in millions of beads. 

      Rightly or wrongly, it has been given a fixed feminist interpretation; Kitchen is a powerful statement on the often neglected value of women's labour ... etc. It is also said to challenge boundaries (and hierarchies) of what does and does not constitute serious art. The work now belongs in the permanent collection of the Whitney Museum of American Art (NYC). 

      Kitchen was followed by Backyard (1996-1999), a 528-square-foot installation of a garden featuring 250,000 blades of grass, which, upon closer inspection, are revealed to be tiny wires strung with beads.  As the threading process would have taken Lou 40 years to complete singlehandedly, she chose to invite public volunteers to assist her. Backyard is in the permanent collection of the Fondation Cartier pour l'Art Contemporain (Paris). 

 

[5] Press release by Nina Sandhaus (Head of Press at Thaddaeus Ropac, London), p. 4. The press release can be downloaded as a pdf by clicking here.  

 

[6] Ibid.

 

[7] See Nietzsche, 'On Redemption', Thus Spoke Zarathustra. 

 

[8] Nina Sandhaus, press release, as linked to above.  

 

[9] Nina Sandhaus addresses this question, telling us that FAQ proposes "a series of fundamental questions about the nature of art that Lou has returned to across decades: When is a painting not a painting? What constitutes a paint body? Can a brushstroke be more than a brushstroke - and colour more colour than colour?" Again, see her press release linked to above. 

[10] Interestingly, with reference to this last point, the works in FAQ are titled after figures of speech, thus highlighting, as Sandhaus says, "the analogy Lou draws between visual art and language". 

 

[11] Nina Sandhaus, press release. 

[12] Liza Lou, quoted in the press release for FAQ. 

The Cat Will See You Now

 

 

I. 

 

For the past ten weeks I've had a pain in the lower-left abdominal region. Well, I say a pain, but it's more like a cramp; dull, rather than sharp and more discomforting than painful. Let's call it a stomach ache.

 

Obviously, being male, I ignored it for the first three weeks. Then, reluctantly, I made an appointment to see my GP - so that was another two weeks of discomfort (mostly when sitting or bending, rather than standing or walking around). 

 

The GP didn't seem overly concerned; no bleeding, nausea, or signs of IBS, such as alternating or co-occurring diarrhea and constipation, so probably nothing too serious. But, just to be on the safe side, he asked me to provide a stool sample so they could test for inflammatory bowel disease and colorectal cancer. 

 

Ten days later, the results came back negative and I was told that things should just settle down; that it was probably just a muscular issue - or possibly something called diverticula (caused by a low fibre diet). When it didn't settle down, however, I was sent to a physiotherapist who suggested an X-ray on my hip and advised I do some stretching exercises.

 

So now, still in discomfort - let's call it pain at this stage - I am left waiting to have an X-ray with the only relief being provided by my cat, Phoevos, whose warmth and gentle purring are strangely relaxing and, one is tempted to say, even of therapeutic benefit.

 

 

II. 

 

For whilst I don't quite buy into the spiritual belief that cats have magical healing powers and can counteract negative energy or protect from malevolent forces, there is, apparently, reliable research suggesting that interacting closely with a feline on a regular basis can lead to measurable health benefits. 

 

Because their purring, for example, vibrates within a certain range (25–150 Hz), it can help repair damaged bone and tissue, not only in their bodies, but in ours (these same frequencies are used in medical vibration therapy - which is a thing, even if it isn't a fully scientific thing). 

 

And thanks to the calming effect they have on us - not when miaowing at 4am to go out, or scratching at the furniture, but when being stroked on your lap - they can also counter stress and anxiety. Petting a cat, it seems, triggers the release of oxytocin and reduces cortisol and this in turn can lower blood pressure, significantly reducing the risk of a stroke or heart attack.      

 

One tries not to be critical of members of the medical profession. But it's surely telling when one has to rely more on a moggie than the services of a GP and I can't help thinking that some of the huge amount of money that goes into the NHS would be better spent on hiring fewer bureaucrats and more felines to work in patient supporting roles.

 

In fact, I would quite like to see the day when the buzzer sounds at my local surgery and the receptionist announces: The cat will see you now ...     

 

Calimocho: On the Politics of Wine and Cola (Redux)

Roland Barthes & Andy Warhol

George Costanza & Jeremy Usbourne 

 

  

I. 

 

Recently, I was at an event with an American friend who doesn't drink; she prefers to sip mineral water rather than Champagne - although, on a hot summer's day, it's been known for her to ask for a Diet Coke with ice and lemon.  

 

Listening to her explain her secular preference to another guest reminded me of a post written back in 2014 on the politics of wine and cola [1], in which I considered the idea that opting for a soft drink over a glass of wine is in some sense a rejection of the snobbery and social complexity inherent in European culture.   

