Life’s a Bitch and Then They Freeze Your Head

A Meta-Critical Approach to the Un-Approachable William S. Burroughs

A literary interpretation of the works of William S. Burroughs is a difficult one. The search for an appropriate interpretation has taken a variety of different critical forms, including legal ones. The writings and their writer have been considered separately and together, as marked by madness, genius, profanity, even meaninglessness. They have been interpreted in light of a wide variety of the -isms of situation: gender and sexuality, politics, morality, psychology, addiction, (post)modernity, even spirituality, and rarely, if ever, do any of these various approaches shed any conclusive light on the value or meaning, if there is any, of the life and words of William S. Burroughs.

How is it possible for a writer to live so long and write so much and yet evade a solid interpretation while managing not to evade a literary reputation? What are the implications of this possibility?

The purpose of this paper is to try to make some sense of the differing interpretations, to bring them together into one place, so that the merits and faults of Burroughs? main ideas can be laid out without being cluttered by overly intellectual semantic bickering or weakened by un-intellectual, trendy, cool-mongering.

Because it is such an inescapable part of the discussion, it isn?t possible to go very much further without describing the sordid life that Bill Burroughs kept for himself. Alan Ansen, who knew Burroughs personally, gives a suitable account of the biography. “The young hero is actually a sort of saint; he robs, he commits mayhem, he kills, and then finally he performs a miracle” (17). More specifically, William S. Burroughs was born in Saint Louis, “descended from the founder of one of America?s great industrial enterprises,” that is, the adding machine industry. He was privileged to attend Harvard, and to study in Europe during that time as well. After that, his life looks nothing like those of the beatniks, the other writers, the academicians, lawyers, the feminists, and even most of the junkies and the queers who have since brought their attention to that life. In reference to his experience with one of the best of the colleges these people attend that Burroughs wrote:

“I hated the University and I hated the town it was in. Everything about the place was dead. The University was a fake English setup taken over by the graduates of fake English public schools…”

(Junky 8 ) .

William Burroughs was not accepted into the army during World War Two, and so he contented himself with strange roles and odd jobs. He found himself a member of the New York underworld, that is, the drug economy. He served as an unofficial professor for the young and impressionable minds that would go on to start the beat movement. He also found himself addicted to heroin, and employed as a bartender, a private detective, an exterminator. Since money was no object, he took the interesting jobs. He traveled: first to Mexico in order to escape pursuit by the authorities who had become aware of his marijuana farm in Texas. It was here, in 1951, that the famous “William Tell” routine occurred, wherein William Burroughs? wife Joan was fatally shot in the head by her husband (qtd in Grauerholz 48). The event was a seminal one for Burroughs, who was driven into exile and more travels in the aftermath of it. He wrote: “I am forced to the appalling conclusion that I would never have become a writer but for her death.” (Qtd. in Grauerholz 48).

What kind of writer was Burroughs driven to be? Again, this is a difficult question. His first book “Junky” which was published as a pulp novel by the pseudonymous “William Lee” and sold for thirty five cents. It was truly a pulp novel, disregarded, as the depiction of the unsavory lifestyle of a drug addict in New York.

His next book, “Queer” was unpublished for many years. It, like “Junky” casts its narrator, thinly disguised and barely different from its author, as someone that lives a life that most Americans wouldn?t want. By their titles alone, these books have invited a kind of criticism that labels them as the work of a “junky” or the work of a “queer.” There are two dangers inherent in this kind of criticism. First, such a reading might pander to stereotyping, if these types are denigrated or, secondly, if the types are not denigrated, then such a reading still might pander to “typing”. In either case, aspects of the writing or the writer that do not fit with the type might be missed. A third type, aside from “Junky” or “Queer” that has come into play in the discussion of William Burroughs? writings has been the moral or the amoral type. Many have asked, to which category Burroughs belongs, and what bearing does this have.

“Naked Lunch”, Burroughs? most notorious novel, was tried for obscenity in Boston on January 12, 1965. Perhaps this was because the novel asked some difficult questions, such as, “Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his ass to talk?” The story is, surprisingly, a relevant one.

