Writers & Readers Week
Mar 18 | Reviewed by Melody Nixon

ARE MINORITY writers well known because they’re of a minority, or because they’re writers? Are gay writers scandalous because they’re gay, or because they’re scandalous? When Peter Wells takes the stage these questions, and more, excitedly churn through us.

He is gay, and he’s also scandalous, but is he a writer?

He’s certainly a reader. He spends most of his ‘meet the writer’ session reading a randy passage from Iridescence and a test passage from his current work-in-progress, a faux memoir.

The first, gratuitous passage is an excerpt from Book Two of Iridescence, the more famous of Wells’ two published novels. Its execution certainly demands daring and confidence, of which Wells has plenty. The middle-aged audience shifts uncomfortably and assumes an air of ‘I’m-open-to-everything’ liberal-mindedness, as we learn that the Victorian word for oral sex is ‘gamahuche’ and there are many, many synonyms for penis. In one breath the words pego, stalk, yardstick, cock and prick flow eloquently from Wells and we are left, ponderous and tense in our seats.

Following his recital of this Lady Chatterley’s-type divulging and testing eroticism, chair Elizabeth Alley asks him why exactly he chose to read that piece. He explains he likes it because it is very image-full. He asks her if she knows what ‘gamahuche’ means. She suggests we move on.

In case we haven’t yet noticed, Wells affirms he is attracted to scandal. He says he feels no shame in dealing with sex. This is an admirable characteristic, as sex can and should be talked about openly and frankly. I agree that the social taboos surrounding it mostly limit rather than protect. How far can shamelessness take a piece of writing though? Shock value is good, but surely there must be an underlying purpose to give it weight.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I never find out what that underlying purpose is for Wells. The initial, excited questions go unanswered. The audience leaves the theatre, bandying about mildly confused smiles, without having gained any real insight into the mind of a writer. We are left with a sense of how Wells might be as a person, and with a glimpse of his current work-in-progress. Our questions about writing, about identity issues and about the merits of scandal are left hanging and frustrated. A bit like our post-iridescence sexual tension.

If that’s the way Wells intended it, as a sort of meta-sexual literary experience, then credit to him. Somehow though, I doubt it.

» Peter Wells @ NZ International Arts Festival