Naked Lunch

One of my key criteria when evaluating any work of art is the time test. I view this test as twofold. I start by asking if the piece is relevant beyond the moment, generation, age in which it was published. And if it is relevant, I ask how does the piece stay with me during my brief life time.

I

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first read [Book: Naked Lunch] during my frosh year in High school. I didn’t have a clue as to who William S. Burroughs was, I hadn’t heard of the beat poets, sex was an allusion, and opium was merely an incense scent. I think I only picked it up because it had the shocking word naked in the title.

I didn’t fully understand it at that point in my life. Who could with so little context and a lack of worldly experience? But I knew that I was reading something just as important today as it was when it was published in 1959. Here’s what I understood then: A society had gone terribly wrong; life was cheaper than sex; and sex wasn’t sex but some sort of trope (I guess it’s metaphoreplay, ha ha).

As I’ve gotten older, different images and scenes from the book pop into mind, like acid flashbacks, and I realize that I’m standing in what Burroughs was writing about. This book should be required reading for every college freshman if not for all high school seniors. I’m not saying they have to agree with it or even like it, but it’s an extremely important piece of writing.

Beware: [Book: Naked Lunch] is a gateway novel. It leads to reading other works by Burroughs, [Book: Cities of the Red Night] (1981), and it opens the flood gates of subversive literature. People who suffer an adverse reaction to this book are advised to read volumes 8 through 14 of the most recently printed versions of the U.S. tax law.

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It is really raunchy and detailed. I only gave it two stars because I really like Burrough's letters about addiction at the end. I agreed with some of his philosophies, and he painted a very visual picture of what it is like to be an addict without all the disgusting stuff.

On page 200 of Naked Lunch, our narrator (perhaps we are to believe it is actually Burroughs?) confesses, "I am a recording instrument. . . . I do not presume to impose 'story' 'plot' 'continuity.' . . . Insofar as I succeed in Direct recording of certain areas of psychic process I may have limited

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function. . . . I am not an entertainer. . . ." Of course, if it takes you this long to figure this out, you must not have been reading the same book.

Naked Lunch is certainly not entertaining. It is not coherent, it is not logical, it is not pretty, it is not for the faint of heart, and it is not in any way concerned with making any sense whatsoever. In this paragraph, which in most of my reviews is devoted to plot summary, I say these things because I have nothing to say about the plot at all. What plot? What series of events? Often, Burroughs is content with merely offering vague ideas of scenes and then inundating us with scatological and sexual imagery, body parts and fluids and substances freakishly spewed across the page. Grammar need not apply in this world.

I've read other Burroughs before, so I probably should have expected this, but it's just not something I have a great deal of interest in or enthusiasm for. It is a trial just to read through the whole thing, and I like to think that I have a pretty strong stomach for the kind of graphic images that Burroughs thrives upon. It's just that, once you get past the grossness, I don't see much behind it. I don't feel the need or desire to dig deeper to understand the subconscious ideas underpinning the words. I don't care enough about what I've read to try and make sense of what happened. Burroughs wants us to see the horror of drug abuse and the disgust that is our capitalist lives, but nothing in the text makes me care all that much.

I will probably read the other Burroughs that are on the 1001 list, simply to say that I have, but I will confess that I simply don't get it. If that somehow makes this review useless to you, that's a risk I'm willing to take. Anyone who picks up Naked Lunch deserves to know in advance what they're getting themselves into--I did, and there's a part of me that wishes I'd never bothered in the first place.

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The most vividly and sexually surreal book I have ever read. To call this book a poetic exercise in the grotesque would be somewhat misleading, though, all together accurate. Translating the book into a linear narrative or brief synopsis is equivilant to breathing under water; a near impossibility

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with the witt of interpretation hiding around every proverbial corner...Burroughs' imagination is a beast off the gods zoo's chain in this obscenity inducing lawsuit and precedent setting work of fiction that will set your sympathetic soul on fire with an empathy that will, at the same time; apologize to your shame, or for it !

