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Cows
Mother's corpse in bits, dead dog on the roof, girlfriend in a coma, baby nailed to the wall, and a hundred tons of homicidal beef stampeding through the tube system. And Steven thought the slaughterhouse was bad...
Cows is the long-awaited reissue of Matthew Stokoe's critically acclaimed debut novel.
Cows is the long-awaited reissue of Matthew Stokoe's critically acclaimed debut novel.
192 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 1998
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,415 reviews
April 8, 2021
‘I hate me mum‘ he thought as he shidded and farted and peed and cummed.
April 2, 2011
I find it completely shocking that so many people have given this book 4 and 5 star ratings...certainly the most "disturbing" aspect. I've never read something so ridiculous, so poorly written, so completely embarassing in terms of "extreme literature". If sophomoric, gross-out fairy tales are your thing, then go for it. Honestly, it could have been written by a group of 13-year-old boys with a wardrobe full of black trench coats, indulging in a creative-writing circle jerk. The gore/horror/perversions in this novel are formulaic and completely predictable...the literary equivalent of "2 Girls, 1 Cup". I'm not squeamish. I'm not a prude. This is just bad writing, full stop. It's shocking-by-numbers: talking cows, blood and guts, bestiality, coprophilia, all handled with a complete lack of imagination. The only redeeming thing about this book is that it's short, so you don't waste a huge amount of your life screaming, "This is so stupid!". If you want to read "extreme literature", read Peter Sotos books...they're TRULY disturbing.
April 1, 2017
In the book “COWS” by Matthew Stokoe we meet twenty five year old Stephen. Stephen lives holed up in his room, watching perfect lives on TV, dreaming of what it would be like to be safe, to be happy, to be loved and to be normal. Yet this is not to be. Stephen who lives with his mother, whom he calls “The Hogbeast”, and is convinced she is trying to kill him with her cooking and smother him with her hate. He also has a pet dog named DOG, whom is his only friend, and who’s back has been broken by “The HogBeast” by flinging a brick at the dog.
Coincidentally, Stephen has started a new job at the slaughter house as the meat grinder (the end of the line so to speak). His new boss Cripps, an insane slaughter house foreman who preaches the gospel of self-empowerment through killing, encourages Stephen to become one of the cow killers (the beginning of the line) in order to become a “real man”.
Into the mix of bizarre characters we meet Lucy, the girl who lives in the apartment upstairs and spends her nights searching for the toxins she knows are collecting inside her body and who is obsessed with vivisection, and starts to believe there may be a ray of light in Stephens otherwise nightmarish life, but what follows is a collection of extreme violence, death, sex, bestiality, self-surgery, torture, and unthinkable perversions that make the Marquis de Sade seem like chicken little in Romper Room.
To make matters worse Steven is also forced to deal with a talking, plotting Guernsey. The cow, part of a herd that has escaped the slaughter house and now lives in tunnels under the city streets, along with a herd of other cows, wants to convince Steven to help them stop Cripps by killing him.
Whomever came up with the expression “Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” should just ought rethink that statement after reading this book which smashes all boundaries of good taste, and just may make you become a vegetarian.
Coincidentally, Stephen has started a new job at the slaughter house as the meat grinder (the end of the line so to speak). His new boss Cripps, an insane slaughter house foreman who preaches the gospel of self-empowerment through killing, encourages Stephen to become one of the cow killers (the beginning of the line) in order to become a “real man”.
Into the mix of bizarre characters we meet Lucy, the girl who lives in the apartment upstairs and spends her nights searching for the toxins she knows are collecting inside her body and who is obsessed with vivisection, and starts to believe there may be a ray of light in Stephens otherwise nightmarish life, but what follows is a collection of extreme violence, death, sex, bestiality, self-surgery, torture, and unthinkable perversions that make the Marquis de Sade seem like chicken little in Romper Room.
To make matters worse Steven is also forced to deal with a talking, plotting Guernsey. The cow, part of a herd that has escaped the slaughter house and now lives in tunnels under the city streets, along with a herd of other cows, wants to convince Steven to help them stop Cripps by killing him.
Whomever came up with the expression “Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” should just ought rethink that statement after reading this book which smashes all boundaries of good taste, and just may make you become a vegetarian.
March 26, 2019
Complete and udder trash.
September 29, 2013
A heartwarming tale of friendship, love and courage.
November 14, 2011
Scene : A pleasant summer day in the English Peak District. A guy is walking through the breathtaking Derbyshire countryside. The pathway takes him through a field. In the field, a herd of cows.
First cow : I don’t believe it - it’s him, Gloria – it’s him!
Second cow (Gloria) : Oh Roxanne, now what?
Roxanne: I’m telling you – look, it’s that God-damned Matthew Stokoe!
Gloria : Oh, come on now, you’re obsessed. How would you know? There’s no pictures of Matthew Stokoe anywhere – remember we were googling on Clara’s laptop the other day, after milking time? Not one picture, and there’s none on any of his books like most human authors do. And when you actually read this filth, you can quite see why. Moo.
Roxanne : Well, I didn’t tell you, but I got this faxed to me. (She produces a dog-eared photocopied page from her handbag and holds it up. It’s a blurry photo of a 30-something white guy taken with a telephoto lens in bad light. It could be anybody.) This is him.
Gloria : Where’d you get that?
Roxanne: It’s going round all the herds. Some cow from Buxton sent it to me. Concentrate – it’s him – it’s that guy there.
Roxanne (unconvinced) : Well, maybe. But you know, all humans kind of look alike to me. It’s hard to tell the men from the women even. I think you’re talking to the wrong cow.
Gloria (exasperated) : Moo!
Deirdre (having overheard) : Hey Roxanne, I agree with you. I really think it’s him.
Roxanne : Finally, a cow with sense. Quick, tell the others to cut the bastard off before he gets to the gate.
(The word spreads like wildfire through the herd. They move purposefully across the field and completely block the gate. The man comes to a quizzical halt.)
Man: Hey, shoo. beat it. Go back over there.
Roxanne (stepping out of the herd) : Well well, we got you now, didn’t we, you bastard.
Man: Huh? What?
Roxanne: You can cut the crap Matthew Stokoe, we know it’s you.
Man (paling visibly) : Ah, heh, who’s that? Stokoe? Huh?
Roxanne: Don’t come the innocent with us, sunshine. You’re Matthew stokoe, author of the notorious novel Cows. Which we have read. And we’re cows, as you may have noticed.
Man : How would you know what I – Matthew Stokoe looks like? There’s no pictures of me – him – anywhere! Not on the internet, not anywhere!
Roxanne : Yeah? And how would you know so much about an obscure avant-garde novelist as all that? Your bluster butters no parsnips with us, buddy boy. We have this! (Five cows simultaneously hold up the photocopied picture.)
Man : That’s not Matthew Stokoe!
Cows : Moo! Moo!
