On Amazon.com I found an exciting new novel. G. Roger Denson's VOICE OF FORCE. In essence it asks the simple questions: Has increased awareness of sexuality and difference truly helped us live more harmonious lives? Or has it merely compelled people to mask the prejudice they inherit from traditions and institutions beneath a civilized veneer?
Increasing tolerance may have softened the fault lines of social prejudice, but Denson suggests that when a public tragedy draws out the voices of discontent, we learn just how deeply homophobia still shapes and enforces everyday life in even the most liberal of enclaves.
In chronicling the alleged murder of the famously straight opera tenor Cosimo Fratangelo by the openly gay newspaper critic Ragland Hughes, the author leads us through an investigation and media melee that not only brings to light the forces keeping a gay man and a straight man from enjoying friendship, they brand Hughes as a predator of heterosexual men. VOICE OF FORCE is part thwarted love story, part cautionary tale, part postmodern socio-political satire. While flirting with our contemporary fixation on crime dramas, soap operas, and celebrity scandals, the novel penetrates deep beneath such genres to trace the fault lines of a relationship cutting against conventions, identities and institutions defining who we believe ourselves to be.
In tracing the characters’ mind swing between depravity and mysticism, author G. Roger Denson abandons the novelist’s godlike prerogative of “seeing all.” In its place we find files from the Manhattan District Attorney’s archive that allow us to peruse the multiple voices having their say in the two men’s lives. In its overarching scope. VOICE OF FORCE is as much a story about the voices eager to proclaim guilt and innocence as it is a reflection on how an individual is judged according to the resistance he puts up to the forces bearing down on his life. As the promotional copy on the back of the novel proclaims: “A murder has been committed, but the judgment lies in deciding what the true crime is and how long it’s been in the making. “
Check the book out (you can read the first few pages) at:
http://www.amazon.com/Voice-Force-G-Roger-Denson/dp/1448661692/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1258405982&sr=1-1
Here are some excerpts from VOICE OF FORCE that I found engrossing:
I realized as we talked that Cosimo’s disarming sweetness was in fact a multi-layered mannerism, one he must have cultivated over years of study (not with any teacher, but intuitively from the time he was a child). As he became more disarming, he operated at an ever-deepening level of unconscious persuasion, lulling me like a drug, freeing me of the defensive and incredulous mind I usually inhabit. Then, as I felt that impulse that always creeps up when I’m with compelling straight men (he showed interest in more than a few of the women nearby), I told myself I couldn’t dwell on it for an instant. I would not let the past repeat itself. Instead, I buried all desire, losing myself in Cosimo’s broken English—which, with some wine, became even more pleasingly cadenced, even songlike.
When I could finally look his way, I knew instantly that Cosimo had never healed from the wound inflicted by this confrontation of sea, sky, and shore, and I could see from his face and the way his hands gripped the rail that its full meaning was resurrecting in his mind with all its primal force. He became visibly exuberant in reuniting with the huge, ambient essence that had fashioned him, and I realized that his sea, and his sea alone, must seem exactly as it did when he was a boy. Now I know what I hear in his great voice is the sea itself surging forward in all its grandeur, and how could it be otherwise? How else could he embrace the gaping expanse before us? How else could he be heard over the roar of this surf but by forging a voice of resounding bronze?
How can anyone who spent his adult life in the business of opera think for a moment that a singer onstage could be singing to him? Yet the opposite question was now posed to me—how could Cosimo not be singing to me alone—this question seemed for once the less absurd. Aren’t I the man who made Cosimo love another man? Who makes him, even in his atheism, wrestle with the mythology of Catholic sin. Isn’t that why I saw him up there, before everyone, indicting me for having cost him all? No. It’s just a performance. That’s what he excels at—not honest displays. That’s why he can get his charge across to me in the middle of such a devastating scene. And yet why do I, who never believed in damnation, let alone a power that can damn, why have I become so willing to receive his incrimination? No, this is more than a performance. Art alone doesn’t change minds or hearts like this.