“He thought this was cute at first [ . . . ] but the asshole would eat its way through his pants and start talking on the street, shouting out it wanted equal rights. [ . . . ] it wanted to be kissed same as any other mouth. [ . . . ] you could hear him for blocks screaming at it to shut up . . . and sticking candles up it, [ . . . ] and the asshole said to him: ‘It’s you who will shut up in the end. Not me. Because we don’t need you around here any more. I can talk and eat AND shit.’”

(”Naked Lunch” 165). Junkies, queers, assholes, and subjects of court inquiries for inappropriate behavior, these were all (dis)regarded similarly at the time of the inquiry.

Norman Mailer was called upon to give his professional opinion of the book during the trial. He is often cited as having defended the book, but his defense is not so often considered as his praise. Mailer?s is an insightful reading. He equates many of the thematic elements of the novel with the work of the unconscious, which, he argues, is a critical part of any artwork.

“Just as Hieronymus Bosch set down the most diabolical and blood-curdling details with a delicacy of line and a Puckish humor which left one with a sense of the mansions of horror attendant upon Hell, so, too, does Burroughs leave you with an intimate, detailed vision of what Hell might be like. . . We are richer for that record; and we are more impressive as a nation because a publisher can print that record and sell it in an open bookstore, sell it legally.”

(”The Boston. . . “) “Naked Lunch” was cleared of obscenity charges. The asshole, and every other image and idea within the work was given liberty to speak in peace.

It is best, now, to move away from the sensationalism and controversy surrounding the life and work of William S. Burroughs, as that is the purpose of the argument here. These aspects, and the “typing” previously mentioned, they have dominated the discussion of his writing. A brief critical history of that discussion will be necessary before delving into the interpretive problems that have plagued it. Editors Lyndenberg and Skerl give an accurate summary of Burroughs? critical reception, listing what they call “critical issues”: “high praise by other writers producing incomprehension and resentment in some literary circles,” the “morality issue”, “the use of montage and collage techniques in the fiction” and “the drawing of battle lines between the traditionalists and those in favor of freer experimentation in the novel” (5). To this list it would be helpful to add: incomprehension of the writing itself and not merely of its reception, and, most importantly, Burroughs? main ideas or themes and their relevance.

Regarding the “high praise. . . producing incomprehension and resentment” it suffices to say that many people were confused by Mailer?s reaction to “Naked Lunch”. The basis for this incomprehension is best understood in light of a book review, published in the “Times Literary Supplement” on Nov., 14 1963. This review was written primarily about “Naked Lunch” and it has the distinction of having incited the longest string of letters ever written to the publication (Skerl 40). Its title was “UGH. . . ” Its author, who was anonymous at the time, John Willett, was one of the first to express the incomprehension and resentment toward the Burroughs? favorable reception by some, in an article which also raises the morality question. Thanks to the sensationalism of these issues, Willet?s most cogent criticism, which was of the prose itself, was mostly overlooked. Willet states, “it is not always clear whether it is the writing or the writer that is being jumbled, while the air of pretentiousness which surrounds the whole business . . . by no means excuses monotony and impoverishment of style.” Willett is referring, here to Burroughs? collage methods, which often result in the use of passages of text which will occur several times within one work. One passage which occurs frequently in “Naked Lunch” for example, is the phrase “with a black blast of iron”, which is used to refer to any of a number of large, moving, mechanical objects such as automobiles, subway trains, and mysteriously animated typewriters. Furthermore, there are significant passages of “Naked Lunch” which were cut and pasted from “Junky,” such as the passage about college, quoted above. Willet is operating under the assumption that this way of arranging prose is somehow aesthetically displeasing, but he does not explain his reason for the displeasure. It is as if he expects that words, ideas or experiences should never repeat themselves under only slightly different conditions, or that if they would repeat, they would not deserve attention, and would bore a person. Clearly, Burroughs does not share this assumption. He differs, on this point, from the history of writers that have aided Willet in the development of his expectation(s).

On the other hand, certain passages, such as the one from “Junky” do warrant repetition more than others. Much of “Junky,” is critical of average society, and perhaps the criticism warrants a repetition in a novel which will reach an audience unlike the audience of a cheap pulp novel. The passage, and its criticism, adds to the purpose of both works in different ways.