Roxanne : Stokoe, you’re busted.
Stokoe : I can’t believe this is happening, what a nightmare – (he scrabbles for his cellphone, which is roughly knocked out of his hand and then stepped on by Helen, a particularly stroppy cow.) Oh oh – I can’t believe you cows have even heard of me anyway!
Simone (svelte, but nobody’s fool) : You got to be joking, pal. In our world you’re famous. Can’t write a book like Cows and not get noticed by us actual cows. We’re not cultural ignoramuses like sheep – they just watch daytime TV. But we like our Andy Warhol wallpaper and we appreciate the cover art on Pink Floyd’s under-appreciated Atom heart Mother album. Although side two is very self-indulgent, it’s true. I have a vinyl copy.
Roxanne : I think we’re wandering from the point. This situation we have here is like Bret Easton Ellis finding himself alone in a room full of women in 1991 just after you know what was published.
Ophelia (a cow who has not spoken before) : Come on, cut the crap, let’s trample the bastard now.
Stokoe : Hey, what – slow down, what’s your problem anyway – it’s just a novel . A novel.
Roxanne : Just - er – (she’s lost for words) Moo! Moo!
Stokoe : Okay, okay – look – in Cows, cows are completely symbolic. I mean look, I have them talking – in Cows, cows can talk! Which as you know, in real life, they can’t.
Deirdre : Yes, well, that’s true.
Stokoe : I could have used kangaroos – or pigs…
Ophelia : Kangaroos? Do humans eat kangaroos? What the heck are kangaroos anyway? Look, you peddler of small-press filth, you can symbolise that and symbolise this but what we see is a whole lot of appalling violence against cows! That’s very clear!
Christine (a bespectacled cow with a chic French look) : You know, I hate to say this, but he’s not entirely wrong. It’s pretty simplistic to see this guy’s novel either as a cry of protest against modern urban debovinisation or on the other hand as an Eating Animals Safran Foer- style polemic. In fact, it’s neither.
Stokoe : Thank you, thank you. What did you say your name was?
Christine : Christine.
Stokoe : Christine gets it! She gets it! Tell ‘em Christine!
Christine : Well, hold on there human boy, I’m not saying I subscribe to your scatological taboo-busting testosterone-fuelled steampunk gorefest. In many ways it seems puerile.
Daisy (a left-leaning cow) : I believe it neatly encapsulates the human male infantile mindset, the fear and loathing of the mother, the horror of the female power of birth, of creation if you will, and the homo-erotic desire to be a man amongst men and to take charge of your manly destiny, all of which it appears has to be achieved by killing the mother figures. It’s all too lamely Freudian for me. Moo! Moo! I say trample him on aesthetic grounds, not on moral grounds.
Christine : That’s right, you tell him! Listen, soon-to-be-trampled author-boy, in the first part of your opus you have your extreme-horror slaughterhouse fun with us cows, and then in the second part, you turn us into a fatuous allegory about fascism, where once again we play the mindless puppets. At every turn you debovinise us! We’re just your fodder!
Cows : Moo! Moo!
Daisy : Well, then again, I can’t ignore the fact that this guy, writing from whatever weird perspective he undoubtedly has, and needing undoubtedly many hundred hours of counselling to figure out his problems, which he clearly has in abundance, actually has talent. Allow me to quote from page 132:
The decision to allow the tangling of their lives had provided a veneer of distraction with which she could lightly cover the knowledge that all the systems of her soul and body, progressively corrupted since birth, were still degenerating unstoppably. Before, when she was alone, the dripping accretion of neuroses in the deep pools of her guts was a rain sound across all of life. Steven did not bring the sun, a clearing away of this daily torment – his own goals consumed him too entirely – but he was a separate flow of life, a flow into which she could jump and be carried away from her own, thudding back to shore only when she was too tired to stay away from herself.
That’s pretty good, I think.
Lulubelle (a decisive cow): Okay, let’s take a vote. Everyone, moo if you want to trample Matthew Stokoe!
Cows : Moo! Moo!
Lulubelle ; Now, moo if you think his modicum of talent and his shall I say unusual aesthetic justifies him continuing to live!
Cows : Moo! Moo!
Lulubelle : The moos have it! He lives to write another day! (To Stokoe) Beat it fast, kid. And don’t come back.
First cow : I don’t believe it - it’s him, Gloria – it’s him!
Second cow (Gloria) : Oh Roxanne, now what?
Roxanne: I’m telling you – look, it’s that God-damned Matthew Stokoe!
Gloria : Oh, come on now, you’re obsessed. How would you know? There’s no pictures of Matthew Stokoe anywhere – remember we were googling on Clara’s laptop the other day, after milking time? Not one picture, and there’s none on any of his books like most human authors do. And when you actually read this filth, you can quite see why. Moo.
Roxanne : Well, I didn’t tell you, but I got this faxed to me. (She produces a dog-eared photocopied page from her handbag and holds it up. It’s a blurry photo of a 30-something white guy taken with a telephoto lens in bad light. It could be anybody.) This is him.
Gloria : Where’d you get that?
Roxanne: It’s going round all the herds. Some cow from Buxton sent it to me. Concentrate – it’s him – it’s that guy there.
Roxanne (unconvinced) : Well, maybe. But you know, all humans kind of look alike to me. It’s hard to tell the men from the women even. I think you’re talking to the wrong cow.
Gloria (exasperated) : Moo!
Deirdre (having overheard) : Hey Roxanne, I agree with you. I really think it’s him.
Roxanne : Finally, a cow with sense. Quick, tell the others to cut the bastard off before he gets to the gate.
(The word spreads like wildfire through the herd. They move purposefully across the field and completely block the gate. The man comes to a quizzical halt.)
Man: Hey, shoo. beat it. Go back over there.
Roxanne (stepping out of the herd) : Well well, we got you now, didn’t we, you bastard.
Man: Huh? What?
Roxanne: You can cut the crap Matthew Stokoe, we know it’s you.
Man (paling visibly) : Ah, heh, who’s that? Stokoe? Huh?
Roxanne: Don’t come the innocent with us, sunshine. You’re Matthew stokoe, author of the notorious novel Cows. Which we have read. And we’re cows, as you may have noticed.
Man : How would you know what I – Matthew Stokoe looks like? There’s no pictures of me – him – anywhere! Not on the internet, not anywhere!
Roxanne : Yeah? And how would you know so much about an obscure avant-garde novelist as all that? Your bluster butters no parsnips with us, buddy boy. We have this! (Five cows simultaneously hold up the photocopied picture.)
Man : That’s not Matthew Stokoe!
Cows : Moo! Moo!
Roxanne : Stokoe, you’re busted.
Stokoe : I can’t believe this is happening, what a nightmare – (he scrabbles for his cellphone, which is roughly knocked out of his hand and then stepped on by Helen, a particularly stroppy cow.) Oh oh – I can’t believe you cows have even heard of me anyway!
