Steps

Was Jerzy Kosinski the Twentieth Century's Marquis de Sade? Albeit a far less sexually explicit, but no less sadistic de Sade?

Reading Steps certainly makes me wonder -- and that's a compliment to Kosinsky's skills at creating discomfort in his readers, at least his readers with "typical" moral sensibilities.

Who is this twisted first person narrator guiding us through this sordid collection of demented anecdotes and mostly vile (when they're not violent) vignettes, in Steps?

"I'd be embarassed to say I've actually ... you know, it's a weird sensation having it in one's mouth. It's as if the entire body of the man, everything, had suddenly shrunk into this one thing. And then it grows and fills the mouth. It becomes forceful, but at the show more same time remains frail and vulnerable. It could choke me -- or I might bite it off. And as it grows, it is I who give it life; my breathing sustains it, and it uncoils like an enormous tongue."

Did this, whatever this -- Steps -- is, truly win the National Book Award for fiction in 1969? Yes. Is it truly darker than his debut, controversial classic, the allegedly autobiographical novel (or pure fiction, depending on whom you believe), The Painted Bird, that painted quite the icky horrific portrait of Kosinsky's childhood, assuming it's true? No. Steps is even more absurdly darker than its more famous predecessor, The Painted Bird.

Steps is not a novel per se, but at 146 pages I wouldn't call it a novella, either. Short story collection? Not by a long shot. Then what is it?

Steps is loosely connected, piecemealed, malevolent, merciless episodes following the (s)exploits of one twisted (and normally I wouldn't say "twisted" twice in the same review, but that's how twisted the narrator of Steps is) and wicked man, hell bent on punishing his persecutors (whether they've indeed persecuted him or not) and even doing so when it means tricking the persecutor's children into swallowing fishhook-embedded balls of bread dough whole, so that they'll suffer excruciatingly slow and maybe die agonizing deaths days later ....

God forgive me for enjoying Steps! Am I (are you, who likewise enjoy it) twisted yourself? Twisted like de Sade? Like Kosinsky? Like the narrator of Steps? And if you say neither de Sade or Kosinsky were "twisted" then that only proves how twisted you are.

Kosinsky seemed to delight in torturing his readers, and not just the defenseless children of his fictions. By attempting to evoke in his readers pleasure out of witnessing the pain of his characters -- not solely limited to children -- he was essentially attempting to transform the "typical" author-reader relationship into a self-styled relationship that was probably a connection better suited for their local dominatrix, rather than the pages of a wonderfully warped and weird Jerzy Kosinki book.

Steps skewers cultures that are so easily amused and entertained by atrocities: gang rapes, beheadings, untold degradations of women, and exploitations of the mentally ill and developmentally disabled. Shouldn't the sick and perverted scenarios of Steps shock its readers into enough moral outrage that they'd put the damn book down? Depends who's reading perhaps. But that we wouldn't put his damned book down Kosinsky was counting on.

By the book's end, after there's been no anticipated payoff for the reader, no revenge for the evils inflicted on so many innocents, no justice, no resolutions, no epiphanies or rewards, no nothing except increased violence and brutality; the nihilist, Mr. Mephisto himself -- Jerzy Kosinsky -- seems to indict us for having finished Steps, indicted us who read even as we winced at what we read in Steps, in its abominably exquisite hodge-podge of horror and debasement. Indicted us like we're culpable merely for reading the nightmarish crimes of the sociopathic narrator, proclaimed us guilty as charged for being entertained by evil or, for atheists, by the complete absence of good. Damn if Kosinski doesn't get us good, at least those who cringe their way, cruel page after cruel and gruesome page, to the last sentence and its destitute image.

Step
by
step
down
a
harrowing
stair-
case,
Steps

d
e
s
c
e
n
d
s.

Not an always comfortable or pleasant Sunday stroll through Central Park with the children, Steps. Though forty-four years removed from first publication, these disturbing Steps of Jerzy Kosinski's are steps still worth taking, even if they lead to Hell. show less

Ever wonder about the twisted things people do to each other? This author shows you with a series of first-person scenarios that reveal the underbelly of humanity — sexuality, vengeance, cruelty, power, violence, alienation, and more. (I am not convinced the I in each story is the same man.) I often felt like a voyeur reading this. And I wondered what was the purpose.

The brief stories, like pages ripped from a diary, did not follow the same characters, yet tweaked the dark side of human nature in all of us. So there was a common theme: sometimes human nature is not comfortable witnessing. The who and the where is not clear, but the stories reflected an overall environment and atmosphere likely experienced by this Polish author who show more survived World War II. He became a U.S. citizen.

The book is a strange read yet won the U.S. National Book Award for Fiction in 1969. Perhaps it's not so much what the stories are about but more about how you react to each of them. The book, labeled a "literary shocker," certainly will prompt a reaction. Perhaps that's it's purpose. I'm glad I read it.