 

In the post, whilst I mentioned Warhol and George Costanza, I don't recall bringing Roland Barthes into the conversation and that is something I'd now like to do in an alternative version of the text; one that considers the concept of wine as a totem-drink and magical substance that transforms any occasion (even if it fails to tick the right boxes for those who value equity, inclusion, and sobriety above all things).  

II.  

  

Probably the most powerful argument for choosing a cool can of Coke over a fine glass of wine remains the one made by Andy Warhol. It's a cultural-political argument which posits the former as the embodiment of American democracy [2] and which stands in stark contrast to Roland Barthes's idea of wine as a quintessential sign of Frenchness - "just like its three hundred and sixty types of cheese" [3].  

 

The Germans have their beer; the Russians their vodka; and the English their cups of tea. But the French - of all classes - have their wine. Manual workers and intellectuals alike, enjoy a glass of wine with their lunch, says Barthes, thereby challenging the belief that it's something enjoyed only by a privileged elite.  

 

However, Barthes admits that wine is a foundational liquid that it grants the drinker a certain social belonging. Thus, to refuse a glass of wine and choose Perrier or Pepsi instead - certainly in a French (or European) context - is not just to exercise a preference, it is to commit an immoral (and incomprehensible) faux pas.   

 

This explains why George Costanza’s robust defence of Pepsi seems so (amusingly) outrageous [3]. When George exclaims 'No way is wine better than Pepsi', he is rejecting the idea that drinking wine is a moral imperative. George isn't just choosing a soft beverage, he's refusing to participate in the Old World ceremony where wine serves as a signifier of adulthood and civilisation. 

 

Warhol's argument for Coca-Cola communism - where the President and the bum drink the exact same product - strips away the mystical qualities that the French, according to Barthes, attribute to wine. While wine varies by terroir and price (creating the very hierarchies that George detests), Coke is a universal constant, requiring no expertise to consume.

 

This brings us rather nicely to the character of Jeremy Usbourne in the British sitcom Peep Show, whose discomfort at ordering a bottle of Barolo isn't just about the price - though that's a very real factor - it's due also to his knowledge of his own inability to perform the role of the wine drinker. Jeremy lacks the habits of the heart - i.e., that unearned cultural capital - that Barthes says allow a person to master wine's complexity. 

 

For Jeremy, wine belongs to a world he hasn't been initiated into. It's not simply that he doesn't know which wine to ask for, he doesn't know how to drink it and ordering a bottle doesn't transform the meal with Big Suze, it simply exposes him as someone who doesn't belong to her class [5]. 

 

Thus his preference for hot chocolate or Coke isn't merely juvenile - it's an unconscious alignment with Warhol's democratic Americanism over the performative demands of European wine culture. Ultimately, Jeremy feels he can drink hot chocolate or Coke without feeling judged, or looking like a dick in the eyes of those who, like Suze, have been initiated into the way of the grape.   

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See 'Calimocho: On the Politics of Wine and Cola' (19 Sept 2014): click here. 

 

[2] See Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B & Back Again) (Harcourt, 1975), pp. 100-101. The section in which Warhol praises the greatness of American society in terms of Coca-Cola (and ballpark hot dogs) can be read here. 

      What Warhol writes here is undeniably true and one senses something of this same patriotism and ironic egalitarianism of the market place born of a New World dislike for Old World snobbery in George Costanza's privileging of Pepsi over wine (see note 4 below).  

 

[3] Roland Barthes, 'Wine and Milk', in Mythologies, trans. Annette Lavers (Paladin Books, 1973), p. 65.

      Obviously, the Greeks, Italians, and Spanish feel exactly the same about wine; that it's not just as an alcoholic drink, but as an essential part of their daily life, culture, and cuisine (they also love their own cheeses just as much as the French, even if they don't produce as many types or consume as much).  

 

[4] See the fifth season episode of Seinfeld titled 'The Dinner Party' (1994), dir. Tom Cherones and written by Larry David. Click here to watch the relevant scene on YouTube. 

 

[5] Click here to watch the scene with Jeremy and Big Suze at the restaurant in the fifth season episode of Peep Show titled 'Burgling' (2008), dir. Becky Martin, written by Jesse Armstrong, Sam Bain, and David Mitchell.   

 

 

In Defence of My Essay on D. H. Lawrence's Dendrophilia

Illustration by Efrat Dahan

behance.net

 

 

I. 

 

An academic journal [1] has rejected the following short essay:

 

 

On D. H. Lawrence's Dendrophilia 

 

In an attempt to move beyond established parameters, this short essay examines the perverse materiality of Lawrence's relationship with the botanical world. It affirms dendrophilia not merely as a form of sexual deviance, but as a formal mechanism through which Lawrence facilitates amorous contact with the otherness of the arboreal environment. 

