Book Review: The Naked Civil Servant by Quentin Crisp
My friend Marion recommended this book, with the polite but
unmistakable admonition to return it soon, and in good condition. When someone like Marion (a remarkable woman)
loves a book so much that she must have it by her side whether or not she’s
opened it in years, it gets my attention.
I read the book in a single day, the first time since I was
a teenager that I’d been so absorbed by a story I finished it within 8 hours.
I’d been meaning to read The Naked Civil Servant for
years. I had a vague idea who Quentin
Crisp was, but only that he was some sort of early 20th century gay
pioneer. In the 1990’s he made a series
of controversial statements about gay people, dismissing calls for equality and
insisting that homosexuality was an illness.
Like many others, I put these comments aside as the remarks
of an elderly man who didn’t understand the way new generations of gay people
looked at the world. Men like Crisp were
dinosaurs, the lumbering pioneers who had carried ideas forward but had collapsed
with exhaustion and were no longer useful.
I was right, but only partially. There was much more to the story than that.
Crisp was born in 1908, and while he covers his early years
with insight and wit (he declares that those who are thought witty are those
who laugh and listen politely to others – an insight I’ll have to test) the
story really takes flight when he moves to London .
By this time, Crisp has accepted that he is a homosexual and
has decided to confront the world with his existence instead of shading himself
in public, his head down. He slathers
his face with make-up, styles his hair in dramatic waves and wears flowing,
feminine fashions. He monitors every
step, one foot precisely in front of the other (I experimented with this gait
last night, and realized that it required a steady rocking of the hips).
Thus he sets out in 1930’s London , often drawing crowds of people who
follow him hurling insults, catcalls and rocks.
He is often attacked, and relates in a dispassionate voice the
techniques he used to get out of trouble, when possible. Of course, it was often not possible. Several times he is beaten, he often fears
for his life and danger is ever-present.
His presence inside large buildings would often cause a tumult and
shopping is an obstacle course of insults and rude clerks.
But still, he often finds work – in commercial art,
publishing houses and even an engineering firm.
This is no mean feat – his description of arriving for job interviews is
a delight to read, but I suspect it wasn’t nearly as amusing to live the
experience. Eventually he becomes a model for art students, a civil servant in his mind and thus the title.
Along comes World War II, and he is called in for his
physical. I laughed out loud several
times, the first being when a doctor told him with a hectoring voice meant to
induce shame that he exhibited all the signs of sexual perversion. Crisp happily agrees, telling him upfront
that he is a homosexual. This destroys
the doctor’s authority, and he huddles with others to discuss what to do. The whole scene is delivered with witheringly
precise descriptions of one absurdity after another.
His conflict with masculinity and femininity are interesting,
but maddening, delivered in a voice of authority that in the end he lacked. I’d have to read the book at a slower pace to
delve more deeply into what he meant by his somewhat contradictory approach to
gender roles. He idealizes the feminine
side of himself, and indeed with all homosexuals, but at the same time, he is
fervently in awe of masculinity, assigning it the treasured word of “normal”. And he is by turns dismissive and protective
of masculine gay men.
I admire his defiance of the world’s efforts to shame him, but
years of being followed by screaming mobs and inspiring chaos wherever he went
must have warped his mind. No human is
capable of withstanding that sort of abuse without acquiring scars, but Crisp
writes of his deepest disappointment with other gay people who criticized his
open defiance of convention.
Is this the root of his amorphous contempt for gay people
who seek equality ? For
all of his courage, at heart he accepted that he was a lower form of life than
straight people, so his defiance was based on acceptance of his status – the defiance
of the scullery maid who resents the intrusion of a parlor maid. He’d love that comparison, probably. Or hate it.
In the end, Crisp walked with his head up, but didn’t dare
look around, and while he was careful to place each foot just so, he was still
watching every step.
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