Simone (svelte, but nobody’s fool) : You got to be joking, pal. In our world you’re famous. Can’t write a book like Cows and not get noticed by us actual cows. We’re not cultural ignoramuses like sheep – they just watch daytime TV. But we like our Andy Warhol wallpaper and we appreciate the cover art on Pink Floyd’s under-appreciated Atom heart Mother album. Although side two is very self-indulgent, it’s true. I have a vinyl copy.
Roxanne : I think we’re wandering from the point. This situation we have here is like Bret Easton Ellis finding himself alone in a room full of women in 1991 just after you know what was published.
Ophelia (a cow who has not spoken before) : Come on, cut the crap, let’s trample the bastard now.
Stokoe : Hey, what – slow down, what’s your problem anyway – it’s just a novel . A novel.
Roxanne : Just - er – (she’s lost for words) Moo! Moo!
Stokoe : Okay, okay – look – in Cows, cows are completely symbolic. I mean look, I have them talking – in Cows, cows can talk! Which as you know, in real life, they can’t.
Deirdre : Yes, well, that’s true.
Stokoe : I could have used kangaroos – or pigs…
Ophelia : Kangaroos? Do humans eat kangaroos? What the heck are kangaroos anyway? Look, you peddler of small-press filth, you can symbolise that and symbolise this but what we see is a whole lot of appalling violence against cows! That’s very clear!
Christine (a bespectacled cow with a chic French look) : You know, I hate to say this, but he’s not entirely wrong. It’s pretty simplistic to see this guy’s novel either as a cry of protest against modern urban debovinisation or on the other hand as an Eating Animals Safran Foer- style polemic. In fact, it’s neither.
Stokoe : Thank you, thank you. What did you say your name was?
Christine : Christine.
Stokoe : Christine gets it! She gets it! Tell ‘em Christine!
Christine : Well, hold on there human boy, I’m not saying I subscribe to your scatological taboo-busting testosterone-fuelled steampunk gorefest. In many ways it seems puerile.
Daisy (a left-leaning cow) : I believe it neatly encapsulates the human male infantile mindset, the fear and loathing of the mother, the horror of the female power of birth, of creation if you will, and the homo-erotic desire to be a man amongst men and to take charge of your manly destiny, all of which it appears has to be achieved by killing the mother figures. It’s all too lamely Freudian for me. Moo! Moo! I say trample him on aesthetic grounds, not on moral grounds.
Christine : That’s right, you tell him! Listen, soon-to-be-trampled author-boy, in the first part of your opus you have your extreme-horror slaughterhouse fun with us cows, and then in the second part, you turn us into a fatuous allegory about fascism, where once again we play the mindless puppets. At every turn you debovinise us! We’re just your fodder!
Cows : Moo! Moo!
Daisy : Well, then again, I can’t ignore the fact that this guy, writing from whatever weird perspective he undoubtedly has, and needing undoubtedly many hundred hours of counselling to figure out his problems, which he clearly has in abundance, actually has talent. Allow me to quote from page 132:
The decision to allow the tangling of their lives had provided a veneer of distraction with which she could lightly cover the knowledge that all the systems of her soul and body, progressively corrupted since birth, were still degenerating unstoppably. Before, when she was alone, the dripping accretion of neuroses in the deep pools of her guts was a rain sound across all of life. Steven did not bring the sun, a clearing away of this daily torment – his own goals consumed him too entirely – but he was a separate flow of life, a flow into which she could jump and be carried away from her own, thudding back to shore only when she was too tired to stay away from herself.
That’s pretty good, I think.
Lulubelle (a decisive cow): Okay, let’s take a vote. Everyone, moo if you want to trample Matthew Stokoe!
Cows : Moo! Moo!
Lulubelle ; Now, moo if you think his modicum of talent and his shall I say unusual aesthetic justifies him continuing to live!
Cows : Moo! Moo!
Lulubelle : The moos have it! He lives to write another day! (To Stokoe) Beat it fast, kid. And don’t come back.
April 1, 2023
That’s what I get for being curious.
January 13, 2018
At the center of this story is a man who has never known love or nurturing. Life is ugly: a beast to be fought and hidden from. The real world resides in the light of television, where lives are organized and people know exactly what to do. This book offers up a broken soul who cannot cope with the outside world. When he is introduced to brutality through his job in a slaughterhouse, he senses a change in his directionless existence. Through blood there is control. Through broken bones and body orifices there lies power. This novel is hideous in its depravity and beautiful in its understanding of what it means to have nothing left to lose. The writing is impeccable, and if you can stomach the journey, it will take you to some very dark places. The herd is waiting.
August 20, 2021
COWS was intense!!!
I had to think, before writing my review. I understand why there is controversy surrounding this book. This book touched me so much, that it took me a while, to put my ideas into place. I loved it!
I don't think Matthew Stokoe wanted to convey a particular message, or to be sensational. In my opinion he had an idea, then gave free rein to his imagination. This book is very brutal, gory, immoral, disturbing, disgusting, in short eviscerating. And more importantly, it’s very well written and coherent. I couldn’t put it down.
It’s the story of a young man, Steven, who doesn’t know what love is. His mother hates him and tortures him since birth. He dreams of a life like the one he sees on television, but doesn't know how to get it. All the atrocities he endures and all the ones he has done, are aimed at a normal life. Steven wants a wife and a child.
But Steven is surrounded by violence and clinically insane people. His mother, the Hagbeast, Cripps the predator and crazy Lucy.
Steven doesn't know it, but he can't fulfill his dreams of a normal life. He’ll meet a cow that will change his life. he won’t have a normal life, but he’ll be free to be who he, truly is. After reading what I have just written, you are probably wondering, what is so intense about this story. I won't tell you, because I think you have to read this book, knowing as little as possible.
Just know that this book made me feel a lot of emotions. I was shocked, horrified, saddened, disturbed, but I never felt joy.
I recommend this book to peoples who likes to challenge themselves and have zero triggers.
PS: It’s an original extreme horror story.😄
I had to think, before writing my review. I understand why there is controversy surrounding this book. This book touched me so much, that it took me a while, to put my ideas into place. I loved it!
I don't think Matthew Stokoe wanted to convey a particular message, or to be sensational. In my opinion he had an idea, then gave free rein to his imagination. This book is very brutal, gory, immoral, disturbing, disgusting, in short eviscerating. And more importantly, it’s very well written and coherent. I couldn’t put it down.
It’s the story of a young man, Steven, who doesn’t know what love is. His mother hates him and tortures him since birth. He dreams of a life like the one he sees on television, but doesn't know how to get it. All the atrocities he endures and all the ones he has done, are aimed at a normal life. Steven wants a wife and a child.
But Steven is surrounded by violence and clinically insane people. His mother, the Hagbeast, Cripps the predator and crazy Lucy.