      Lawrence is often situated within the paradigms of vitalism and panpsychism. But such taxonomies often obfuscate the more radical and disturbing dimensions of his work. For far beyond the therapeutic frameworks of nature-immersion and forest bathing, Lawrence delineates a queer ontology of compulsion and, in this context, the tree transcends its status as a mimetic symbol of life to become a literal and figurative object of desire. As a nonhuman entity, its resinous allure facilitates a form of sexual communion that systematically transgresses heteronormative boundaries. 

      In the pornographic imagination, 'wood' is frequently employed as a crude metonym for male arousal. Lawrence, however, specifically via the figure of Rupert Birkin, reclaims the term's material density. Birkin's forest delirium in chapter VIII of Women in Love serves as a seminal text for Lawrentian dendrophilia, characterized by the categorical rejection of human intimacy in favour of a birch tree's tactile specificity; "its smoothness, its hardness, its vital knots and ridges" (WL 107). 

      This represents a more radical eroticism than the mere instrumentalisation of nature seen, for example, in Fortune and Wells's novel A Melon for Ecstasy (1971). Whereas the protagonist of the latter, Humphrey Mackevoy, requires the artificial modification of the botanical body to simulate human anatomy, Birkin seeks a communion predicated on the tree's alien nature. In other words, Lawrence eschews the anthropomorphic impulse that would reduce the tree to a vaginal substitute; instead, he insists on the tree as an autonomous object-in-itself. Birkin, the amorous male subject, does not seek to master the natural environment, but to be penetrated by its "raw earth-power" (MM 159) and to deposit his seed in the "folds of the delicious fresh growing leaves" (WL 108). This is a sexual communion defined not merely by tenderness, but by a deadly serious longing for ecstatic, inhuman contact and involves violent struggle as much as sensual delight. 

      The specific parameters of Lawrentian dendrophilia are further elucidated through his visceral repudiation of Ben Hecht's Fantazius Mallare (1922). For despite this work's controversial reputation and Wallace Smith's explicit illustrations of a man enjoying coition with a tree, Lawrence dismissed the novel as "crass" and "strained" (IR 215). His critique was not born of moral prudery, but from a fundamental ontological divergence: Lawrence argued that Smith failed because, unlike Beardsley, he lacked a sense of malicious irony; "to be really wicked he'd see that even a tree has its own daimon, and a man might lie with the daimon of a tree" (IR 215). 

      In other words, Lawrence's aversion to Smith's artwork again stemmed from its reductive anthropomorphism. By imposing a distinctly all-too-human female form on the tree, Smith transposed a transgressive encounter into a tedious heteronormative cliché. For Lawrence, the erotic charge of the tree resides exclusively in its non-humanity. To "nestle against its strong trunk" (PFU 86) is to engage with an object that is "fierce and bristling" (MM 158), whose "root-lust" (PFU 86) does not mirror human emotion but rather challenges the human subject to reorganise their life in relation to the tree's own onto-botanical reality. 

      This erotic fascination is grounded in a form of object imperative, wherein Lawrence frames his encounter with an American pine, for example, not as a romanticised union, but as a meeting of two lives that "cross one another, unknowingly" (MM 158). This facilitates a materialist union; "the tree’s life penetrates my life, and my life, the tree's" (MM 158). 

      Lawrence's prose adopts an increasingly somatic register when describing this interaction - one which Rupert Birkin describes as a "marriage" (WL 108). In 'Pan in America', he speaks of "shivers of energy" crossing his "living plasm" (MM 158), suggesting a biological and erotic osmosis where the man becomes "a degree more like unto the tree" (MM 159). The "piney sweetness is rousing and defiant" and the "noise of the needles is keen with aeons of sharpness" (MM 158). This is not the language of pastoral bliss; it is the language of a "primitive savageness" (MM 159) that Lawrence seems to find particularly stimulating. To borrow Graham Harman's concept of the withdrawn but irresistible object, the tree's "resinous erectness" (MM 159) acts as a black sun, radiating a gravitational force that holds birds, beasts and dendrophiles in its orbit. 

      Lawrence, then, moves beyond botanical observation or even a chaste form of tree worship, activating "doors of receptivity" that allow the "relentlessness of roots" (MM 159) to fundamentally restructure the internal architecture of human being. His dendrophilia ultimately points toward a perverse and pantheistic sensuality that complicates the traditional boundaries of religious and erotic experience. Lawrence's desire to venerate arboreal being is inseparable from his (Birkinesque) desire to nakedly rub against young fir-trees that "beat his loins with their clusters of soft-sharp needles" (WL 107), etc. 