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Throughout this book there were a number of times where I thought “This book is exactly what I expected and at the same time nothing like I expected”. Now that I've finished it I can think of no better way to sum up my feelings towards it. Burroughs penned this work while suffering from a very

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severe addiction to “junk” and as a result the book does not follow a traditional narrative and I often had no idea where he was going to take me next or whether or not what I was reading was part of the story or just a random thought that had materialized in his heroin addicted mind. Though this could make it difficult to read at times it also made it exciting and surprising.
The parts I found the most well written and clear, often revolved around descriptions of fictional dystopian communities. I found these sections chilling and they effectively communicated how little faith Burroughs held in humanity (or the “human virus”). Of these sections the descriptions of the world Annexia and that of the Divisionists and their replicas were my favourite and the paranoid idea of the future held within those passages made me want to keep reading.
I do believe that this book is an amazing piece of literature, even in the midst of chaos Burroughs manages to find moments of clarity which truly reveal the dark and twisted world he was buried in. For example on page 56, when he states “I woke up with someone squeezing my hand, it was my other hand”. Nevertheless, there were still parts that disgusted me or that I thought were unnecessary and although later a sober Burroughs tried to explain the satire of characters like the Mugwump, I am still not convinced.
It is a book that you need to go into being prepared for whatever it will throw at you. It is one for which you will need to forget what a novel is supposed to be. It will most definitely shock and surprise as you follow Burroughs twisted “narrative” to...well to nowhere really. If you get the chance, the afterword written by a sober Burroughs later in life is a sobering finale which reminds us that this wasn't just a book but a living nightmare. At the beginning of Naked Lunch, Burroughs himself unknowingly provides us with, what I think is the most accurate way to describe his writing. He states “be just and if you can't be just, be arbitrary”. That is exactly what this book is, arbitrary and bizarre but at the same time the most accurate account Burroughs could give into the mind of a junkie.

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Looks like I’m not a fan of beat literature. I started On the Road when I was 15 and stopped after 30 miserable pages, and getting through Naked Lunch was like pulling teeth.

I am sure that I will not be the first to compare this book to James Joyce's Ulysses. It is a work which contains sentences of a construction that I would never dare to attempt: large passages seem to drift into almost, but not quite, nonsense; parts are still genuinely shocking, almost sixty years

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after they were penned.

In an age when every sensationalism has been brought into the artistic field, and little seems to shock, it is difficult to review this work fairly. In the 1960's, this would have been a decent warning about the excessive use of drugs; written by a self confessed addict, it does not preach and gives some idea as to the highs, as well as the lows.

It is probably true that a hardcore drug user has precious little self-esteem, but this leads to a problem: it is incredibly difficult to feel any empathy with any of the characters. I am fortunate enough not to need scaring away from potential drug abuse so, I am left with a feeling of being a voyeur upon unpleasant people at the bottom of the pile. I am not sure that I have gained anything but, it is undeniably, a powerful piece of writing.

I cannot recommend this book but equally, I would not advise against its reading.

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What a disappointment. I'd heard a lot about this book, and was greatly encouraged by the tremendous "deposition" at the start, in which Burroughs eloquently describes the "pyramid of junk", with dealers at the top and the addict at the bottom, needing more and more junk to "maintain a human form"

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and willing to lie, cheat or steal to satisfy their need, unable to do otherwise as "a rabid dog cannot choose but bite." I liked the fluid style, punctuated with the repeated question "Wouldn't you?"

In the book itself, however, there are only brief glimpses of this fluid style. These brief moments are often fantastic, but they are not enough to make up for the endless puerile fantasies about masturbation, semen and bodily functions, the unfunny jokes, the bizarre hallucinations, the utter incoherence of 90% of the book.