Steven doesn't know it, but he can't fulfill his dreams of a normal life. He’ll meet a cow that will change his life. he won’t have a normal life, but he’ll be free to be who he, truly is. After reading what I have just written, you are probably wondering, what is so intense about this story. I won't tell you, because I think you have to read this book, knowing as little as possible.
Just know that this book made me feel a lot of emotions. I was shocked, horrified, saddened, disturbed, but I never felt joy.
I recommend this book to peoples who likes to challenge themselves and have zero triggers.
PS: It’s an original extreme horror story.😄
November 21, 2014
I’ll be totally honest with you. I might have given this book higher than three stars if not for the fear of what doing so might make people think of me.
First, the good news. The story that Stokoe lays out in Cows is a road map of the development of a hypothetical sociopath murderer. The twisted tale follows the protagonist (if you can really call him that) from his abusive mother, through a metamorphosis of sorts (brought on by more abuse), and beyond. Stokoe’s writing is very good in that it will make the reader privy to the delusions and pressures within the character’s mind while almost making sense of the insane thought processes.
The bad news is that so much of the understanding of the character comes from the sheer, incredible nastiness of the narrative. During the course of this relatively short novel the main character (Steven) is involved with (whether as a player or a spectator) bestiality, coprophagia, rape, murder, and mutilation of such grand and graphic extremes that I cannot recommend this book to anyone. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone diving into this one.
As I mentioned, if you can dig down through the horrid scenarios, this books has some redeeming qualities. They are hard to find, though, and the book is most assuredly not for any but the most stout and difficult-to-shock reader.
One last piece of advice: If someone talks to you about this book and tells you it did not shock them or it wasn’t all that rough, don’t ever speak to them again. They are either a world class liar or they are dangerous beyond explanation.
First, the good news. The story that Stokoe lays out in Cows is a road map of the development of a hypothetical sociopath murderer. The twisted tale follows the protagonist (if you can really call him that) from his abusive mother, through a metamorphosis of sorts (brought on by more abuse), and beyond. Stokoe’s writing is very good in that it will make the reader privy to the delusions and pressures within the character’s mind while almost making sense of the insane thought processes.
The bad news is that so much of the understanding of the character comes from the sheer, incredible nastiness of the narrative. During the course of this relatively short novel the main character (Steven) is involved with (whether as a player or a spectator) bestiality, coprophagia, rape, murder, and mutilation of such grand and graphic extremes that I cannot recommend this book to anyone. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone diving into this one.
As I mentioned, if you can dig down through the horrid scenarios, this books has some redeeming qualities. They are hard to find, though, and the book is most assuredly not for any but the most stout and difficult-to-shock reader.
One last piece of advice: If someone talks to you about this book and tells you it did not shock them or it wasn’t all that rough, don’t ever speak to them again. They are either a world class liar or they are dangerous beyond explanation.
September 11, 2024
توی پروفایل گودریدزم نوشتم که من هر کتابی که کسی جرات کنه بنویسه رو میتونم بخونم، حتی اگه ژانرش Kosesher_fiction باشه (یبار توی دایرکت با یه آقای مسلمان از نمیدونم کجا سر این کلمه کلی بحث کردیم چون قانع نمیشد من کوشر ننوشتم و سعی داشت بهم بقبولونه غلط املایی دارم)
خلاصه، این کتاب گاوها مرزهای کسشرفیکشن رو هم رد کرده.
پنج ستاره زیاد گرفته ولی بنظرم واقعا مزخرف، کرینچ و چرته.
داستان ترجمه شده اش کمتر از ۲۰۰ صفحه اس که توی چنلم گذاشتم. از ترجمه ضعیف که بگذریم و توی امتیاز دهی تاثیر نداشته ، خود داستان به شدت افراطی، چرک و فاقد ذره ای خلاقیته. مارکی دوساد مناطق محروم.
انگار یه بچه که تازه به بلوغ رسیده و اولین فیلم پورنوش رو دیده و با مامانش هم نمیسازه و دستپختش رو دوس نداره، فانتزی شبانه اش رو توی خواب و بیداری نوشته.
منکه پیشنهاد نمیکنم بخونید ولی اگه اونقد دیوونه اید که حتی کتاب مریض هم میخونید، پس بفرمایید.
خلاصه، این کتاب گاوها مرزهای کسشرفیکشن رو هم رد کرده.
پنج ستاره زیاد گرفته ولی بنظرم واقعا مزخرف، کرینچ و چرته.
داستان ترجمه شده اش کمتر از ۲۰۰ صفحه اس که توی چنلم گذاشتم. از ترجمه ضعیف که بگذریم و توی امتیاز دهی تاثیر نداشته ، خود داستان به شدت افراطی، چرک و فاقد ذره ای خلاقیته. مارکی دوساد مناطق محروم.
انگار یه بچه که تازه به بلوغ رسیده و اولین فیلم پورنوش رو دیده و با مامانش هم نمیسازه و دستپختش رو دوس نداره، فانتزی شبانه اش رو توی خواب و بیداری نوشته.
منکه پیشنهاد نمیکنم بخونید ولی اگه اونقد دیوونه اید که حتی کتاب مریض هم میخونید، پس بفرمایید.
October 5, 2021
I’ve heard quite a few readers say this is the most extreme book they’ve ever read. I was even warned not to read it because it was so over the top disgusting. So of course I had to read it.
This, to me, is not your average extreme horror novel. There’s so much depth here. It’s a book about abuse, absence of love, and what happens when a person is driven to the point of losing their sanity. The main character, Stephen, wants a normal, happy life. To say he was abused by his mother is an understatement and my heart broke for him. He reaches a point where he’ll do anything to get that happy life and that’s when the madness that this book is famous for begins.
COWS is exceptionally well-written and flows beautifully from chapter to chapter. The characters, with the exception of Steven, are very unlikable. Cripps, who works with Steven at the meat plant is especially despicable. I think that was needed to move the story in the direction it went.
This is definitely not for everybody. There’s triggers for every single thing I can think of. If you are a regular reader of dark, extreme reads and want to test your limits I’d say go for it. I’m really glad I read it and even look forward to more from Stokoe.
This, to me, is not your average extreme horror novel. There’s so much depth here. It’s a book about abuse, absence of love, and what happens when a person is driven to the point of losing their sanity. The main character, Stephen, wants a normal, happy life. To say he was abused by his mother is an understatement and my heart broke for him. He reaches a point where he’ll do anything to get that happy life and that’s when the madness that this book is famous for begins.
COWS is exceptionally well-written and flows beautifully from chapter to chapter. The characters, with the exception of Steven, are very unlikable. Cripps, who works with Steven at the meat plant is especially despicable. I think that was needed to move the story in the direction it went.
This is definitely not for everybody. There’s triggers for every single thing I can think of. If you are a regular reader of dark, extreme reads and want to test your limits I’d say go for it. I’m really glad I read it and even look forward to more from Stokoe.