      By situating this engagement beyond the historical paradigms of domestic or recreational intimacy, Lawrence effectively posits a third category of desire: the pursuit of bliss via the non-human. Rejecting, as mentioned earlier, the mimetic reductions of the artificial vagina, Lawrence reconfigures the tree as a site of profound paraphilic contact. This vision moves sex beyond the procreative or banally pleasurable, allowing readers to conceive of his phallic philosophy as a passionate ontological encounter with responsive vegetation. [2]

 

 

For me, this decision taken by the editor on the advice of two anonymous reviewers [3], is disappointing to say the least; as is the accusation that my text lacks nuance, misunderstands Lawrence's language, and fails to see that his dendrophilia is actually just a repressed expression of same-sex desire.  

 

Of course, rejection is all part of the game and, ultimately, every writer has to accept this. However, I'd like to offer a modest (but robust) defence of the essay and attempt to explain some of its finer theoretical points; not by way of launching a formal appeal or seeking the support of someone to intervene on my behalf, but more as a piece of rhetorical pushback (hopefully not too soured with grape juice).  

 

 

II. 

 

Essentially, the thousand-word text was an attempt to make an original and provocative contribution that veers away from the cosy and conventional literary traditions of Lawrence scholarship - such as vitalism or pastoralism - and engages with the visceral, transgressive character of his prose. The essay also aimed to subvert the green readings that would place Lawrence's work within a network of environmental moralism; by boldly reframing Lawrence's relationship to trees as paraphilic, we move the conversation from eco-mysticism to perverse materialism.  

 

And by making a clear distinction between the instrumentalisation of nature and Lawrence's object-eroticism, suggesting that the tree's otherness is the source of Birkin's desire, the essay aligns Lawrence with recent developments in European philosophy, thereby disrupting the tired heteronormative/homoerotic binary that dominates Lawrence studies. It suggests a queer ontology where the human/non-human boundary is the primary site of sexual tension. 

 

Further, the work - if I do say so myself - displays a certain degree of linguistic and critical wit, uniquely connecting well-known Lawrentian texts, like Women in Love, with more obscure cultural references - such as Fantazius Mallare and A Melon for Ecstasy - as well as Graham Harman's philosophy, thus providing a rigorous intellectual framework for what might otherwise be dismissed as an eccentric reading. 

 

 

III. 

 

Ultimately, of course, the reviewers' rejection stems from a fundamental clash between my object-oriented reading of Lawrence's perverse materialism and their traditional humanist framework. It's not that they fail to understand the work; rather, they understand it all too well - and do not like it. And so they fall back on a gatekeeping strategy that reinforces established biographical and linguistic nuances over radical theoretical interventions. 

 

It was said that I had conflated the terms dendrophilia and paraphilia and that this was problematic. Actually, however, the problem is that the reviewers prefer to define dendrophilia via a standard etymological lens; i.e., simply as a love of trees rooted in Lawrence's documented life and his arboreal writings. 

 

But I'm using the term in a wider, more critical and clinical sense to suggest a non-symbolic sexual communion and highlight the libidinal character of Birkin's desire. It's not that I'm being careless or clumsy with language, it's a deliberate theoretical move. Whether it works or not, is, of course, open to debate. 

 

Moving on, we arrive at the (predictably reductive and, frankly, risible) idea that Birkin's dendro-floraphilia is actually a repressed (and/or displaced) form of same-sex desire; that when he rubs against the trees he is actually thinking of Gerald and that the tree is thus merely a human substitute, rather than an autonomous object-in-itself with its own allure. 

 

To be clear: I'm not overlooking or denying Birkin's attraction to Gerald (or, indeed, Ursula), I'm simply not interested in these all-too-human desires and relations. I'm more concerned with taking Lawrence's demonology and dendrophilia seriously. Clearly, however, these are things my critics prefer to leave vague: the latter is the love whose name they dare not speak. 

  

IV.

 

How, then, might we summarise this conflict of opinion? 

 

Clearly, the editorial board of the journal in question tends to favour research grounded in archival evidence and historical context. My essay probably seemed too speculative for a forum that still prioritises Lawrence's intent and his complex relationship with human sexuality over modern queer or object-oriented readings (indeed, it was probably foolish and mistaken on my part to submit it in the first place).  

 

Sadly, the rejection of the essay reflects an all-too-common tension in academic peer review between radical theoretical intervention and traditional scholarly maintenance. I wouldn't say the editorial board is cowardly or even particularly conservative, it's more a case that they are operating in a very different world with different rules to the "unexplored realm of dangerous knowledge" [4], that Nietzsche speaks of and in which Lawrence challenged us to do our thinking.  

 

Thus, whilst they wish to preserve the historical and biographical authenticity of Lawrence's work and safeguard his reputation as an author; I want to corrupt and destroy everything (not least of all journals that operate as academic echo chambers). 

 

  

Notes 

 

[1] Out of professional courtesy, the title of this journal has been omitted. 