Still curious, though, about the title. Steps ... the path we walk through life and where it takes us? Or the staircase we stand on: go up or should we go down? Or simply the choices we make as we step into each day. I'm open to theories.

Some quotes:

“Lovers are not snails; they don't have to protrude from their shells and meet each other halfway. Meet me within your own self.”

“We did our best to understand the murder: the murderer was a part of our lives; not so the victim.”

“Aware of its value as a restorative, I stole only black caviar.”

“For the uncontrolled there is no wisdom, nor for the uncontrolled is there the power of concentration; and for him without concentration there is no peace. And for the unpeaceful, how can there be happiness?”

“He had always located the essential truth of his life in his wants and compulsions.” show less

Kosinski is a very disturbing writer. Much of this seems autobiographical, and yet it is called a work of fiction. Vignettes, ranging from the banal to the grotesque to the sadistic, form the storyline. Reading it is in moral terms voyeurism. The reader is complicit in allowing the author to tell the story. It is hard to rate a book like this, because structurally and in terms of writing skill it is well done. It is the content itself that is objectionable. Be wary of treading this path lest it contaminate you.

What a perverse, creepy novel! Depraved! And it belongs to an author whose checkered past is even more deranged than the novel! The author, Jerzy Kosinski, for a short time was part of an elite "glitteratti," a guest on late night TV, always in the company of beautiful women, an incredible rags-to-riches story, and the winner of the National Book Award with this bleak novel. He was also dead by his own hand at age 57. Even though his langage was Polish, his taut, brutal voice was beautifully realized in a terse masterful English. Or was it? So much of this author's life is shrouded in ambiguity and deceit, very much like the characters who inhabit his novels. American novelist David Foster Wallace, another suicide by the way, described show more Steps as a "collection of unbelievably creepy little allegorical tableaux done in a terse elegant voice that's like nothing else anywhere ever." Nonetheless, Steps is a short, powerful read, not to every one's taste, even mine! show less

Haunting. Vivid. I could pretty much stop writing here and you would know what you're getting with this book. Kosinski writes in terse, emotionless prose that leaves the reader feeling the isolation of the narrator. If you like your novels well-grounded, conventional and nicely packaged then you may not find too much enjoyment here. This is a novel that explores themes of serious literature: identity, politics, immigration, sexuality, violence, and quite possibly the search for the meaning of life.

The novel is separated into vignettes, only sometimes relating to each other. Interspersed is a dialogue with a woman. Most of these stories centre around sexual acts and sometimes about violence, and sometimes about not much. They're all show more readable, they're all engaging, and all have some striking image that like a quote on the rear of the book says, will pop into your mind every now and again. There are stories and scenarios here that I have never heard or even thought of before. Sometimes I wonder how autobiographical this is, or where the inspiration came from. At times they border on the absurd and I think this is where the critics run for their Kafka books. I won't disclose what these stories can be about because discovering them is what makes the book so intriguing. Just know that they will not bring a smile to your face or enlighten your day, they will, however, shock.

Steps went on to win the National Book Award for fiction, which is and isn't a surprise. Surprising because of the content, but the precision of the prose and the general themes make it a suitable award winner. Do not expect this to be a neat story; it is very open-ended and very enigmatic - just like its author. show less

Despite the grim nature of these stories, I was moved by this book. I was particularly stunned by the final story, and it has stayed with me for years. Any book that can leave such an impression—even if that impression is one of shock and despair, and one that makes me question the honesty of my OWN emotions, is a worthy read.

Being familiar with Kosinski to some degree, having read Being There and Cockpit (many years ago, wasn't taken to it greatly), I found Steps to be a simple prose progression of what the book's summary highlights, that being the oppressor and oppressed, in various timeless and geographically void communities. What I like about Jerzy's work is his sometimes absurd narrative explications on character motivation such as in one moment a character happens to be talking to a Detective Agency who suggests following him in order to reveal how their services work, this of course ties in neatly with the rest of the story which I wont reveal - as much as I sometimes say aloud in my head "Really Jerzy, are you seriously expecting me to swallow show more that", it seems to be an idiosyncrasy he has when blending motives into the story arch.

The perversions are well dispersed amongst quite whimsical tales of stand over tactics and tall tales. Jerzy had a personal interest in 'underground' kink apparently and I enjoy the way he integrates the ideas into seemingly anecdotal accounts of life as lived by certain unnamed communities. There is nothing in this novel that is sensational, it is all dutiful 'anti-erotica' as I call it, and a term borrowed from the forward to Alfred Jarry's 'Visits of love'. Anti-erotica is where the kink and ritual takes over the sexual and the moral, the lasciviousness becomes more stylised - the perversion becomes pragmatic and allows for other ideas to be fleshed out so to speak.

Well, I quite liked it, and am not entirely sure what else of Jerzy Kosinski I would like to read but so far I think Being There and Steps are decent pieces of writing. show less