I can't help wondering whether this book would have received so much attention if it hadn't been banned for a few years by US and UK censors. Perhaps all that gratuitous sex did serve a purpose after all.

The only other explanation I can think of for this book's fame is the fascination the drug culture seems to hold for so many people. Incoherence is fine, nonsense is fine, lack of any believable characters or any point at all to the story is fine, as long as it's written under the influence of a drug or, preferably, a cocktail of drugs. I wonder if books like this hold any interest for addicts themselves, recovering or otherwise. Or are they just a voyeuristic thrill for those with more conventional lives, those who would never dare or even actually want to shoot heroin, but who want to know what it feels like from the safety of their living rooms?

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When we look back on our lives, there are key moments we are likely to remember. Our first day of school, Australia II winning the America’s Cup, the moment we lost our respective innocence. I lost mine aged eighteen, when I attempted to read Naked Lunch.

Naked Lunch entered my life in early 1990

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when a newspaper article reported that an apparently infamous novel I had never heard of by an author I didn’t know was to be made into a film by director David Cronenberg. The article questioned not only the wisdom but also the sanity of Cronenberg for tackling such a project, as Naked Lunch had long been considered unfilmable.

I now know Naked Lunch to be a novel by William S. Burroughs, first published in 1959 in Paris by Olympia Press, and considered one of the landmark publications of American literature. However, in 1990 all I knew was that it was a controversial novel involving the words “Naked” and “Lunch”, both amongst an eighteen year olds favourites. Combined they suggested a tempting piece of creative writing, and an even better film.

I decided to read this unfilmable book before seeing the film.

So one fine autumn day I wandered into my local library and perused the Fiction section, specifically the shelves containing authors with surnames starting with “B”. I no doubt saw books by Richard Bach, William Peter Blatty and Charles Bukowski that day. But no Burroughs. Undaunted, I asked a librarian to reserve a copy.

She informed me that not only did the library not have a copy but there was only one Naked Lunch in the entire state library system, kept under lock and key at headquarters, along with other books considered too dangerous to keep on shelves for the general public to see. She could order it in but warned that the lending period was a week with no possibility of extension. She looked at me closely, watching for any sign of weakness in my resolve to borrow this filthy volume.

Later that week I received a call from a librarian informing me Naked Lunch had arrived. I had hardly the time to say “thank you” before she added that I would be required to produce identification proving I was eighteen and sign a form waiving the state library service of any responsibility for pain and suffering incurred from reading the book. Naked Lunch was sounding more interesting all the time.

Back at the library, I spent longer reading over the waiver’s fine print than I later would for my Home Loan application form. As the librarian reiterated the special borrowing conditions, a warm flush came over me, as I felt secretly thrilled. Not only was I about to read an obviously controversial book but people were expending a lot of effort on my behalf in the bargain.

As I held my copy of Naked Lunch for the first time there was a sense of anti-climax. Nothing on the paperback’s cover suggested I was holding something the state government deemed too dangerous to have in public view. Nor was there anything in the look the librarian gave me that suggested I was about to be greatly confused.

I got home, put the kettle on and started reading. Soon after I put the book down and went outside for some fresh air. Memory can be an imperfect creature but I recall the plot, such as it was, to involve men sodomising Arab boys. I’m sure there were other elements, such as drug taking and perhaps sexual acts not involving Arab boys, but Arab boys being sodomised seemed to stick in the mind of this somewhat naïve eighteen year old.

I would read one page at a time before needing to put the book aside and do something that didn’t make me feel so sordid. Eventually, driven by the knowledge that the book’s return date was looming fast, I would hesitantly pick up Naked Lunch again, read another page before again placing it aside for the sake of my mental wellbeing.

By the time the week ended I was still only half way through but fearing repercussions by the library police, I hotfooted the book back to the library.

There were a lot of questions the Naked Lunch film needed to answer.