 

[2] The following books by D. H. Lawrence were referenced in the text (as IR, MM, PFU, and WL):

 

-- Introductions and Reviews, ed. N. H. Reeve and John Worthen (Cambridge University Press, 2005).

-- Mornings in Mexico and Other Essays, ed. Virginia Crosswhite Hyde (Cambridge University Press, 2009). 

-- Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious / Fantasia of the Unconscious, ed. Bruce Steele (Cambridge University Press, 2004). 

-- Women in Love, ed. David Farmer, John Worthen and Lindeth Vasey (Cambridge University Press, 1987).

 

[3] Again, out of professional courtesy - and because this is not a personal issue - the name of the editor has been omitted. 

 

[4] Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, trans. R. J. Hollingdale, (Penguin Books, 1990), I. 23, p. 53. 

 

Another Perfect Shoe

viviennewestwood.com 

 

 

I. 

 

Long-time readers, hardcore torpedophiles, and shoe-lovers everywhere may recall a post from December 2012 in which I described the Levitate by Prada; an insanely beautiful shoe combining the old school formality of the brogue with the urban cool of the Nike Air sneaker, topped off with a golf fringe as an almost ludicrous addition just for the hell of it: click here.   

 

I said at the time it was the perfect item of men's footwear and I still think that now (and there isn't a day goes by when I do not mourne the loss of these shoes). 

 

Perfection, however, is not a unique quality; it's a standard that can be met (albeit rarely) by multiple designs. And so, here's another example of what I believe to a perfect shoe: the Hammerhead, designed by Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood for their Pirate collection (A/W 1981-82).  

 

 

II. 

 

The Pirate collection was McLaren and Westwood’s first official catwalk show together and it informed the post-punk aesthetic of their King's Road store now renamed and reimagined as Worlds End. The black bondage pants that defined Seditionaries were replaced with romantic brightly coloured outfits, plundered from history and from around the world. 

 

And brothel creepers and biker boots were replaced with hammerhead shoes ...

   

The shoe pictured above, features a python-effect embossed upper, set on a formal leather sole and low heel. Named for its elongated square-toe silhouette, the piece is accented with sporty red and black racing stripes along the sides and features a lace-up design, as well as a contrasting red heel tab with an embossed cutlass motif.  

 

Whilst comfort isn't everything - isn't even a primary consideration when it comes to the beauty and the politics of a shoe - it has to be said the Hammerhead, made with wonderfully soft leather, is extremely comfortable to wear. It's real magic, however, is that it makes one feel heroic and at odds with the everyday world in its more sensible forms of footwear. 

  

Note: for an interesting (and nicely illustrated) take on the Hammerhead shoe in 713 Magazine - a digital publication and creative platform devoted to contemporary fashion, art, and culture - click here.  

 

 

This post is for Fiona Stuart and everyone at Rellik.  

 

 

Reflections on a Magpie Among the Daffodils

Magpie Among the Daffodils 

(SA/2026)

 

 

The presence of a solitary magpie amidst a cluster of daffodils reminds one of the often stark contrast between symbols, systems of classification, and the more chaotic reality of nature. 

 

On one hand, we have the daffodil: a genus formally identified by Linnaeus in 1753 and subsequently burdened with the weight of Romantic poetry. 

 

Whilst Wordsworth and Keats ideally framed the flower as a source of eternal joy, its appeal for me lies more in its lack of cultivated pretension and the fact that the humble daffodil is biologically resilient, nodding in defiant affirmation regardless of its proximity to litter and traffic [1]. 

 

The magpie, meanwhile, is a bird forever trapped in the ornithomantic binaries of folklore. However, to view a lone magpie through the lens of the traditional nursery rhyme is to participate in the superstitious belief that grief and happiness are somehow separate states. 

 

As any Nietzschean will remind you, such oppositions are untenable. Joy and sorrow are forever tied and to demand the mirth of the second bird while rejecting the misery of the first is a failure to recognise that life, much like a magpie's plumage, is defined by its iridescent complexity and contradictions and is never simply black and white [2].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See the post 'Continuous as the Stars That Shine ...' (16 Mar 2023): click here. 

 

[2] See the post 'One for Sorrow ...' (18 Oct 2023): click here. 

 

 

On the Art and Sexual Politics of Petrophilia: In Anticipation of SJ Fuerst's New Exhibition

SJ Fuerst: Agate (2026) part of the exhibition  

Madonnas on the Rocks at Il Kamra ta' Fuq 

(20 Mar - 5 April 2026) 

 

'Just as every woman is born of a single rib, so too 

are all rocks and stones descended from one enormous ancestor ...'

 

 

I. 

 

The Virgin of the Rocks is the title of not one but two oil paintings by Leonardo of the same subject and identical in composition except for several details, some having symbolic weight and some simply relating to technical aspects of light and colour.   

