If you're expecting soup cans and canned supertars, you may be in for a shock. This is the squalid, squirming flip side of the swinging sixties, and Warhol is little more than an intermittent background hum. False advertising? not really, for Woronov-star of Chelsea Girls and other Warhol films-serves up a memoir tthat's both seedier, sleazier, and more sophisticated than the standard celebrity tell-all.
Woronov is icily seductive, coaxing the reader into a tar pit of sex and death, of drugs and drag queens, of the twilight zone between real life and hallucination. All-night speed binges, Velvet Underground gigs, the woman without a vagina-this freakshow is closer to David Lynch or Hieronymous Bosch than any of Warhol's dry-cleaned imagery. The book reads like a flashback; one moment you'll feel there's nothing going on, and the next you'll be sent spinning by a cunning metaphor or appalling image. A sleeper of a book, but full of strange and affecting dreams.
Article comments
1 - srp
thanks for this; it is something i would pick up. have you read Valerie Solanes's book, Scum Manifesto? not about the FActory, per se, but she was a frequent guest and total nut who, you know i'm sure, shot Warhol and tried to kill him because she just hated all men, as her book clearly states... it's an interesting read if you're into the scene there.
thx. again
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sade