It didn’t answer anything. While there was a thankful absence of Arab boys being sodomised, an array of weird special effects appeared in their stead, including, but not limited to, talking buttocks. If anything, my confusion about Naked Lunch increased.

I briefly considered going through the process of borrowing the novel again, but decided against it as I didn’t want to become known as “the man who twice borrowed the book that sits next to Mein Kampf on the shelf”.

In the years since, I have noted the acclaim lauded upon Naked Lunch. Time Magazine listed the novel as one of the 100 all time greats. The film has gained a cult following. And a recent search of the library shows a copy of Naked Lunch is freely available to borrow.

Other Naked Lunch related facts hitherto unknown to me also became known during a delve into the Internet, some merely intriguing (the band Steely Dan took its name from a dildo mentioned in the book) while others discoveries were more disturbing. One site provided some scene descriptions of the book, including a boy being raped as he hangs dead in a noose, and a couple lighting themselves on fire and fornicating as they fall from a skyscraper. I don’t recall reading either of these vignettes, perhaps for the best, as my nightmares are already graphic enough.

It took the touchstone of modern culture, The Simpsons, to put into words my feelings about Naked Lunch. In one episode Bart gains a fake drivers licence and takes his friends Milhouse, Martin and Nelson on a cross-country drive. The four are seen leaving a cinema showing Naked Lunch. Looking about as disturbed I did a decade or so before, Nelson says “I can find at least two things wrong with that title."

Amen brother.

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Naked Lunch was one of those books that, while growing up, I had earmarked as something I felt Would define me as an individual even before I'd read a word.
In those pre-Internet days when information was hard to come by, there could still exist a certain mystery and uncertainty about many things

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which now are quickly resolved by a quick 'Google' search on the internet. But in the 'Information Dark Age' things were not so transparent. Therefore it was easy to misinterpret many things and accumulate and harbor false expectations for years.
Certain books were also far harder to source. Bookstores generally did not stock many cult titles because they needed the space for more fashionable authors. Books could be ordered naturally, but they had to be paid for in advance so you couldn't browse through a few pages to find out if the work suited your tastes.
There existed specialist independent bookstores, in fact far more than exist today, but they were notoriously located in hard to get to places or rough areas of the city not generally within easy reach of a young boy living in the suburbs.

When I eventually did buy one of the books I'd committed myself to liking before I'd read it; 'Catcher in the Rye' (see my review) is a good example of this, I was disappointed beyond belief! This, for a long time put me off taking another chance with my fantasy author list. Eventually, around the time that the Cronenberg film was released, I set out to track down a copy of Naked Lunch, aware that the movie I'd watched at the cinema had very little to do with the book of the same title (although for very different reasons, I actually enjoyed the film too).
I can tell you that as far as the book goes, it is one of those rare times where my expectations were completely satisfied in full. I adore this book, not because it is well written or that it has a good story; it is not and does not! In fact the syntax is so unconventional that many have argued that William Burroughs writes like a pre-teen, and an uneducated one at that! This is rather harsh and his use of words and the construction or rather deconstruction of some of his sentences unbalances the reader in a manner that, in my opinion, only adds to the disorientating atmosphere of his dystopian nightmare worlds; dark, seedy backstreets where pornography rubs up against filthy hospital wards where unlicensed surgeons gratify themselves by performing unethical procedures on the trash of society. Where taking exotic drugs are the norm. And where the reader loses themselves in a world more remote than any science fiction author could ever take you to on the furthest planet in the most distant galaxy.

This book was like getting the exact present you were hoping for on Christmas Day and being overjoyed!

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I had been curious about 'Naked Lunch' for some time before I eventually read it. I really had no idea whether I would end up loving it or hating it, but what I knew of its reputation fascinated me. A lot of words get thrown around to describe this before: terrifying, obscene, mind-bending,

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beautiful... the edition that I own calls it "probably the most shocking book in the English language", a claim that is difficult to dispute.

