Perhaps it isn’t surprising that as a heterosexual white male of some maturity I didn’t really ‘get’ much of Joelle Taylor’s somewhat visceral C+nto. Yet that didn’t stop me from being able to appreciate the raw power of it, the seduction of the drumming incantation, the occasional brilliantly poetic phrase. In its relentlessness, Taylor unwraps the horror, love, brutality and otherness of the ‘butch world’ – then slaps us round the face with it for the best part of 120 pages.
I can see how, when read as a performance piece (which is surely where its roots lie) the listener would be mesmerised.
I will put C+nto on my bookshelf now and, though I may never get it down to read it again, I will always be glad I did so.