Hardback / bound
|
English
€19.95
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Description
A breathtaking memoir of transition, history, art, and memory
Seeing the world unfold from the perspective of a self is easier than seeing that self as a particular folding-up of the world. MacKenzie Wark's special genius, in this wild ride across the late twentieth century and its aftermath, is to offer both perspectives at once, shimmying and shaking between the two with gleeful and brilliant abandon.
McKenzie Wark's account of her life to this point fuses friendship and history, love and ideas. Radically honest and beautifully light, her memoir offers brilliant and challenging ways of understanding how fluidly gender is actually lived by those who dare. Like all of her work, it's really a personal manifesto. I was inspired and energized reading this book.
A capacious offering to transfeminine truth-witty and wild, soft and scathing, broken-hearted and open-hearted. Moving toward the future by excavating the past, Wark makes space for complexity, innovation, self- determination, and communal possibility in "the sparkle of one's difference."
In writing letters to former selves, mothers, lovers and others McKenzie Wark has captured life lived in and as transformation with rigour and poetry. From an oppressive but formative 1960s Australian childhood, to the physical and intellectual expansiveness of New York City in the 21st century, Wark witnesses her beginnings and endings, her coming and unbecoming. She is bracing, sharp, argumentative and tender all at once
A sharp epistolary memoir about gender, family, disability, and age...Wark's analysis of gender, sexuality, and queerness is both ebullient and trenchant.
Sad and tender and sassy and smart. A love letter to life and transition, to the endless possibilities of the body and the mind, to love itself.
Wark is one of the only scholars to take young people seriously-not as a spectacle or site of extraction, but as friends to learn from and hang out with. This lack of judgment, which radiates, not just through the book, but through the author herself, is what is so winning in the end. I am grateful for Love and Money, Sex and Death, and I'm grateful for McKenzie, too.
This memoir plumbs erasures in Wark's personal experiences in order to understand her personal formation outside of the 'born this way' narrative...there's something refreshing, even relieving, about the book's lack of a neat, packaged gender narrative. Love and Money, Sex and Death is a memoir that seeks understanding around a personal formation; it extends that spacious anarchy for others to play in too.
[This] memoir is an attempt to make sense of the edited self and the person who we once were. A portrait of selfhood under construction.
Wark revisits and reexamines her past by writing letters to major figures in her life in her new memoir and a stunning look at transition, history, art, and memory.
[Love and Money, Sex and Death] outright embodies not just the communal, but the femmunal, the sprawling network of weirdo-others that make the self.
Wark's work is always worth checking out, and this new book looks to be an especially essential part of her bibliography.
Wark's poetic and direct language crafts an unusually moving text that draws on art, popular culture, and mythology. The result is an introspective narrative that both tells an individual's story and conveys essential insights into gender and queerness, family, friends, and change.
In glimpses that are both emotionally and intellectually breathtaking, [Wark] recalls her coming-of-age in Newcastle, Australia, in the 1960s and '70s; her career as a poet; her marriage and grief; parenthood; her various lovers and her transition, in her 50s.
[Wark] turns the idea of a traditional, linear memoir on its head, using hindsight as a tool to reapproach, and in some cases recover, past relationships.
McKenzie Wark is one of the sharpest, most exciting voices writing at the intersections of capitalism, community, gender, and sex - more broadly, everything in this title - and she is also criminally underread.
Ricochets between sparkling defiance, unravelled grief, and furious hope. It's a fun, wild, devastating ride. Read it.
McKenzie Wark is the author of A Hacker Manifesto, The Beach beneath the Street, The Spectacle of Disintegration, Molecular Red, Capital Is Dead, as well as the popular introductions to contemporary thought General Intellects and Sensoria. In 2017, she came out as transgender. Since, she has published her trans autofiction books, Reverse Cowgirl and Raving, and a work that combines memoir and literary criticism about Kathy Acker, Philosophy for Spiders. She teaches at Eugene Lang College, the New School.
