It’s hard to place Nate Lippens within an obvious lineage. His writing, which has been championed in the UK by Pilot Press, is fragmentary and exists in that weird liminal place where you’re not exactly sure if what you’re reading is memoir or fiction.
Lippens’ latest book, Ripcord, is subtitled “A Novel” but with its close first-person narration, its constant asides and frequent essayistic journeys into popular culture, you’d be forgiven for believing it to be pure memoir.
Lippens’ narrator is a middle-aged gay man who works at a bar in Milwaukee. With only a handful of close friends, he lives a fairly hand-to-mouth existence, lamenting his reluctant entry into middle-aged queerness. “I’m in an abusive relationship with time,” he says at the beginning of one chapter. This sentiment feels central to Ripcord as a whole.
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In an era where gay writing is still obsessed with the queer coming-of-age narrative, Lippens’ writing is a very centring take on what happens post-twink death: shockingly, you just keep on living.
Lippens is undeniably the master of the one-liner and the novel is absolutely littered with them. His narrator describes himself as “a mix of Rip Van Winkle, Jack the Ripper, and Rip Taylor: comatose, murderous and frivolous” and his turn-ons include “1970s and 1980s performance art”, “punk drag queens”, and, rather fittingly, “fragments.”