 

The slightly larger version, which is generally considered the earlier of the two (c. 1483-86), hangs in the Louvre [click here]; the other recently restored version, dated between 1495 and 1508, hangs in the National Gallery, London [click here].  

 

Both were originally painted on wooden panels, but the Louvre version has been transferred to canvas. And both depict the Virgin Mary and child Jesus with the infant John the Baptist and an angel, Uriel, in a rocky setting (a non-biblical event, but a popular theme within medieval Christianity).

 

Both works are examples of the Renaissance painting technique known as sfumato, used to soften the transition between colours, and perfected by Leonardo. If you like your images to be smoked like your fish, then this is the technique for you - although it is in much greater evidence in the Louvre painting than the London work, which is sharper, less subtle, and I think slightly more sinister.     

 

Still, all this is essentially just artistic context allowing me to write in anticipation of a new solo exhibition by one of my favourite contemporary artists - the American figurative painter SJ Fuerst - opening on the 20th of this month, at Il Kamra ta' Fuq gallery (Malta) [1]: Madonnas on the Rocks ...      

 

 

II.   

 

Obviously, I cannot yet comment on the works, although the image released above by the artist on her Instagram page [click here], undoubtedly gives a good indication of what to expect; namely, images of beautiful women painted directly onto slices of stone, constituting a stunning and highly imaginative art of petrology.  

 

The work shown is titled Agate and one assumes that it is, therefore, painted on this common (but cryptocrystalline) variety of quartz, known both for its translucency and hardness. 

 

Perhaps less well known, is the fact that the stone was named by the Ancient Greek philosopher and naturalist Theophrastus [2], who discovered it and also famously wrote a book on all kinds of rocks and stones, in which he classified them based on their behaviour when heated and not just more obvious common properties. 

 

Theophrastus also considered the practical uses of various stones; such as the minerals necessary for the production of various pigments of paint. 

 

Ms Fuerst will be very aware of all this, I'm sure. For she's not only a hugely talented artist, but also a very well-read and intelligent one, who knows exactly what she's doing and what she wishes to achieve. And just like old Theo himself, she's very systematic and considered in her work; they may indicate playfulness, but there's nothing slapdash about her pictures. 

 

Readers who visit her website - sjfuesrt.com - will appreciate what I mean, whilst readers who recall my post 'Petrophilia: On the Geochemical Origin of Life and the Religious Worship of Rocks' (25 Jan 2024) - click here - will appreciate why I am so excited by Fuerst's new show [3].

 

Any male readers, however, who are thinking of attending should note that the artist has, somewhat controversially, forbidden ownership of the paintings by men and will be donating 20% of the sales to a women's rights organisation. 

 

I only hope that some of those organisations work with women who have fled from those nations and regions of the world where they still practice stoning (lapidation) as a method of capital punishment against women charged with illicit sexual activity [4]. This includes nations such as Afghanistan, Iran, Qatar, Saudia Arabia, Sudan, Yemen [5] - but not Malta, as far as I'm aware. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The small independent gallery is located on the first floor above the New Life Bar, 4 Church Square, Mqabba. The exhibition runs from 20 March until 5 April, 2026 and is curated by Melanie Erixon. For more information visit the website by clicking here.

 

[2] Originally from Lesbos, Theophrastus was mentored by Aristotle and eventually succeeded the latter as head of the Lyceum, in Athens. He is considered by some to be the father of botany, for a number of groundbreaking studies on plants.

 

[3] See also my post on Gauguin's painting La Vague (1888), which features giant black rocks off of the coast of Brittany (13 August 2023): click here. 

 

[4] Although men - particularly gay men - may also be subjected to stoning, the vast majority of the victims are reported to be women and it's generally accepted that women are not treated equally and fairly by the law courts in those countries where stoning remains a legal form of punishment.

 

[5] Readers will note that these are all Muslim countries, although, interestingly, stoning is not mentioned in the Quran. It is, however, a sharia-prescribed punishment on the basis of hadith (sayings and actions attributed to the Islamic prophet Muhammad), although one that is rarely carried out, even if Islamists call for its full reinstatement and the provision for stoning is retained in law.   

 

 

For a selection of other posts on Torpedo the Ark discussing the work of SJ Fuerst, please click here. 

 

 

In Defence of Stephen Alexander's 'Fragments of Glass' (2006) - by May Spear

Costas Varotsos: Dromeas (1994)

Glass and iron sculpture (Athens, Greece) 

Photo: Stephen Alexander (2006)

 

   

I. 

 

Recently, a cutting and rather condescending review of Stephen Alexander's poetic series Fragments of Glass (2006) was published by an anonymous critic assisted by artificial intelligence - or was it the other way round - in the comments section following a post published on Torpedo the Ark dated 19 Dec 2012: click here.  

