Chris Mitchell
As camp as Christmas and twice as sparkly, Mr. Quentin Crisp makes his literary return with Resident Alien. Featuring selections from his diaries between 1990 to 1994, Resident Alien describes the hectic social whirl of one “who is in the profession of being.” Never refusing an invitation, Quentin lives a life in which he is continually whisked off to all manner of bizarre fringe events in New York and indeed, all over America. It’s hard to believe that this man is nearly ninety years old. From attending his own birthday party to recounting the physical agony of dressing up as Queen Elizabeth I for the film Orlando, Quentin’s life would give Paul Auster enough material for a score of films.
Quentin is indefatigably well-informed about modern culture because of his well- humoured curiosity about people and places. It is quite evident that he is utterly in love with life. In his own search to be accepted, he himself has always been accepting of others. As such, Quentin rarely condemns or criticises, but observes with wonder and occasional hilarious bemusement the spectacular diversity of life around him in New York. Although Quentin is convinced of his own senility, the lucidity of his writing shows otherwise, especially at those moments where the present leads him to recall the past. Memories of being spellbound by Marlene Dietrich as a young man are interweaved with going to see the latest avant-garde film, or “unabashed festival material,” as he calls it. This mixture of past recollection and present reflection is fascinating, in the simple sense of one man having seen and done so much and still able to write about it with consummate grace.
Indeed, it is not so much what Quentin does as the way he describes it that makes Resident Alien such an excellent read. In his introduction, editor David Carroll maintains “it is no exaggeration to say that Quentin Crisp could well be the wittiest man alive.” Hilarious observations occur on virtually every page. On art; “I rarely visit art galleries, for two reasons: the first is that there is never anywhere to sit, and the second is that I do not understand art. When people ask me what I’ve got against pictures, I can only reply, ‘What have you got against the wall?'” On ballet: “I once told Comrade Nureyev that the charm of ballet was that someone might break his neck.” On mortality; “A problem arises if we expire in the presence of our friends. We then have to die and be polite at the same time. It may not be easy.” Resident Alien has the distinction of being a profound pageturner; it’s effortlessly easy to read but leaves you with the feeling that you’ve gained something.