It follows that the formal aspects of Burroughs? writing, in addition to the thematic ones, have been primarily discussed in terms of how they have been unheard of, rather than in terms of what is being heard, or how.

Burroughs’ writing is often considered in terms of a continuum between the conventional and the avant-garde aspects of literature. Lyndenberg and Skerl say that a critical reaction to “Burroughs? work acts as a litmus test of a reader?s response to the contemporary avant-garde, or what we call postmodernism” (3). It is more likely that the reverse is true, that preconceived notions about the avant-garde can temper a reaction to Burroughs? writing, since it is hardly the perfect representative sample of everything that has ever been called “postmodern.” Still, many critics have taken sides over the issue of Burroughs? famous cut-up method.

Anne Friedberg discusses this method by comparing it to the work of Tristan Tzara, author of the DaDa Manifesto, who wrote:

“Take a newspaper
Take some scissors
Take the heritage of dadaist collage and futurist sound plays.
Take fifty years of technological sophistication of the scissors.”

This comparison with Tzara is one of the better ones, as it draws a real parallel between a sense of frustrated absurdity in the face of unstoppable social mechanics that seems to be present with both artists. Both of them seem compelled to express nonsense, as such.

On the subject of “the Morality Issue,” there is the most to be said about the comparison between Jonathan Swift and William S. Burroughs. The introduction to “Naked Lunch,” as well as the transcript of the obscenity trial, and dozens of pages of commentary of them both, these all mention this comparison in some way. Generally, it has been concluded that there is a real comparison to be made here.

“Naked Lunch” was cleared of its obscenity charges on the grounds that it makes a legitimate moral commentary through the use of satire. The bulk of this argument was culled from Burroughs introduction to the work. It would have been more appropriate to clear it on the grounds that a work does not necessarily have to make a moral comment, or to make its comment morally. That these things are not required of a text seems to be closer to the point. These works, too, are things we are at liberty to create.

Speaking of satire, and introductions, it may be of some interest to note another introduction written by Burroughs, absolutely none of which is true, or intended to be taken seriously. This introduction was written nearly ten years after the smoke had cleared from the obscenity trials, and it may shed some light on Burroughs? regard for textual introduction.

The work being introduced here is a poem, which is said to have been composed with the help of a “ghost boy” and a “Ouija Board” and also Rimbaud. It would be difficult to take such a poem seriously, much as it is difficult to take a talking asshole seriously. The subject of this poem, though, is a sad one. “Fear and the Monkey,” which is the title of the poem, concerns itself with the very real and painful last moments before death, as experienced by a beloved pet monkey. The death of a beloved pet monkey; it is not a phrase that is easy to say aloud without laughing a little, and yet the poem is truly touching:

“. . . Morning light
On the sky light of a little shop
On the odor of cheap wine in the sailors? quarter
On the fountain sobbing in the police courtyards
On the statue of moldy stone. . .
Wanderers cling to their fading home. . .
Sad as the death of a monkey.”

Critically, this poem is much more effective without the introduction, which seems to be devoted entirely toward discrediting it (Burroughs 110). If there is to be a focus on the similarities between Burroughs and Swift, in that they are both satirists, it should be noted that Swift?s satire is a much more didactic one. Burroughs is not as interested in more tangible, specific social problems like hunger or poverty.

Instead, Burroughs focuses on a more general disinterest in two things that take many forms. These two things are addiction, broadly construed, and also the politics of language, broadly construed. It is no coincidence that Burroughs had to struggle with very specific instances of chemical addiction and political bickering. These experiences allowed him to ruminate on addiction in general, and linguistic power play in general. Much of his later writing is devoted to these themes. They can be summarized in two words: “social control.”

As his writing matured, William S. Burroughs began using themes in much the same way that he had once used whole segments of text. There is really one theme, social control, which manifests itself in a variety of ways. Burroughs is discussing social control when he creates a mythology around the idea that “language is a virus. Burroughs is discussing social control when he creates a mythology around a world that exists outside of that social control in “the Wild Boys”, and he is discussing that theme again with his repeated emphasis on the nature of addiction in all the forms that it takes.

