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��Do I have to smash a glass over the head of every single man I come into contact with, just so I leave a fucking mark?��

Power dynamics have been a topic of necessary criticism in recent years, with a reckoning coming to those who exploit their power to abuse others. This has notably addressed the entertainment industry, with horror stories surfacing of monsters of anywhere from massive wealth like Harvey Weinstein to niche fame like Ryan Adams abusing and harassing women and many have paused to consider how we process the art of monstrous men (such was the title of Claire Dederer’s viral essay, which you can read here). Into the fray comes Eliza Clarks debut novel, Boy Parts, a first person narration chronicling the spiral into abuse and otherwise unhinged behavior of Irina, a strikingly attractive rising star in the realm of fetish photography. Opting to shoot so-called average looking men she finds on the streets to model for her in work that subverts the male gaze and examines ideas of power and sexuality, Irina has snagged a career changing gallery exhibition in London and sets about revisiting the trajectory of her art, triggering memories that show a history of abuse and struggles in an art world where only the strong survive. Meanwhile, her fixation with a shy Tesco cashier and a head full of drugs are amalgamating into a dangerous cocktail. Sharp, darkly humorous and caustically insightful, Boy Parts is a bold maelstrom of sexuality, violence and power hierarchies that is too engaging to turn away from in horror even as it seeps in and shakes you to the core.

��I look at the photos again, the ones I didn't delete. I look at his purple face, his bloody chin and nipple, his swollen cheek. I wonder what the fuck I have to do for people to recognise me as a threat, you know?��

First, shoutout to Emma’s review that inspired me to pick this up immediately, I’m so glad I did. Clark manages to make a feverish descent to hell into a thrill ride where we clutch the page like the harness on a roller coaster and spend the whole trip both screaming and laughing. This shakes you around like a rag doll and you love it as you begin to see Boy Parts as your dominant partner and while you are going to get pleasure you are also going to get pain. She takes you down the tracks of her prose so effortlessly, balancing the action of parties, photoshoots and…well, completely unhinged moments that often involve shards of glass, with the softer, introspective times revisiting Irina’s history in the classroom and behind the camera. She captures dialogue and regional accents as if she bottled it up from the air and pinned it to the page where, still fresh and alive, it squirms in discomfort as much as the reader. The sections written as text messages are amusing as well, with drunk misspellings or autocorrect mistakes that felt true to life. There are some laugh out loud lines, such as describing Timothée Chalamet as �� that white-bread, absolute fucking baguette of a lad from Call Me by Your Name�� (I texted photos of that page to several friends), and I was obsessed with Irina’s obsession with Lord of the Rings:

��He eats loudly, reminding me of that bit in The Return of the King (the film) where Denethor is eating cherry tomatoes, and making Pippin sing for him. In this metaphor—allegory?—I guess I’m Pippin, which is strange because I’ve never identified much with the Hobbits before, and I’m actually a little annoyed that this is the position I’m in. Shocked to hear it comes in pints, and wondering if my simple Hobbit songs are good enough for these grand halls and their talking toilets.��

Yea, of course I’m going to love a book that rattles off lines like this. Boy Parts is an impressive debut that, considering the subject matter, reads like she just punched out the scariest person in prison on the first day.

The book has drawn comparisons with Ottessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation as well as American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis (the latter most notably during a delightfully disturbing scene when sudden violence in a fancy restaurant for extremely wealthy conservatives has people more concerned if the staff will comp their meal for witnessing violence than actually concerned about the violence), though with a woman instead of Bateman. Not unlike Psycho we do see this as a criticism on wealth and consumerism as one of the themes—amusingly, Irina gets termed as a ‘working-class�� artist despite being able to afford fancy universities something she has an uneasy relationship with seeing it as both an insult but not upset it can help open doors for her—and, well, the violence and unreliable narration. Is Irina actually truthful to what she not only tells us, but tells herself as well? Is all of this happening? The book this felt closest to for me, however, is the ideas in Roberto Bolaño’s Distant Star and how art can have moral boundaries that, when crossed, becomes evil. Here we have Irina, a tall, intimidating redhead criticized by her professor, lesbian art icon and former lover, Frank, for having ��had a contemptuous attitude towards my models. I clearly saw them as interchangeable, disposable objects.�� This is not unlike the depiction of the poet-turned-murderer in Distant Star, who uses actual photos of women he killed as an art exhibit that even distresses his fellow fascists, that he ��looked down on the world as if he were standing on top of a volcano; he saw you and me and himself from a great height, and, in his eyes, we were all, to be quite frank, pathetic insects.�� If abuse is leading to the photographs Irina takes, is the art somehow tainted by this? And whew, does some alarming things happen to get the shots she wants.