Seeing the world unfold from the perspective of a self is easier than seeing that self as a particular folding-up of the world. MacKenzie Wark's special genius, in this wild ride across the late twentieth century and its aftermath, is to offer both perspectives at once, shimmying and shaking between the two with gleeful and brilliant abandon.
McKenzie Wark's account of her life to this point fuses friendship and history, love and ideas. Radically honest and beautifully light, her memoir offers brilliant and challenging ways of understanding how fluidly gender is actually lived by those who dare. Like all of her work, it's really a personal manifesto. I was inspired and energized reading this book.
A capacious offering to transfeminine truth-witty and wild, soft and scathing, broken-hearted and open-hearted. Moving toward the future by excavating the past, Wark makes space for complexity, innovation, self- determination, and communal possibility in "the sparkle of one's difference."
In writing letters to former selves, mothers, lovers and others McKenzie Wark has captured life lived in and as transformation with rigour and poetry. From an oppressive but formative 1960s Australian childhood, to the physical and intellectual expansiveness of New York City in the 21st century, Wark witnesses her beginnings and endings, her coming and unbecoming. She is bracing, sharp, argumentative and tender all at once
A sharp epistolary memoir about gender, family, disability, and age...Wark's analysis of gender, sexuality, and queerness is both ebullient and trenchant.
Sad and tender and sassy and smart. A love letter to life and transition, to the endless possibilities of the body and the mind, to love itself.
Wark is one of the only scholars to take young people seriously-not as a spectacle or site of extraction, but as friends to learn from and hang out with. This lack of judgment, which radiates, not just through the book, but through the author herself, is what is so winning in the end. I am grateful for Love and Money, Sex and Death, and I'm grateful for McKenzie, too.
This memoir plumbs erasures in Wark's personal experiences in order to understand her personal formation outside of the 'born this way' narrative...there's something refreshing, even relieving, about the book's lack of a neat, packaged gender narrative. Love and Money, Sex and Death is a memoir that seeks understanding around a personal formation; it extends that spacious anarchy for others to play in too.
[This] memoir is an attempt to make sense of the edited self and the person who we once were. A portrait of selfhood under construction.
Wark revisits and reexamines her past by writing letters to major figures in her life in her new memoir and a stunning look at transition, history, art, and memory.
[Love and Money, Sex and Death] outright embodies not just the communal, but the femmunal, the sprawling network of weirdo-others that make the self.
Wark's work is always worth checking out, and this new book looks to be an especially essential part of her bibliography.
Wark's poetic and direct language crafts an unusually moving text that draws on art, popular culture, and mythology. The result is an introspective narrative that both tells an individual's story and conveys essential insights into gender and queerness, family, friends, and change.
In glimpses that are both emotionally and intellectually breathtaking, [Wark] recalls her coming-of-age in Newcastle, Australia, in the 1960s and '70s; her career as a poet; her marriage and grief; parenthood; her various lovers and her transition, in her 50s.
[Wark] turns the idea of a traditional, linear memoir on its head, using hindsight as a tool to reapproach, and in some cases recover, past relationships.
McKenzie Wark is one of the sharpest, most exciting voices writing at the intersections of capitalism, community, gender, and sex - more broadly, everything in this title - and she is also criminally underread.
Ricochets between sparkling defiance, unravelled grief, and furious hope. It's a fun, wild, devastating ride. Read it.
McKenzie Wark is the author of A Hacker Manifesto, The Beach beneath the Street, The Spectacle of Disintegration, Molecular Red, Capital Is Dead, as well as the popular introductions to contemporary thought General Intellects and Sensoria. In 2017, she came out as transgender. Since, she has published her trans autofiction books, Reverse Cowgirl and Raving, and a work that combines memoir and literary criticism about Kathy Acker, Philosophy for Spiders. She teaches at Eugene Lang College, the New School.