BOY PARTS BY LIZA CLARK
PAPERBACK PUBLISHED BY IFLUX PRESS 23RD JULY 2020
ISBN 9781910312636
Irina obsessively takes explicit photographs of the average looking men she persuades to model for her, scouted from the streets of Newcastle.
Placed on sabbatical from her dead end bar job, she is offered an exhibition at a fashionable London gallery, promising to revive her career in the art world and offering escape from her rut of drugs, alcohol, and extreme cinema. The news triggers a self destructive tailspin, centred around Irina’s relationship with her obsessive best friend, and a shy young man from her local supermarket who has attracted her attention.
Boy Parts is the incendiary debut novel from Eliza Clark, a pitch black comedy both shocking and hilarious, fearlessly exploring the taboo regions of sexuality and gender roles in the twenty-first century.
Part of page 14
That my older boy. That’s Dean, you stupid bitch, that’s my older boy’s passport. Daniel is six. I’ll call the fucking police if you don’t take that down.
I’d scouted him on the bus and suspected he may have been in sixth form. He’d be wearing a suit. He must go to one of those colleges with an office dress code, but you couldn’t expect me to know that just from looking at him. I’ve seen blokes in their thirties who look twelve. That’s why I ID. That’s why I keep records.
Plus, no court could possibly convict me. The similarity between the brothers is so remarkable that only a mother could really split hairs over that passport photo. I can’t imagine a jury taking against me either, people always conflate beauty with goodness. I’m more Mae West than Rose. I can just cry a bit, talk like I’m daft, tease my hair up like a televangelist the higher the hair, the closer to God, you know?
Well Daniel lied to me and brought false ID. And I took these on a school day, so maybe keep a closer eye on him? I boot the backend of my website in front of her ( which takes for ages on mobile) and delete every single photo of him from my main portfolio. Gone.
I want to see a manager.
Hello, I gesture to myself.
I want to see your manager, then.
It’s just me in.
Right she says. Well then. She just stands there and glares at me. I come out from behind the bar, with the intention of opening the door for her, then she hits me. Like, hard.
ABOUT AUTHOR ELIZA CLARK
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