Sadly, I mainly just hated it. The relentless gore, the disturbingly violent sex scenes, the terrifying medical operations... they didn't bother me nearly as much as the complete lack of plot and character. Yes, I realize that it's the point of the book and of Burroughs' cut-up-and-fold-in style, that it's basically the insane ravings of an addict in severe withdrawal, that it's better read as poetry than as a novel.... but that doesn't make it any more enjoyable to actually read. Being a straight male, it obviously didn't have any erotic appeal to me (but then I can't fathom anybody of any sexual orientation getting off to the horrifying fantasies presented here, unless they are violent psychopaths), and I ended up just found forcing myself from page to page, frustrated by the endless shifts to unrelated vignette every time I had managed to orientate myself to what was going on and desperately wishing for some to happen besides transvestites getting their throats slit after sex. Ultimately, for all of its shocking content, 'Naked Lunch' is really rather boring.

The only reason I have given this as many stars as I have is for the essays on the writing process and Burroughs drug experiences at the end of the book. They are genuinely fascinating and compelling, and far more interesting than the book itself. As an insight into the madness of a man going through heroin withdrawal, 'Naked Lunch' has merit - as a novel, it is, in my opinion, a complete failure. Instead, I recommend Burroughs' first novel, 'Junky', an utterly engrossing read which actually succeeds in both placing the reader into the mind of a drug addict and as a narrative in its own right.

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Hellish vaudeville show. A sequence of skits on body horror, bureaucratic control logic, and techniques of ecstasy, delivered in the virulent grammars of porn, pulp sci-fi, and other American vernaculars. Ultimately I prefer the high galactic mayhem of the later cut-up trilogy, but this book is

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undeniably fantastic. Highly recommended.

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"Wouldn't You?"

Naked Lunch (published in 1959 by Grove Press) uncovers the filthy and depraved world of addiction, particularly drug addiction, though on a broader scale it can be applied to addiction of multiple and diverse forms. It is a fragmented exposition of the destructive effects of

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drug-addicted depravity expanded to the demise of humanity as a whole from its sickening and oppressive tendency towards addiction itself. Presented in a "cut-up" literary form, in which the fragmented sections can be considered from a variety of sequential patterns, Naked Lunch reveals the ugly realities of human need through Burroughs' strikingly vivid style and illusion-shattering, anarchic intention, a revolutionary work in post-war American literature exposing the manipulative elements of control agencies and challenging the standards of literary tradition. The 2001 version contains notes from Burroughs concerning the text, as well as a number of his essays on the writing of the book and its contents, and an appendix made up of previously unpublished material and pre-publication drafts. Also, the editor's note provides intimate details concerning the painstaking and fragmented process of the book's development and eventual publication, including the challenges it faced from charges of obscenity.

Burroughs is modern American literature's final manifestation of genius, with Naked Lunch his most essential work. He was a brave investigator of the hidden depths of the soul, fearlessly observing his own thoughts and desires, particularly the powerful forces of evil festering deep within. He was a black magic chemist and demented psychologist, and an eerily precise prophet of post-apocalyptic proliferations of the nightmarish characteristics of human nature. Above all, Burroughs was a great eradicator of illusions. His grim approach to social change and recovery from addiction was transcended by his ferocious humor and primal nihilism, making him something of a Voltaire of his time. His writing is distinct for its viciously inventive prose, harsh ridicule, conceptual depth, and morbid humor. Underneath his dreary disposition festered a dangerous, anarchic spirit and adversary of forced submission through institutions of control, be it social, political, or personal addictions.

This book is a treasure discovered within the hellish dimensions of the self. It possesses an abundance of expressive virility on its way to destroying comforting schemes of deception. It is a catastrophically sardonic attack of authoritarian dishonesty, social barbarism, and malicious egoism rampant in modern society, exposing corruptive sources of control, celebrity obsession, meaningless violence, consumerism, dogmatism, and all types of irreverent deceitfulness.

