Physical Address
304 North Cardinal St.
Dorchester Center, MA 02124
KAe Tempest’s new book is dedicated to “you”, the reader. It also comes with a request: “Be gentle though.” But to whom or what should we be gentle? Book or author? Living the Most Wanted is Tempest’s second book, which is now ten years old after the first and follow a period of great change, including gender change. Perhaps unavoidably, it is a book full of difficulties and a life search. It’s also a painfully deep read: a relentlessly boring inspirational read or determination.
The publisher didn’t help here, boldly proclaiming it “a heart-breaking, life-building new book”. This is very good to achieve, even for someone who made a reputation as a passionate poet, won the Ted Hughes award in 2013, and created albums that were nominated by Mercury in 2014 and 2017. dangerous and a hero to find himself. What is missing is a satisfying inner thought or reflection.
The book begins with Rothko Taylor, 36 years old, who has recently been released after twenty years in prison for a crime that has not been revealed to us. Living in a car with a stray dog and working menial jobs, Rothko envisions an unlikely future where he can earn enough money to “go undercover… Start on the T” (testosterone). Meanwhile, he cut himself off as an individual, struggling with supermarket shopping and a longing to “just be touched”. Edgecliff, the chaotic and fictional seaside town in which the novel is set, reflects the novel’s troubled nature. Here Rothko has to deal with his past, especially as Meg, his neglectful and drug-addicted mother, who is now in a nursing home with dementia.
Storm makes the book simple, with long hums connecting the past to the present and filling in the background. At the age of 15, Rothko struggles with his parents’ ill-fated divorce, gender uncertainty and a secret affair with fellow teenager Dionne. The Tempest’s writings are eloquent, as if they want to remove the jaw-dropping beauty of realism. The issue is that reality is not reality. Consider Rothko’s time in prison, which is treated with irony: “Prison was a hard place for brave people who saw hard things.”
But Rothko finds a community, both in prison and in the life he rebuilds later. Prison, like poverty, squalor, addiction and injury, can be made beautiful, it seems. If Tempest sits on “a record of leaves, glittering birds and thin glittering packages” in a broken canal, then he will later show a vision of grace. Rothko’s sister Sarai said of Rothko: “People needed beauty, especially those who were more drenched than their ugliness. The idea that suffering could be wealth equal to the beauty of its reward is very disturbing. Later, Rothko seems to be surprised by the self-inflicted scars on Dionne’s legs. This is a love for Rothko, and an uncomfortable read.”
Pain, of various kinds, is central to this book. But hurt by itself does not constitute a conspiracy. And it doesn’t follow that listing life’s horror stories would be the best way to bring the reader up to speed on what’s going on. Part of the problem is that Tempest’s words fit easily into verses: fragments, sometimes simple. After Rothko’s addiction, Tempest writes: “Rothko came and the whole world was killed. Instead of raising the voice, the music sounds like glib and vague thoughts, shorthand for the power of the unknown: “They wanted things they couldn’t name; he wanted to rest.
Lines like “Days passed in Dionne’s darkness” might work in a song but are disappointing as a sentence. Dionne herself is slightly drawn, a tarot card-wielding good girl, a Rizla-rolling version of the manic pixie dream girl, who is tasked with redeeming the hero. Later, Tempest wrote: “Rothko escaped their bodies when he entered Dionne’s body. But here’s the problem. Rothko has no distinguishing characteristics other than gender dysphoria and an unhappy childhood. Is a person just the sum of the things that happen to them? And is the answer really as simple as rekindling a teenage romance?”
In the end, it is to Dionne that Rothko says: “I am a man.” The storm marks the moment with the change of the dictionary from “they” to “he”, a sign that carries a real emotional weight. If it is difficult to respect Tempest’s plea for readers to “be gentle” with her book, it is nevertheless clear that this is a book that has its own risks and more gender stereotypes. And there is a chance that new books will come along that will be equal to the task of capturing the complexities of that knowledge with passion and energy.
Having Spent Life Seeking by Kae Tempest published by Jonathan Cape (£18.99). To support the Guardian, buy a copy at guardianbookshop.com. Shipping fees may apply.