February 21, 2017
This is the most depraved thing I have ever read, yet was compelled onward for the first 2/3rds of the novel, as the parade of grotesqueries are presented so poetically, it was hard to stop. Still, I eventually did stop. I could not finish the book with only 40 pages left to go. Why didn't I finish it when I was that close to the end? Why didn't I just power through? Because no one is making me, and I don't have to if I don't want to. It was just too much, over and over, without respite, and and while there was a clear story that was progressing, once I realized I was not going to connect to the main character as the book intended, I grew as bored as I was disgusted by what I was reading. I’m still giving this 3 stars though, because although I personally couldn’t complete it, I could understand and appreciate what it was trying to do. And it was written quite beautifully. Really well written. Point is: enter the world of Cows at your own risk.
UPDATE: I couldn't stay away. I just went back and finished the last 40 pages. In a lot of ways, this is a 5-star book, and in a lot of other ways, it is a 1-star book, so I'm leaving my review at 3. This truly is a work of art, as I don't think I've reacted this strongly to a novel in a long time.
UPDATE: I couldn't stay away. I just went back and finished the last 40 pages. In a lot of ways, this is a 5-star book, and in a lot of other ways, it is a 1-star book, so I'm leaving my review at 3. This truly is a work of art, as I don't think I've reacted this strongly to a novel in a long time.
January 29, 2023
disturbing and gross, but with no point. the use of a slur was also totally uncalled for.
August 7, 2024
Saw meets 120 Days of Sodom, but with even worse execution.
Stokoe would do well to note that all cows are female. Cattle is the word he was looking for for almost 200 pages.
Stokoe would do well to note that all cows are female. Cattle is the word he was looking for for almost 200 pages.
November 9, 2021
El libro más bestia que he leído nunca. Ahora no sería capaz de releerlo.
October 10, 2019
What. The. Fuck.
January 18, 2014
I can't give this book a higher rating than 1 star, it was a well written book but it is so beyond sick twisted and depraved it should have it's own freakn category for how fucked up it is. Several times when reading it I thought I was going to lose it, I didn't I kept going and posting updates, but an hour after it was done and I was sitting here thinking about it the gagging started and promptly tossed my cookies.
I can't recommend this book to anybody, ever! I saw the symbolism and got that the author was trying to make a statement and all that shit, but really HELL TO THE NO
This book left me feeling dirty and worthless, I would have given up but I had the misguided notion that somehow, someway, something was going to happen but it didn't and now I need a really long bleach shower and a hug.
I can't recommend this book to anybody, ever! I saw the symbolism and got that the author was trying to make a statement and all that shit, but really HELL TO THE NO
This book left me feeling dirty and worthless, I would have given up but I had the misguided notion that somehow, someway, something was going to happen but it didn't and now I need a really long bleach shower and a hug.
January 21, 2021
It’s interesting how your TBR can conspire against you to bring similarly themed/content books together. Recently I read ‘Tender is the Flesh’ by Agustina Bazterrica. This was followed by the ‘Twisted Anatomy’ anthology through Sci-Fi and Scary. Meanwhile, I was also diving into ‘COWS’ by Matthew Stokoe. All three featured similar moments of wretched repulsiveness, while all three had great depths of philosophical ideas buried beneath the grotesque content.
‘COWS’ has become a cult classic, much in the way ‘A Serbian Tale’ has for the movie watching community. I’d been recommended this a few times by different people. I’m not sure if it was because they wanted to see my thoughts on it or if they wanted to know if I had the fortitude to dive past the garbage that floated at the top of the water and see the story that lay on the ocean floor, but either way, I finally realized I wanted to dive in and truthfully, while this book is DEFINITELY not for everyone, I was stunned with the story Stokoe delivered.
I’m going to do my best to stay spoiler free, but I wanted to just say – this is a book that if you need any sort of trigger warning, you’ll not make it very far into it. Have you watched 2 Girls 1 Cup? What was your response? If it was anything other than ‘what is the art behind this’ you’ll be best to pass. Things that occur – animal abuse and torture, self mutilation, matricide, infanticide, beastiality, scat play and ingestion and homicide just to name a few.
What I liked: ‘COWS’ is a story that follows our main character, Steven, who longs for acceptance in a world he’s unable to participate in. He sees the dream on TV. Wife, kids, house, pet, happiness. And from that, he desperately wishes to find a way to achieve it and leave the horror that is his current existence behind. His mom, referred to as the Hagbeast, is mentally and physically abusive to him and constantly tortures his pet dog. When Steven gets a job at the local slaughterhouse, a door is unlocked in his brain and he begins to find the pieces he needs to put the puzzle together towards the ideal life he so desperately craves.
Look, there is a lot to try and get past in this book. Each person featured in here, and the Guernsey cow, are damaged and mentally destroyed. Stokoe has covered them in a layer of mud that won’t wash off and each character struggles to act ‘normally’ while battling this unseen poison that has infected them. The most obvious example of this is Steven’s love interest. She can feel this ‘thing’ festering under the surface, always growing and grabbing a hold on her insides and the depression it creates, where she understands that one day it’ll kill her, is horrifying to watch. Stokoe does a masterful job of showing various forms of mental health issues and how Steven, while suffering through his own issues, keeps trying to find hope and positivity. That one day, he’ll have a home that is filled with happiness and some aspect of his life will have meaning.
The closest thing I’ve read to this would be Danger Slater’s ‘I Will Rot Without You.’ I’ve heard others mention Duncan Ralston’s ‘Woom,’ hell, even Duncan has said he’s not read the book but people say it’s similar to ‘Woom,’ but I didn’t fully make that connection. Maybe because ‘COWS’ read as more of a Bizarro book and ‘Woom’ reads as a horror story centering on a man’s lingering trauma.
What I didn’t like: As insane as this may sound, I had no issues with the subject matter. Maybe it’s from being a clinician in my real life who deals with amputation and open ulcers frequently, or maybe it’s from having a four year old and a dog and dealing with their messes, I found it was more of a metaphor for the characters lives that Stokoe used those elements.
For me, I wasn’t a big fan of the Cripps character. While he was important for Steven’s development and self discovery, I found his character to be too-over the top for the rest of the story.
Why you should buy this: It’s interesting to me that the book I kept thinking of while reading ‘COWS’ was ‘Man’s Search for Meaning’ by Viktor Frankl. ‘COWS’ itself is just that, a young man who longs to break free from the chains that he’s been born into and find happiness and meaning, if only it is an idea of what it should be and should look like. Stokoe has crafted a story that does have significant depth and had me really thinking and it is an engaging piece of fiction, if you can get past that layer of filth and look for the treasure chest resting at the bottom of the sea.
This one will absolutely not be for everyone, but I see now why it’s gained such a long and warranted life in the dark fiction community.
I personally am glad I took the chance and read it. Stokoe has done a superb job of putting this one out into the world.