Between waking and sleeping on the train I saw a door to my past open. Suddenly I found myself peering at the face of the man I had not seen in a decade, a face I had at one time feared and revered. I must have gone into shock. I don’t think I was asleep. I remember only emerging from a vacancy when I saw Cosimo staring at me from Ethan’s place—the seat across the aisle, indicting me as only he can. “You look like you wish someone dead.” Even when I remain silent Cosimo knows what I think. But even more perplexing is what I next blurted out. For they were words that never before had conscious thoughts affixed to them. “He is already dead. And though it is many years after it happened, I still hate him. There’s no reason I should hate him anymore. He died quite violently. Drowned, actually. You would think his misfortune would have lessened my hate, if not dissipated it completely.” “So, you wished him to die.” “What?” I said. “Wished it?” “And you hated him so much you wished him to die violently.” He was inside me now. Cosimo had reached my dark core. “What?! No!” “You did. That is why you still hate him. Because he made you hate yourself for wishing it while he was still alive.” Just like that he said it all, leaving me nothing more to discover or admit. And all I could do was look out my window at the passing scenery.
“When he first came to me to compose the music for Cain and Abel, Ragland said, “Gabriel, compose music that shows the beauty of the first brothers. But you must also compose it to show their ugliness, their humanity. Compose music that shows the intensity and complexity of the first brothers’ love, but also the fear and rivalry that love instilled in them. Perhaps I should tell you. In his libretto, Cain not only kills Abel. He rapes him.”
“In today’s world a gay man and a straight man should be able to become steadfast partners and friends. Right? And when their international success is trumpeted around the world, they’ve proven that the sexuality that interminably threatens to separate them can be made to lie forever dormant. Right?”
“Two men … different desires … Do you see what awaits this kind of friendship?”
“Ragland Hughes was declared guilty today of first-degree murder in the death of opera tenor Cosimo Fratangelo, as well as for the rape of the singer three years earlier. Although the case was based solely on circumstantial evidence, a diary and two literary works Hughes had written—a short story and an opera libretto—the prosecution managed to convince the eight-man, four-woman jury that Hughes meticulously planned to kill the singer with whom he had become sexually obsessed.”
“Give me some credit, Ragland. There was a lot I didn’t tell them. A lot that could be misconstrued. I could have told them about that damn club you once belonged to. Oh … you think it was a perfectly respectable organization … but under the circumstances… The prosecutor? The jury? Would they think it? Its name alone…‘Buddies!’ Really, Ragland. A bunch of predatory faggots who get together to voice their obsessive lust for straight men? Oh … we had this conversation before, didn’t we. I was defending myself when you accused me … I said, ‘I don’t hate straight men.’ And you said, ‘You just hate it when gay men love them.’”
“Those women … they were prostitutes. Cosimo hired prostitutes just to torture his sister … prancing them around in front of her. At least they were fully clothed ... or I should say … clothed as fully as he cared for them to be. But I know he never slept with them … never went near them when his sister wasn’t around. I know this because of how old they were. I mean … well … they weren’t girls anymore. Cosimo really loved girls. Young girls. I often wondered if that wasn’t because of his sister somehow.”
“You’re comparing me to that old bitch? Cosimo wanted Estelle to think he was gay so he wouldn’t have to sleep with her. He pretended with me because he thought it would help him get me in bed.”
“You’re saying Hughes got reeled in because he mistook Fratangelo’s addiction for love?”
“I know so many women who’ve made the same mistake: they fall in love with junkies because they’re warm … physical … there’s a glow about them … they’re a delight to be around … as long as they’re using. But as soon as the junk has dried up in their veins … they become monsters.”
“Cosimo certainly wasn’t interested in their love. When you love someone, you give away your power. Cosimo was always the one who held dominion over his lovers’ souls. What does that tell you about how he loved? It tells me that the power of instilling love is God’s honey for artists. The artist who can make the rich and powerful fall in love with him will always enjoy his breakfast. Cosimo, of course, would never fall in love with any of them. He was not attached; they were. He could pull out of the game at any time without losing; they could not.”
