Turned Inside Out in Sex Goblin

Gianni Washington

May 28

One of the many vignettes that comprise Lauren Cook's book of strange reflections, Sex Goblin, begins "It's a book about living." That is exactly what Sex Goblin is: a book about the many possible experiences, emotions, and epiphanies a life can include, which, as in life, may or may not ever be resolved in a way one would call "satisfying." In fact, we are given glimpses of several possible lives that run the gamut from prosaic to bizarre, and are often both those things at once in the way that most lives are. Sex Goblin appears to be a record of thoughts and feelings. Sometimes these thoughts and feelings are conveyed through stories; other times, they are written plainly as single sentences or short paragraphs. By means of its diaristic form, Sex Goblin asserts the importance of individual experience apart from its larger, societal context, seemingly in an effort to reclaim that which is personal from the jaws of the universal.

As noted above, some pages hold one lonely sentence, some a paragraph, while other writings take up half a page or go on for seven or ten. Some of the contents are lengthy anecdotes and some are epiphanies or passing thoughts. The eponymous sex goblin shows up occasionally in the text, a clear avatar for someone quite human whose desires make them feel monstrous. Though the term is vividly odd, the one to whom the name refers is relatable, as are many of the protagonists the reader will meet. But as Cook writes in one paragraph given its own page, "...we are not the same." Cook reminds the reader in this particular blurb that although they are welcome to read the thoughts presented and "take the pieces that make sense", these writings "are centered around me though; my wants and needs."

This is the crux of Sex Goblin: while much of what is expressed therein are thoughts or experiences many readers will likely recognize, there is also a singular quality to them and to the writing itself. The "me" referenced in the aforementioned vignette could be Cook or, just as easily, one of his characters; either way, the reader is urged not to take ownership of what they read, however much they might identify with it. Even if you too have been plagued by the insistent conviction that your bathtub will soon fall through the floor to the room below until it eventually does, or you've had a casual sexual relationship with an attractive person you met at the gym who goes to the same personal trainer as you, or you've been surgically fused with an animal companion after a terrible accident, the circumstances surrounding your situation will always be a sum made up of different parts than the person you are reading about.

Declaring this separation is an interesting move, especially when writers of fiction often seem to be working to erase the distance between themselves and their readers, calling attention in their work to that which connects us all. But Sex Goblin feels a lot like a collection of journal entries, and what is more inherently individualistic than a record of someone's musings about themself? The narrative voice is straightforward and employs very little figurative language, which thoroughly suits the naked truths on display. The pared back language also has the effect of making even the most troubling events easier to sit with. When everything is stated as bald fact, the reader has no choice but to get on with things just as each character must. As a reader, it's a fun exercise in putting yourself aside no matter how powerfully the words invite you to compare or insert your own thoughts among them.

Early on, Cook writes "I want everything to feel like I'm reading it on a bathroom wall"; Sex Goblin achieves this. It has the same raw, deep-down feeling of honesty as words scribbled inside a stall and forces you to consider the writer apart from yourself without looking away. Rather than ask us to conflate ourselves with whomever we read about, Cook encourages us to stand shamelessly alone, owning whatever is wild and dull and stupid about us. No matter how many points of connection there are between us, we are each still, irrevocably, one of one.