‘COWS’ has become a cult classic, much in the way ‘A Serbian Tale’ has for the movie watching community. I’d been recommended this a few times by different people. I’m not sure if it was because they wanted to see my thoughts on it or if they wanted to know if I had the fortitude to dive past the garbage that floated at the top of the water and see the story that lay on the ocean floor, but either way, I finally realized I wanted to dive in and truthfully, while this book is DEFINITELY not for everyone, I was stunned with the story Stokoe delivered.
I’m going to do my best to stay spoiler free, but I wanted to just say – this is a book that if you need any sort of trigger warning, you’ll not make it very far into it. Have you watched 2 Girls 1 Cup? What was your response? If it was anything other than ‘what is the art behind this’ you’ll be best to pass. Things that occur – animal abuse and torture, self mutilation, matricide, infanticide, beastiality, scat play and ingestion and homicide just to name a few.
What I liked: ‘COWS’ is a story that follows our main character, Steven, who longs for acceptance in a world he’s unable to participate in. He sees the dream on TV. Wife, kids, house, pet, happiness. And from that, he desperately wishes to find a way to achieve it and leave the horror that is his current existence behind. His mom, referred to as the Hagbeast, is mentally and physically abusive to him and constantly tortures his pet dog. When Steven gets a job at the local slaughterhouse, a door is unlocked in his brain and he begins to find the pieces he needs to put the puzzle together towards the ideal life he so desperately craves.
Look, there is a lot to try and get past in this book. Each person featured in here, and the Guernsey cow, are damaged and mentally destroyed. Stokoe has covered them in a layer of mud that won’t wash off and each character struggles to act ‘normally’ while battling this unseen poison that has infected them. The most obvious example of this is Steven’s love interest. She can feel this ‘thing’ festering under the surface, always growing and grabbing a hold on her insides and the depression it creates, where she understands that one day it’ll kill her, is horrifying to watch. Stokoe does a masterful job of showing various forms of mental health issues and how Steven, while suffering through his own issues, keeps trying to find hope and positivity. That one day, he’ll have a home that is filled with happiness and some aspect of his life will have meaning.
The closest thing I’ve read to this would be Danger Slater’s ‘I Will Rot Without You.’ I’ve heard others mention Duncan Ralston’s ‘Woom,’ hell, even Duncan has said he’s not read the book but people say it’s similar to ‘Woom,’ but I didn’t fully make that connection. Maybe because ‘COWS’ read as more of a Bizarro book and ‘Woom’ reads as a horror story centering on a man’s lingering trauma.
What I didn’t like: As insane as this may sound, I had no issues with the subject matter. Maybe it’s from being a clinician in my real life who deals with amputation and open ulcers frequently, or maybe it’s from having a four year old and a dog and dealing with their messes, I found it was more of a metaphor for the characters lives that Stokoe used those elements.
For me, I wasn’t a big fan of the Cripps character. While he was important for Steven’s development and self discovery, I found his character to be too-over the top for the rest of the story.
Why you should buy this: It’s interesting to me that the book I kept thinking of while reading ‘COWS’ was ‘Man’s Search for Meaning’ by Viktor Frankl. ‘COWS’ itself is just that, a young man who longs to break free from the chains that he’s been born into and find happiness and meaning, if only it is an idea of what it should be and should look like. Stokoe has crafted a story that does have significant depth and had me really thinking and it is an engaging piece of fiction, if you can get past that layer of filth and look for the treasure chest resting at the bottom of the sea.
This one will absolutely not be for everyone, but I see now why it’s gained such a long and warranted life in the dark fiction community.
I personally am glad I took the chance and read it. Stokoe has done a superb job of putting this one out into the world.
January 28, 2021
Already he could feel the wind against his skin, the unstoppable power of the stampede, see the tracering splash of dim lights and the rush of tunnel walls, feel the glory of motion and power, his expansion into being … and the blessed communion of belonging.
January 3, 2023
I hate horror written by men. Utterly horrible and if I was the author I’d be embarrassed to be alive.
March 26, 2012
I am going to make this very short, just like the book. There is a lot of shock value in this book, but the story is uncompelling and a waste of time. The plot is sluggish and the gross out factor isn't interesting enough to justify recommending this book to anyone. In summary, not awful, just boring after a hundred pages.
January 20, 2008
Matthew Stokoe, Cows (Creation Books, 1997)
I'm not normally one to preface a review, or even mention in a review, when a book is not appropriate for certain audiences. (I hope to have duped a few of the weak-stomached into reading, say, Peter Sotos or Pan Pantziarka, because they deserve being read). But I'm going to start this one by saying, quite bluntly, Cows is not for everyone. In fact, Cows may not be for anyone. It is scatological, offensive, disgusting, filled to the brim with sex, violence, and sexual violence, and is probably capable of inciting nausea in those who are perfectly capable of sitting through atrocity footage and watch driving school videos for fun.
Cows is also visionary, brilliant, amazingly complex, a must on my ten best reads of the year list, and the second full-length piece of fiction I have finished in less than twenty-four hours this year. It's not only so nasty you can't look away, but it is supremely, blindingly great.
Matthew Stokoe's debut novel can best be summarized as follows. Take a healthy dollop of Horatio Alger (tempered with a dash of Alger Hiss), mix in a good dose of China Mieville's King Rat, a shot of Robert Bloch, add a couple of jiggers of Peter Sotos, ten drams of Camus, two shakes of David Mamet, bung in a couple of PETA ads of the most offensive variety, and then dump the whole mess into a shaker lined with Stewart Home. Shake, chill, and serve over ice cubes laced with LSD, rat poison, and Hideshi Hino films. One taste and you have scraped the tip of the iceberg that is Cows.
Steven, the protagonist, is not a happy person. His paraplegic dog, named Dog, was crippled years back by his mother, known affectionately throughout as the Hagbeast. He's twenty-five years old, and the only time he's left the flat is to run up to the roof and stare out over the city (presumably London) and imagine what life is like for normal people. After the roof got old, he started watching television obsessively, coming to believe that American sitcom families from the fifties led normal lives, and guaging happiness by those standards. As the novel opens, Steven is on his way to his first day of work, ever, at a slaughterhouse. He has a new upstairs neighbor named Lucy, who just moved in and after whom he lusts, a foreman named Cripps who takes maybe a bit too much of a fatherly interest in Steven, and something watching him from the ventilation system in the slaughterhouse.
As if that's not enough, Lucy is convinced that all the poisons in human beings (mucous, excrement, etc.) are to be found in large black lumps mixed in with the organs, and ceaselessly dissects things trying to find them; Steven is convinced the Hagbeast is trying to kill him by feeding him undercooked pork; the thing in the vents is getting more insistent; Cripps wants to teach Steven the ins and outs of cow-killing. Life, to say the least, is a mess for Steven, until everything falls into place at once and he begins to understand who he really is.