 

Essentially, the critic targeted Alexander's morbid narcissism and the fact that his text allowed little space for the reader to move around in and do their own thinking (that it was authoritarian).  

 

The review certainly contained some clever insights; I particularly liked the idea of triangulation [1] i.e., that the poet positioned himself (somewhat self-dramatically) between two poles of delirium - love and death - symbolised by the two women. But to extrapolate from this that Alexander is simply posing and manipulating situations and that the fragments lack genuine feeling seems to me unfair and, in fact, mistaken. 

 

By viewing the two women as 'props' in a 'self-centred drama', the critic fails to see the fragmentation of identity common in traumatic experiences. The women represent two versions of the poet's own future; one of connection (a life together) and one of total collapse (suicide). 

 

Obviously, there is a degree of staging and performance - and yes there's an aestheticisation of trauma - but it's a work of art, after all, not a news report or a clinical history. And is it really so unusual for a poet to write about their bodies and their experiences? I think not. The kind of poetic reflection demanded by the critic is somewhat like the moon-cold objectivity that Nietzsche derides in Zarathustra as 'immaculate perception' [2].

 

Re context: the poem is set in Athens: but clearly it is not about the Greek capital and Alexander is not offering these fragments as pieces of travel writing, or postcards from a holiday destination. One might even suggest that the loss of context is crucial here; in a moment of crisis, time can stand still and the external world suddenly disappear. The poem thus accurately reflects an aspect of shock.   

 

Re scabs and scars: despite the critic's insistence that the latter are 'aged scabs in effect', that is not true. For as any nurse will tell you, whilst both are features of the healing process, a scab is a temporary protective crust formed by blood cells to seal a wound; a scar, meanwhile, is the permanent, fibrous tissue that replaces normal skin after a deeper injury has healed. 

 

It's a small point to pick at, perhaps, but indicative of the often slipshod thinking that the critic practises and by denying the difference between scabs and scars he misses the point; namely, that the poet is expressing a preference for the spectacular moment of crisis over the mundane process of healing. 

 

Re comparisons of Alexander to other poets, such as Plath and Sexton: this seems to me a pointless exercise; for as the same unnamed (but not unrecognised or unknown) critic often likes to say: All comparisons are odious. Having said that, the poppy imagery does, of course, reference Plath's work - of which Alexander is an open admirer - and the phrase 'little hell flames' is borrowed from her [3].    

 

Finally, the remark about Alexander being left to die 'once of blood loss and a second time of aesthetic delight' is admittedly humorous (one assumes AI came up with this cruel gem) and it made me smile like a splinter of glass. But there are, however, equally fine - and equally - sharp lines to be found in Fragments of Glass ...

 

 

II.  

Fragments of Glass consists of seven short verses, each six or seven lines in length. It opens with a crash and a 'sparkling chaos of glass, blood and sunshine' and ends with the shamefulness of scabs. 

 

In my view it's a fantastic work of trauma poetry, the logic and the beauty of which our anonymous critic often fails to grasp (or chooses not to acknowledge). It is also a visceral meditation on the fragility of the body and the malevolence of the inanimate universe; one that transforms trauma into art which delights in a mix of surrealism and synaesthesia. 

 

As the boundary between selfhood and the external world is shattered, the narrator of the poem is left to reflect on existential questions of the heart whilst quite literally watching his blood spill and splinters of glass assume mocking agency (the work pre-dates Alexander's interest in object-oriented ontology, but one can see already his fascination for things). 

 

To not see how glass might smile is a literalist failure.    

 

Ultimately, the poem promotes a tragic philosophy: life bleeds and we are born to 'embody our scars', a line borrowed from Deleuze, I believe, and one that further reveals Alexander's philosophical background; as does the celebration of vitality and 'everything that flows'.  

 

Fragments of Glass has its shortcomings: here, as elsewhere, Alexander tends toward the clichéd and melodramatic at times and his imagery lacks a certain nuance. I personally don't like the Alice metaphor, for example. But then, he's not pretending to be a professional poet, so I feel we can allow him some clumsiness (the same quality that resulted in his walking into a glass door in the first place).  

 

Notes

[1] For those who might be unfamiliar with this psychological concept, triangulation refers to a dysfunctional relationship dynamic where two conflicting subjects involve a third person in order to reduce tension, stabilise the relationship, or manipulate situations. 

 

[2] See Nietzsche writing in the section 'On Immaculate Perception', in Thus Spoke Zarathustra.  

 

[3] See Alexander's post on Torpedo the Ark titled 'Little Hell Flames: On D. H. Lawrence's Poppy Philosophy' (29 May 2021): click here.  

 

 

May Spear is a contributing editor to the underground French literary magazine Pourquoi es-tu un con aussi odieux? 

