#davidshields

HEIDI | BLK MAG

TARSHA ORSMAN | MAGGIE MARILYN

Samantha Matthews is the pseudonym of an American actress who lives in Spain with her partner and two children. She briefly worked as a voiceover artist dubbing Italian pornography into English, but she doesn’t focus on that much, although one thinks, initially, that this may be what the title refers to. That Thing You Do With Your Mouth is structured as a sort of memoir, where she is telling her sexual history and life story to her distant cousin, David Shields. Shields, we presume, arranges the bits of recollections, anecdotes, and text (collected randomly during Matthews’ days) into a very vague narrative arc. But it seems to work-- brilliantly. I couldn’t put the book down; I read it in one night (it’s also pretty short). But the content is fierce: bold, brave, honest, raw, all the things I’m looking for in a book. I liked catching snippets of Matthews’ life, I liked the frustration of not being able to look her up on Google-- which mirrors Elena Ferrante’s refusal to be a public object. In this era of self-objectification and the drive for fame-- which few writers are immune to-- it’s refreshing to have an artist refuse to be seen. And yet we see her, this mysterious narrator, in such clear ways. I had moments reading this book where I, too, felt particularly seen: where my experiences were reflected in Matthew’s own. The confusion about what type of woman to be, the desire to be wanted, the inability to say no, the fear of violence. In particular, this recognition hit me right at the beginning of the book: “I have less and less of a need, I think, to pretend I’m a good girl. I should be professional, friendly, responsible, accommodating, easy to get along with, elegant, and graceful. Must never step out of the house without wearing at least a tiny bit of makeup, because you never know who you’re going to run into. Lipstick is a winner, because my lips sort of blend in with my face. Must be confident. Don’t slouch. Don’t diminish yourself in public or in any conversation. Wear classic clothes, which suit you.”  The list keeps going on for another page. I recently had a conversation with a female friend whom I adore, and she said (although we weren’t talking about this book) that she has never felt these pressures. I almost couldn’t-- can’t-- believe her. She has never felt pressure to look, act, be, dress, a certain way because she’s a woman?! Either she’s very privileged and lucky or she’s not being honest with herself. I feel these pressures constantly. Every time I get angry about a topic I’m passionate about, I hear an inner voice saying, “Anger is unattractive!”

There’s not really anger in the book-- despite good reason for it, what with Matthews’ childhood sexual abuse-- but there are plenty of things that are “unattractive,” and I think that’s where the book’s power lies. For example: “I seduce men and women alike. I don’t want to do anything with them physically; I just want them to want me, to acknowledge that I could do something if I wanted to. It gives me power, and in that moment I feel beautiful. I feel visible when I’m desired sexually.” I want more of this honesty, this vulnerability. I don’t really want it structured and sold to me by a male co-author-- I would guess, though, that without her cousin’s famous name attached to this project, it might not have been published, so, okay, I get it. I love Matthew’s nonchalance and openness about her bisexuality, her desire for her new partner (mixed in with the hovering appeal of an affair), her reflections on how difficult marriage is and raising a daughter in today’s world. I want more books like this, but written by women. Is that too much to ask for? Interestingly, the book trailer has hints of Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac-- another female narrative, told by a female protagonist, but shaped by a male director. The constant male gaze, etcetera. The trailer doesn’t do the book justice, in my opinion. 

What does the book justice is the bits and pieces of narrative, tied together loosely: a gift of jarring honesty, brutal trauma, and recovery, a sort of mirror where you can see yourself or not see yourself. But that’s precisely it: “that thing you do with your mouth” turns out not to be particularly sexual at all. It’s talking. Literally, just the talking that Matthews does, to the chagrin of her new partner. So it’s sort of a joke. You thought it was sexual, didn’t you, in this overtly sexual book about one woman’s “sexual autobiography.”