kagablog

Aryan Kaganof has been around. He’s pissed a lot of people off. The established art fraternity don’t like him as they see him as a huckster and a pollutant whose very fecundity sullies the pure halls of art. His prodigious output of poetry, performance, films, novels, photography and blog is enough to keep an average observer occupied for some time. He published a great novel last year called Uselessly, through a real publisher that was well received. So what the fuck are these two books?

12 Shooters and The Ballad of Sugar Moon and Coffin deadly are the two latest collections that Aryan has released through Pine slopes, his DIY publishing house.

12 Shooters is just that, 12 stories, shot from the hip. And on the back he claims that these autobiographical pieces are the best introduction to the author himself. And that is where the trouble starts. The stories of heavy drinking, attempted sex, the refusal to buy women drinks, guns and cars are engaging, funny, twisted, and well written. But are they autobiographical? Are they a real introduction to the author? No I don’t think so. Kaganof is funning you; he’s pulling your literal leg and tickling his literary funny bone. You don’t access people like this. You access ideas of people. And like the ideas that people may come up with from reading this collection, the Kaganof that lives in these pages is a vision the author may have held of himself at one time. Is it him now? I don’t think so. But that’s just my idea. I mean these days when I whip his ass at pool, he drinks coke or coffee, not beer. And yes, that was me name dropping.

But literary theory concerns aside, this is a great little bundle of short stories. Fast, angry, dirty. Love them. Kaganof is a great voice of the weirdly disenfranchised white male that seems to hold court in the drinking holes and wannabe cool joints of our fair nation. And hear he frames the pain and the paradoxes of that position perfectly. And much like rubber neckers at freeway accidents, the compulsion to slow down and get a good eyeful is irresistible and rewarded with plenty of human wreckage. If anyone is in any doubt that white men in this country are a bit fucked up, read this. Luckily, you might also develop a bit of sympathy in the process…

The Ballad Of Sugar Moon and Coffin deadly on the other hand is the super violent ballad of a pair of murderous lovers and their ultimate demise. It is sort of Natural Born Killers in South Africa without the self justifying crap. It’s just brutal stuff. Since Kaganof stopped drinking (has he?) he seems to have developed a voice that is arresting and clear. These two new books both have a painful clarity about the writing. Despite what one may think of the man or his previous works, his previous incarnations, his decision to reinvent himself, these two books are well written and attention grabbing, And not just because of the content. This is a new voice, a clear one that seems to have broken clear of the emotional clutter of the past to celebrate a life that may have been shattered, and a psyche that may well be twisted, but above all, it belongs to one person and he is pleased to be here.

So you may well end up loving or hating Aryan Kaganof, and you may already hold one of those two opinions, but these books need to be read. And in a sense, yes, the back of 12 Shooters is right. It is a great introduction to the man and his vast volume of work. But whether it is really him or not, I do protest!

dave chislett
this review originally appeared on dave’s great blog the chiz.co.za