 

On the Borderline Sociopathology of Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld

 

Melanie Smith as Rachel and Jerry Seinfeld as 

a fictional version of himself in Seinfeld

 

 

I. 

 

One of the most critically acclaimed episodes of Seinfeld - and a firm fan favourite - is the season 5 episode entitled 'The Opposite', dir. Tom Cherones, and written by Larry David, Jerry Seinfeld and Andy Cowan (1994). 

 

There are many memorable moments, but, for me, one of the most amusing is the scene in Monk's restaurant in which Jerry's girlfriend Rachel (played by Melanie Smith) decides they should end their relationship:

  

 

Rachel: Jerry ... 

 

Jerry: Yes? 

 

Rachel: I've been doing a lot of thinking. 

 

Jerry: Aha? 

 

Rachel: Well, I don't think we should see each other any more. 

 

Jerry: Oh, that's okay. 

 

Rachel: What? 

 

Jerry: Nah, that's fine. No problem. I'll meet somebody else. 

 

Rachel: You will? 

 

Jerry: Sure. See, things always even out for me. 

 

Rachel: Huh? 

 

Jerry: It's fine. Anyway, it's been really nice dating you for a while. And ... good luck! 

 

Rachel: Yeah, you too. [1]

 

 

As Jerry leaves the restaurant having thrown some money for the bill on the table, he cheerfully sings to himself: She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes ... It's a perfect illustration of Jerry's ironically detached character and the upbeat nature of the song highlights his lack of emotional concern about a romantic relationship being terminated. 

 

Such nonchalance is obviously played for comic effect, but some might see it as a sign of a borderline personality disorder ...

 

 

II.  

 

Fast-forward twenty-seven years and we arrive at the following scene in the season 11 episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm entitled 'IRASSHAIMASE!, dir. Robert B. Weide, and written by Larry David, Jeff Schaffer, and Carol Leifer (2021) ...

 

Larry is at his favourite Japanese restaurant with his date for the evening, Gabby McAfee, played by Julie Bowen, and the conversation goes something like this:   

 

Gabby: Larry, I wasn't even gonna come on this date. I've had such bad luck since my divorce, but Jeff told me the worst thing that happens, it doesn't work out, he's a great person to break up with.   

 

Larry: Oh, yeah. I'm great.  

 

Gabby: Really? 

 

Larry: Yeah. Like, if we go out for six months or eight months or whatever, all you gotta do is say, 'Hey, I don't want to see you anymore'. And I go, 'okay'. 

 

Gabby: No drama?  

 

Larry: Zero. 

 

Gabby: That's a good quality. 

 

Larry: I walk away, and I never give you ... 

 

Gabby: Not another thought. Wow! That's almost like a sociopath, but borderline. 

 

Larry: That's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me.   

 

 

Again, this is obviously intended to be funny; we are meant to find Larry's attitude and ability to just walk away as questionable at best - if not absolutely reprehensible. Journalist Mark Matousek writes:

 

"Larry is a narcissist and a sociopath obsessed with the rules of social conduct but completely insensitive to anyone's feelings but his own. [...] You could argue that Larry is one of the most sadistic characters in television history because he has no excuses. He is aware of his moral failings, makes no effort to change them, and [...] has no emotional traumas or existential threats to explain his behavior. Larry's life is one of exceptional comfort and privilege, and he uses it as an opportunity to become his worst self." [3]

 

But, actually, like Gabby McAfee, I think we might say it's a good - rather noble, somewhat stoical - quality. For as Barthesians, we have been reared into a way of thinking that sees the making of scenes and the insistence on emotional posturing as infra dig.

 

Like Barthes, I can't stand those who manufacture conflict in order to act like drama queens; or those who seek to entangle others in their psycho-political games. Like Barthes, as one gets older, one longs to be socially adrift and detached from all kinds of sentimental obscenity (to not be bullied or blackmailed into caring).      

And so, like Jerry and like Larry, one learns how to just walk away - and/or let others walk away if that's what they want; to become borderline sociopathic and trust that things will all even out in the end, so there's really no need to worry or get upset. 

 

 

 Larry David and Julie Bowen in Curb Your Enthusiasm 

(S11/E5 - 2021)

 

  

Notes

 

[1] Dialogue from 'The Opposite', Seinfeld (S5/E22), as found on seinfeldscripts.com: click here. For those who want to watch the scene on YouTube, click here.  

 

[2] Dialogue transcribed from 'IRASSHAIMASE!', Curb Your Enthusiasm (S11/E5). And for those who want to watch the scene on YouTube, please click here. 

 

[3] Mark Matousek, 'Me Myself, and I: Curb Your Enthusiasm and the Art of Being a Sociopath' (29 Sept 2017), on popmatters.com: click here. 

 

 

Thanks to Simon Solomon for suggesting this post.