“Rags, you know as well as we do. Consumers … they’re driven by unconscious needs and desires … unconscious associations with products, brands, celebrities. But Cosimo … he was breaking code. You seriously don’t think we should have let the world know what was going on between you. The way we were marketing Cosimo … we were fulfilling a need. That’s all. It was nothing against you. We’re not homophobes. But … we could have lost our pants with all those rumors. Cosimo had everything else going for him. He just had to be brought up to code.”
“We were going to lose the chance of a lifetime, Rags. All the free publicity from the news of his disappearance … then his death ... your arrest … the trial. We had to take a gamble. That’s why we released the three recordings during and after your trial … all music the public has never heard. Surely you’re not upset that we timed their release. It was your killing him … you raised him to the level of myth. He’s above the gutter talk now. And he’ll stay there. Yes … it’s profitable losing an artist so young, so beloved, yet so prolifically recorded. But one beset by those kind of rumors? If he were alive today … he might not sell a single record … not given all that came out about the two of you at the trial.”
“Stop this American fixation with sex or I’ll scream. I’m not speaking of sex; I’m speaking of love. What does anyone get from sex but children and disease? I assure you, if you start thinking about love as opposed to sex, it will all become clear to you. That’s why Mr. Hughes finally won out. That and the fact that in his love he wanted to remake my fiancĂ© precisely according to the mythology with which my fiancĂ© wanted to remake himself.”
“I was prepared for this silence of yours. I have seen it with condemned men before. I could interpret a silence like yours to be pregnant with conceit: A man gloating in the power he has over those who remain obsessed with his guilt … his power over a silly priest clamoring for a confession in the name of a God he does not believe in. No … you do not seem to me to be a conceited man. I can see Our Lord in you too clearly. He too was silent in the days of his persecution.”
“Procreation is no trick, Mr. Hughes. It is a creative force. Those who bring life into the world are vital…” “And those who secure life’s essential balance ... they are crucial.” “How do homosexuals secure the species, Mr. Hughes. I mean as sexual beings?” “We preserve the species. We are conservation realized. We provide nature’s … restraint on … your sexual … your procreative extravagance. We keep your production from becoming … overproduction … pollution … destruction … unbridled. We keep you from becoming an obscene cosmic joke.”
“I think he killed because of a confession made before a friend his own age, a sixteen-year old friend who hated queers … a friend who told him he would go to hell if he didn’t stop Marco. Isn’t that why you’re so determined to get my execution stayed? Isn’t that maybe even why you took a vow of poverty and obedience? Why you became a priest? Because he took your boyish, your hateful, admonishment, he took it a little too literally all those years ago, took it with him as a weapon with which to kill. You did fail him … you do harbor guilt … great guilt. And now, here with me, you want to make up for your blunder, your hatred of a queer all those years ago by showing forgiveness to another queer now.”
“Cosimo was to then learn why there is so much hate in the world. How else is it we are able to move on this earth with so much love weighing us down? Love is too filling for life. It stops us from doing everything we need to do to survive ... to evolve. We must learn to hate just so we can move even a little bit. So we can achieve. So we can live. As he realized this, Cosimo also understood that even his fear had a purpose.”
“I read that story you wrote, Rags. I know that because your stalker is obsessed with beauty … he can’t see the ugliness he is creating to possess it. And because your Cain is blinded by the tradition and ritual that’s been handed him … he can’t see the beauty of the things outside them. You were trying to tell us … you showed us that whatever goodness and beauty come with civilization … they must proceed from the remains of its crimes as much as from its virtues ... that both grow out of our blindness to them. That’s why the beautiful and the ugly … the good and the evil … that’s why they coexist. And in turn … that’s why we don’t know where to begin looking for truth and beauty. They are always transforming … without our notice.”
http://www.amazon.com/Voice-Force-G-Roger-Denson/dp/1448661692/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&