Why won't you tell me 'bout the mystery dance?

Alan Moore has a new book coming out. In case your unfamiliar with the name, Moore is probably the most talented writer in comics today; his seminal work, Watchmen (with art by Dave Gibbons), was one of the first graphic novels to draw serious critical attention and acclaim, he's responsible for the original V for Vendetta, and he’s one of the few people in the medium who I’d recommend to anyone, funny book fan or no. His latest, Lost Girls (illustrated by his fiancée, Melinda Gebbie), is a three volume set about the lives of three of children’s literatures most famous heroines: Alice Liddel, Wendy Darling and Dorothy Gale. Only, instead of dealing with talking rabbits, flying pirates and tin men, Moore details the sexual exploits of each woman in frank, intentionally pornographic terms. The result- which has yet to be officially released in the States- is a literate erotica that, with its depiction of teenage sex and incest, has attracted its fair share of complaint. (The children’s hospital which J.M. Barrie left the performance rights of Peter Pan to is threatening a lawsuit.)

I can’t speak directly about the book itself; obviously incest and kiddie sex aren’t exactly appealing topics, but Moore is a great enough writer that I’m more than willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. There’s a great interview with him in this week’s edition of the AV Club where he talks about the book and the controversy. I highly recommend the whole thing- despite the fact that Moore’s picture gets creepier with each passing year (he looks like a homeless person who might actually be God), the man is intelligent and well-spoken, and well worth listening too.

Here’s a brief excerpt I rather liked:

In countries like the U.S. and Great Britain, we exist in a wholly sexualized culture, where everything from cars to snack food are sold with a healthy slathering of sex to make them more commercially appealing. But if you're using sex to sell sneakers, then you're not just selling sneakers, you're selling sex as well, and you're contributing to the sexual temperature of society. You're going to get people who, unsurprisingly, become overheated in that kind of sexual environment, and if they attempt to assuage their desires by resorting to the widely available medium of pornography, they're going to have their moment of gratification, and then they're going to have a much longer period of self-loathing, disgust, shame and embarrassment. It's almost like a kind of a reverse Skinner-box experiment, where once the rat has pushed the lever and successfully received the food, then he gets the electric shock.

What with all the other bullshit going on these days- y’know, wars, the swiftly tilting planet, where the hell is baby Sari, that sort of thing- I often forget just how fucked up we are when it comes to sex. The basic model is that since this is a capitalist society, a good deal of our culture is going to be informed by the manner in which we buy goods; and of course, companies will find the most effective way to sell those goods, and since sex is a biological imperative that nearly everyone has a connection to, inevitably, we get sold lots of and lots of sex. As Moore points out, this creates an over-sexualized environment in which everything becomes about fucking. But there’s still that built-in “morality,” which uses shame to try and keep everyone in line, going waaaay back to our Puritan days (not that we can ignore the delightful Christians, of course), and so what we have is the so-called irresistible impulse- all that damnable lust (and lust’s more upscale, mature cousin, love), running into the immovable object of our own guilt. Sure, there are socially approved ways of handling sex, but the guilt-free ones are surprisingly narrow, at least if you go by the long view; we’ve gotten more open-minded over the years, but far too often, especially in the upper-levels of government, one finds oneself trapped in a sort of grey-area inhabited by giggling pre-teens who can’t say the word condom without turning bright read, and to whom Maxim and Cosmopolitan represent the height of adult sophistication.

I’m over simplifying, of course (tis my one true gift), but it’s frustrating how horribly, horribly immature we are culturally. The damage this does to the civil rights of people who don’t line up with the increasingly rigid norm, the terrible treatment of women, the endless rapes and molestations- all because we’re locked into a cycle that exists only to perpetuate itself and prevent the basic maturation which is essential to us going anywhere as a race.

It gives me a headache, y’know? Between that and the blue balls I’ve had since I was eleven (yes I have seen a doctor, and no, he never did stop laughing), it’s a wonder I haven’t joined the church. I’ll be getting a copy of Lost Girls, though, and to hell with what the neighbors think. Maybe if they’re lucky, I’ll photocopy some of the naughtier bits.