(full review too long for goodreads, can be read on Amazon, review date June 21, 2004)
I'm not normally one to preface a review, or even mention in a review, when a book is not appropriate for certain audiences. (I hope to have duped a few of the weak-stomached into reading, say, Peter Sotos or Pan Pantziarka, because they deserve being read). But I'm going to start this one by saying, quite bluntly, Cows is not for everyone. In fact, Cows may not be for anyone. It is scatological, offensive, disgusting, filled to the brim with sex, violence, and sexual violence, and is probably capable of inciting nausea in those who are perfectly capable of sitting through atrocity footage and watch driving school videos for fun.
Cows is also visionary, brilliant, amazingly complex, a must on my ten best reads of the year list, and the second full-length piece of fiction I have finished in less than twenty-four hours this year. It's not only so nasty you can't look away, but it is supremely, blindingly great.
Matthew Stokoe's debut novel can best be summarized as follows. Take a healthy dollop of Horatio Alger (tempered with a dash of Alger Hiss), mix in a good dose of China Mieville's King Rat, a shot of Robert Bloch, add a couple of jiggers of Peter Sotos, ten drams of Camus, two shakes of David Mamet, bung in a couple of PETA ads of the most offensive variety, and then dump the whole mess into a shaker lined with Stewart Home. Shake, chill, and serve over ice cubes laced with LSD, rat poison, and Hideshi Hino films. One taste and you have scraped the tip of the iceberg that is Cows.
Steven, the protagonist, is not a happy person. His paraplegic dog, named Dog, was crippled years back by his mother, known affectionately throughout as the Hagbeast. He's twenty-five years old, and the only time he's left the flat is to run up to the roof and stare out over the city (presumably London) and imagine what life is like for normal people. After the roof got old, he started watching television obsessively, coming to believe that American sitcom families from the fifties led normal lives, and guaging happiness by those standards. As the novel opens, Steven is on his way to his first day of work, ever, at a slaughterhouse. He has a new upstairs neighbor named Lucy, who just moved in and after whom he lusts, a foreman named Cripps who takes maybe a bit too much of a fatherly interest in Steven, and something watching him from the ventilation system in the slaughterhouse.
As if that's not enough, Lucy is convinced that all the poisons in human beings (mucous, excrement, etc.) are to be found in large black lumps mixed in with the organs, and ceaselessly dissects things trying to find them; Steven is convinced the Hagbeast is trying to kill him by feeding him undercooked pork; the thing in the vents is getting more insistent; Cripps wants to teach Steven the ins and outs of cow-killing. Life, to say the least, is a mess for Steven, until everything falls into place at once and he begins to understand who he really is.
(full review too long for goodreads, can be read on Amazon, review date June 21, 2004)
April 26, 2024
Well, that was quite the experience. I'm not sure I can say that I don't regret reading this, but at least now I finally know what all the commotion is about.
April 25, 2014
Hmmm where to begin. OK well let's begin with the five star rating system. If I allocated stars for books based on enjoyment and pleasure levels would this get five stars? No. Likewise if I allocated stars on how widely read I think a book ought to be, would this get five stars there? Definitely, a no. For sheer originality, uniqueness of vision, and bravura storytelling, and the fact that it has the impact of a freight train, this book most certainly gets five stars from me.
Reading 'Cows' is like running some kind of marathon. Chances are, the most disturbing novel you've ever read is Disney-lite compared to this one. I'd suggest reading it over two or three days like I did. Despite its relatively minor length, reading it in one sitting might have you not leaving your shower for the rest of the day, and spreading it out over a week is kind of like staring at the sun. Do it for too long and you're bound to cause some permanent damage.
This book covers every putrid act you can think of and probably a bunch you'd never dream of in your worst nightmares. However it is not shock for the sake of it, and some of the reviews on here bemoaning the poor writing I think are deceitful or misleading. I can understand readers giving the book one star based on gut reaction or effect or just plain dislike. But Matthew Stokoe can write. Very well at that. His short sentences and descriptions are incredibly evocative. Our protagonist Steven commits the most vile atrocities ever dreamed up, but the parade of repulsive supporting characters gives you a modicum of sympathy for Steven. That takes some skill for a writer.
And despite page after page of awfulness, there is a kind of harsh beauty buried within and that comes not from the story but from Matthew Stokoe's language and authorial skill. It's kind of like listening to My Bloody Valentine. The first time you just have a headache, but after awhile you hear sublime beauty in the noise.
I couldn't really recommend this to anyone, but if you're an inveterate reader with a stomach of steel and a mind of wide open space, then, if nothing else, this book will be unlike anything you have ever read before.
Reading 'Cows' is like running some kind of marathon. Chances are, the most disturbing novel you've ever read is Disney-lite compared to this one. I'd suggest reading it over two or three days like I did. Despite its relatively minor length, reading it in one sitting might have you not leaving your shower for the rest of the day, and spreading it out over a week is kind of like staring at the sun. Do it for too long and you're bound to cause some permanent damage.
This book covers every putrid act you can think of and probably a bunch you'd never dream of in your worst nightmares. However it is not shock for the sake of it, and some of the reviews on here bemoaning the poor writing I think are deceitful or misleading. I can understand readers giving the book one star based on gut reaction or effect or just plain dislike. But Matthew Stokoe can write. Very well at that. His short sentences and descriptions are incredibly evocative. Our protagonist Steven commits the most vile atrocities ever dreamed up, but the parade of repulsive supporting characters gives you a modicum of sympathy for Steven. That takes some skill for a writer.
And despite page after page of awfulness, there is a kind of harsh beauty buried within and that comes not from the story but from Matthew Stokoe's language and authorial skill. It's kind of like listening to My Bloody Valentine. The first time you just have a headache, but after awhile you hear sublime beauty in the noise.
I couldn't really recommend this to anyone, but if you're an inveterate reader with a stomach of steel and a mind of wide open space, then, if nothing else, this book will be unlike anything you have ever read before.
April 27, 2016
One of the darkest and probably the most disgusting thing I have read, but I could not put it down.
Do not get me wrong, there is plenty of depth as well, with so much under the surface to contemplate. This is one I won't forget. I will be reading the other books by Stokoe soon.
Do not get me wrong, there is plenty of depth as well, with so much under the surface to contemplate. This is one I won't forget. I will be reading the other books by Stokoe soon.
Read
July 11, 2024How do Extreme Subject Matter and Wild Invention Result in a Minor Novel?
I was led to this book by various reviews that said things like “the most extreme novel you’ll ever read” (from the back cover copy), “gruesome beyond reason,” “most intense book I have ever read,” “most gruesome book I have ever read,” “I almost felt like I was doing something wrong reading it.” Those are from Amazon, and it’s worth looking for the review titled “Most disturbing book ever written. Period.,” posted June 29, 2011. That review is almost as off as this book.