��Consuming a piece of art is two biographies meeting: the biography of the artist that might disrupt the viewing of the art; the biography of the audience member that might shape the viewing of the art.��
--Claire Dederer, Monsters: A Fan's Dilemma

Key to this book are the gazes into power structures that shatters any rose colored glasses they might try to hide behind. ��Whether I’m in control or losing it, I’ve always had a power thing,�� Irina admits, and this is central to her art. Clark brings us into the world of fetish art and kink sexualities and explores how those with power over others very often abuse it. The whole absolute power corrupts absolutely maxim may come to mind, though Clark is also careful to show how just because this story is about abuse doesn’t mean that all kink or dom/sub relationships are inherently abusive and harmful. As mentioned earlier, the recent years have been a litany of men in positions of power in the art world being exposed for using this power to assault and silence women, though we also know this has occurred throughout time with big names such as Picasso or Edward Hopper abusing their muses, and Andy Warhol has often been criticized for exploiting those around him. Clark is probing some interesting ideas of power and gender by reversing the gender roles with Irina being the intimidating role using her power to exploit her models. And hit them. ��What about any of that read as safe, sane or consensual?�� she even admits to herself, yet sort of loves the power over these men. And not just men, but even Flo, her best (only?) friend and former lover that she keeps around to take care of her (okay, I sort of loved Flo, she really meant well and I felt bad for her).

Now the idea of reversing gender in this sort of power hierarchy isn’t new—I quite enjoyed Azareen Van der Vliet Oloomi exploring this in Fra Keeler—but I quite liked how this touches on ideas of “woke culture�� and how society will overlook abuse if they find a way to look at it as subversive. There is a moment when Flo tries to find a way to look at buying heterosexual, exploitive porn by men into a queer act of disruption where even the lesbian feminist professor can only roll her eyes in embarrassment. Its why books such as In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado have been talked about as important for reminding people that abuse can happen even in relationships that we are championing. Like yes, protect queer relationships and let us be considered legal and normal, but also yes abuse can happen in them and we shouldn’t allow people to suffer in silence.

��and that gets sewn into them young, doesn’t it? Violence.��

Irina represents a lot of power abuse, such as how being photographed by her is framed as an honor to these men. Such as the unhoused boy who possibly meets a bad end who should “feel thankful�� for a place to stay and a starring role in her art. Clark has a sharp eye for the ways people try to represent themselves and there are some great insights into behavior in this book, and how Irina is able to hone in on it and exploit it. Even Eddie from Tesco, her “muse�� in this book (and a lot of this is why muse culture is so toxic and exploitative) admits he comes across like an INCEL and can’t believe someone who looks like Irina would be interested in him. Yet for all the power Irina exhibits over others, there is still the aspect of a patriarchal society she works within and how dangerous it is for women. Men lash out at her and she is often in danger (her works bring out a LOT of bad behavior from the men) and some of the violence is legitimate self-defense. There is also a lot of looking at how men with money can elbow their way into anything despite mediocrity, that there is ��still this entitled, still this generic, still this wealth of privilege and connections filling a void where there should be talent,�� and when they don’t get what they want they lash out. Often violently.

��If we were playing rock, paper, scissors, but it’s camera, toxic masculinity, skull �� camera wins��

I couldn’t put this book down. And when I had to do so for life reasons, I thought about it the whole time. Boy Parts is a distressing novel, but one that probes really important questions about power, sexuality and violence, and does so in a way that will have you laughing as much as you are cringing. I especially appreciate the ending and that Clark understands the conclusion of themes is vastly more effective than a tidy ending with a full stop as it allows Irina and her shenanigans to play out further in your mind long after the book concludes. The trigger warnings on this would be a mile long and this isn't for the faint of heart, but it is a wickedly well done ride. The writing is sharp and so is the social commentary and I will definitely read anything Eliza Clark puts out next.

4.5/5

��Nothing matters, and nothing lasts. Everyone forgets, and everything disappears. The things you do, the things you are, it's all nothing. Would anyone miss you, if you went away? Would anyone look for you? Would anyone listen, or even care, if I hurt you? If I put my hands around your neck and crushed your windpipe and chopped you up, would anyone find you? And if it's a no to any of these, did you even exist in the first place?��