It is important to note that each one of these variations on the theme of social control seems to be derived from a different aspect of Burroughs? life, aspects which must be understood together for their whole impact to be seen. Burroughs probably could not have written “the Wild Boys” unless he had first written “Queer,” which was obviously written from personal experience. It would perhaps be sufficient to notice that there is enough of this thematic element running through his whole body of work, and conclude that William S. Burroughs is a Queer writer, with feelings, being queer, about society.

Burroughs thoughts about society are more complicated than those focused on sexual equality, though. Because of the legal battles, Burroughs was sensitive also to issues of language and power, and sensitive to them in ways that exist independently of his sexuality in many ways. This sensitivity, combined with a unique, perhaps chemically induced, imagination, laid the groundwork for the language-virus idea, which is nothing like the dystopian homoeroticism of “The Wild Boys,” not on the surface. At their root, though, both ideas do approach the notion of social control. The two approaches support each other, and must be understood together.

Language is social control. Burroughs best develops this notion after it is mentioned in Naked Lunch (232) in an interview, when he is asked to elaborate on the idea some more:

My basic theory is that the written word is actually a virus that made the spoken word possible. . . We in the west have lost sight of the fact that the written word is a symbol. . . that the word is, in point of fact, an image. . .

(Qtd in Miles 174). The cure, he suggests, is to “break down that automatic verbal reaction to a word. It is precisely these automatic reactions to words themselves that enable those who manipulate words to control thought on a mass scale.

Addiction is social control. It would be just as easy to focus on Burroughs as an addict as it could be to focus on him as a Queer, or as a controversialist. A singular focus on the subject of addiction could easily provide an explication of nearly every treatment of every theme in every one of his writings, in terms of addiction, but, again, this would miss the larger point. Burroughs does use addiction as a central theme, but he discusses it in a much broader sense. “He was asked if addiction is an illness or a central human fact” and his answer was a perfect example of the way in which he extends the experience of his addiction to universal proportions.

The idea that addiction is somehow a psychological illness is, I think, totally ridiculous. It?s as psychological as malaria. . . . There are also all forms of spiritual addiction. . . . many policemen and narcotics agents are precisely addicted to power, to exercising a certain nasty kind of power over people who are helpless. The nasty sort of power: white junk I call it- rightness. . . It should be concluded that the point of Burroughs? life?s work might be overlooked, or underplayed, unless the life is understood in the broadest terms possible. It is not sufficient to interpret someone in terms of a category if that person is the author of such battle cries as “Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted.” William S. Burroughs is a good example of someone who defies interpretive categories, even the categories as nebulous as the “postmodern” ones. This is a good example of the ways in which those interpretive categories may not always be appropriate or relevant.

Works Cited

• Burroughs, William S. “The Burroughs File.” 1996 City Lights Books. San Francisco
• Burroughs, William S. “Naked Lunch” 1992 Grove Press; Reprint edition
• Burroughs, William S. “Wild Boys” 1992 Grove Press; Reprint edition
• Friedberg, Anne “Cut-Ups: A Synema of the text”
• William S. Burroughs At the Front: Critical Reception, 1959-1989 Jennie Skerl and Robin Lydenberg Eds. 1991. Southern Illinois UP.
• Grauerholz, James W. “The Death of Joan Vollmer Burroughs: What Really Happened?”. American Studies Dept., University of Kansas. Prepared for the Fifth Congress of the Americas at Universidad de las Americas. January 7, 2002 McCoy, Ralph E., A Transcript of the The Boston Trial of
• “Naked Lunch.” Qtd. In “Freedom of the Press: an Annotated Bibliography”. American Association of University Presses. 2003.
• Murphy, Timothy S. Wising Up the Marks : The Amodern William Burroughs 1997. Berkeley, Calif. University of California Press
• Skerl, Jennie and Robin Lydenberg Eds.William S. Burroughs At the Front: Critical Reception, 1959?1989 1991. Southern Illinois UP.
• Willett, John. “UGH . . . ,” Times Literary Supplement 3220 (14 Nov. 1963): 919