Naked Lunch is a courageous work of tremendous force and literary honor, a penetrating and purposeful exploration for the realistic conditions of moral substance. It was written with profound accuracy and a fearless spirit, confronting the possibilities of literary form, and expanding established perceptions of human nature. It is a challenging read, contemptuous, imaginative, liberated, humorous, and grim. Fueled by sheer desperation and paralyzing anxiety, it is also filthy, sick, dirty, disgusting, and utterly disturbing.

"You were not there for The Beginning. You will not be there for The End... Your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative..."

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One of those books where the work itself plays second fiddle to the hype that surrounds it. Probably the best thing about this book is the title. Not really much of a story that I can recall, though I certainly ready this quite a few years ago now. There are undoubted passages where Burroughs

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writes nicely, but it all seems to add up to not terribly much. At least this edition has an interesting series of letters at the end wherein the books fight against censorship is examined.

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I read big books. I read difficult books. I read obscene books. I read challenging books.

But this book? I could not read.

It's hard to imagine why anyone would have accepted to publish this book, and strains the imagination to realize that this has become a major American classic. Although there are some occasional moments of lucid brilliance ("American have a special horror of giving up control, of letting things

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happen in their own way without interference. They would like to jump down into their stomachs and digest the food and shovel the shit out"), by and large this is incoherent dreck.

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The first few pages drew me in. The last few pages helped tighten some loose ends. The 300 pages in-between? A waste of my time. I’m done experimenting with Beat literature.

The book perfectly illustrates the mind of a junky: incoherent, scatty, bizarre, hallucinogenic, etc. Unfortunately, it’s

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just not enjoyable at all. At no point did I enjoy reading. I was happy at the end when Burroughs states “I am a recording instrument […] I do not presume to impose 'story' 'plot' 'continuity’.” as it made me realize that I wasn’t mad after all.

The reasons that I dislike this book – its incoherence, its illogical progression, its grittiness, and the fact that it seems to be graphic and vile purely for the sake of being graphic and vile – is the reason that many love this book.

This is definitely not for me, and I wish I had read some more reviews before tackling this book. It was short, but felt 100 times longer than it is in reality.

I’m open-minded on such topics, so am glad that I read the book, but I’m gladder that it’s over. It achieves its purpose well (stories of a junkie), but in a way that is pure pulp and un-enjoyable.

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This is certainly one of the most unique books I've read: chaotic, disorganised and brilliant. It is a well-spring of ideas - profane, surreal, comical, satirical, didactic - a real mix. A lot of it must be based on his experiences and he's experienced a lot of stuff whic many people haven't. It

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makes absorbing reading.

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This book is a product of the "Beat Generation" and, as a baby boomer, I found it hard to relate. The author says he wouldn't "presume to impose a story or plot" and he lives up to this promise. But, there are some powerful, thought-provoking images and a few laughs along the way. The author best

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described the book himself when he said it "will spill off the pages in all directions".

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Of all the beats, I can say that Burroughs is my least favorite. With all the hype surrounding this book I thought it should be a great work of literature. Unfortunately I found the exact opposite. This book was such a task to finish and I hated each step of the way. Perhaps I need to re-read it

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but I think my opinion will stay the same. To me it was nothing more than a few hundred pages of plotless babble.

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The imagery is visceral and hard. More of a series of metaphorical snap-shots than a novel, it is compulsively, grotesquely readable. Nightmarish in the extreme, it is definately a hard book to finish, but it is deeply rewarding.

I'm half-way through this book, it's taking forever to read - trying to discren whether it's a meaningful sentence or just another word salad is really holding me up. It seems like Burroughs is bucking the grammar system, even when he is making some sort of 'sense'. And I thought Kerouac's writing

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style was wacky! He's got nothing on Burroughs!

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The way to understand and enjoy this book best is on audiobook.....

Excellent book -- one of the most coherent of Burroughs' work