For me, the question COWS raises (the book seems to be cited in all-caps, which is appropriate to the way it shouts its perversions and obscenities) has to do with the place of extreme subject matter in art. It's common for art students to become interested in violent and disturbing images, such as photos of car crash victims or medical deformities, and to try to use them in their work. Often it turns out to be unexpectedly difficult simply because the images are so strong. A photograph of a man suffering from Ebola just won’t fit easily with a a landscape or a photo of flowers or, perhaps more plausibly, with images of the Mende, Krio, or other people who were in the areas affected by Ebola. Artists who have tried such experiments have sometimes found they needed to work hard to aestheticize the difficult images: Andres Serrano’s beautiful, nearly abstract morgue photographs are an example, and so are some of Joel-Peter Witkin’s elaborately staged, faux-antique photographs of people with various medical conditions, which he "antiqued" and even waxed to make them look more precious. (Witkin's intricate aesthetization of his images, as Max Kosloff pointed out years ago, was a way of counterbalancing the intricately offensive subject matter, somehow making the raw images into art.)
For a contemporary artist it shouldn’t necessarily matter that an artwork is harmonious or coherent—the purpose of choosing strong images, after all, is seldom to produce a pleasing effect—but somehow it often does. Despite the aesthetics of discontinuity and collage that were instituted by postmodernism, and despite a half-century of work done without interest in aesthetics, it can still seem that very strong images don’t work as fine art unless they are made somehow to work aesthetically. It’s a puzzle that we still want our art, in these cases, to be nominally harmonious, visually pleasing, or coherent. And it’s interesting that given all the pressure contemporary artists face to be politically engaged, especially in the face of institutionalized corruption, racism, and genocide, and the more general expectation that new art should be avant-garde, difficult, or challenging, or at least stand out against a crazily crowded field—that given all that, it’s curious that the very strongest images don't appear more often in exhibitions.
COWS is a way of thinking about that. It is not a good novel by a number of standards. It’s awkwardly constructed; its inner monologues and dialogues are seldom persuasive; it doesn’t respond to the last fifty years of fiction except in glancing allusions to some other extremist authors; and its writing is often mechanical. Stokoe doesn’t seem to have thought about the fragmented consciousness of Naked Lunch or the ecstatic prejudices and violence of Céline. His rebellion is presented in the mold of conventional fictional forms and basic narrative devices.
I don’t think Stokoe is an especially good writer. But the book is more than memorable: it is, I think, entirely impossible to forget. And that is because of things that happen in it. I will mention just one: the main character breaks off his mother’s teeth, fixes his anus over her bleeding mouth, and shits, forcing her to eat. What matters in this book is extreme violence, perversity, and repulsion. I think those three shock effects (as Roland Barthes would have called them) are different. Extreme unexpected violence is repellent in one way; perversity works differently; and visceral repulsion is partly another matter. When these three are used together, the effects are disorienting partly because they are mixed in ways that are hard to separate. To make headway on this problem of extreme subject matter (or images) it is necessary to distinguish these, and probably others, and consider them one by one. (Barthes distinguishes five species of photographic “shock” in Camera Lucida, which I consider in What Photography Is.)
A purer version of COWS could be imagined, for example, in which nothing violent, immoral, psychotic, or perverse takes place, but the world is full of stench, slime, and opportunities for nausea. In that simpler version of COWS, it might be easier to see what kinds of narrative work would need to be done to bring those elements into dialogue with the rest of the book.
Another way to put this would be to say that COWS makes a rum mixture of a large number of important provocations: morality, ethics, sexuality, perversity, nihilism, sadism… every concept I have mentioned, including beauty and harmony, is contested. But that observation is just another form of the puzzle I mentioned at the beginning: why, if a book manages to combine all of them, is it not more or less automatically an important book?
A version of this problem has been studied in the case of Sade, where repetition plays a central part in the creation of the pornographic effect. But it strikes me a lot more work needs to be done to understand why a book as wildly imaginative and consistently extreme as COWS can be a minor novel, one that doesn’t need to be on the must-read list of everyone interested in contemporary writing. By the same token, more thought needs to be given to visual artists like Witkin to understand why they felt the need to work so hard on their extreme images in order to bring them into the domain of fine art.
Why, in the 21st century, should the extremely violent, disturbing, and repulsive need to be aestheticized? It has been almost forty years since the inception of the anti-aesthetic, and longer since Duchamp: visual art and writing have questioned nearly every sense of unity, harmony, and coherence, not to mention beauty, decorum, and moderation. So how do we know so clearly that COWS is not an important book?
c. 2011, revised 2024
I was led to this book by various reviews that said things like “the most extreme novel you’ll ever read” (from the back cover copy), “gruesome beyond reason,” “most intense book I have ever read,” “most gruesome book I have ever read,” “I almost felt like I was doing something wrong reading it.” Those are from Amazon, and it’s worth looking for the review titled “Most disturbing book ever written. Period.,” posted June 29, 2011. That review is almost as off as this book.
For me, the question COWS raises (the book seems to be cited in all-caps, which is appropriate to the way it shouts its perversions and obscenities) has to do with the place of extreme subject matter in art. It's common for art students to become interested in violent and disturbing images, such as photos of car crash victims or medical deformities, and to try to use them in their work. Often it turns out to be unexpectedly difficult simply because the images are so strong. A photograph of a man suffering from Ebola just won’t fit easily with a a landscape or a photo of flowers or, perhaps more plausibly, with images of the Mende, Krio, or other people who were in the areas affected by Ebola. Artists who have tried such experiments have sometimes found they needed to work hard to aestheticize the difficult images: Andres Serrano’s beautiful, nearly abstract morgue photographs are an example, and so are some of Joel-Peter Witkin’s elaborately staged, faux-antique photographs of people with various medical conditions, which he "antiqued" and even waxed to make them look more precious. (Witkin's intricate aesthetization of his images, as Max Kosloff pointed out years ago, was a way of counterbalancing the intricately offensive subject matter, somehow making the raw images into art.)
For a contemporary artist it shouldn’t necessarily matter that an artwork is harmonious or coherent—the purpose of choosing strong images, after all, is seldom to produce a pleasing effect—but somehow it often does. Despite the aesthetics of discontinuity and collage that were instituted by postmodernism, and despite a half-century of work done without interest in aesthetics, it can still seem that very strong images don’t work as fine art unless they are made somehow to work aesthetically. It’s a puzzle that we still want our art, in these cases, to be nominally harmonious, visually pleasing, or coherent. And it’s interesting that given all the pressure contemporary artists face to be politically engaged, especially in the face of institutionalized corruption, racism, and genocide, and the more general expectation that new art should be avant-garde, difficult, or challenging, or at least stand out against a crazily crowded field—that given all that, it’s curious that the very strongest images don't appear more often in exhibitions.
COWS is a way of thinking about that. It is not a good novel by a number of standards. It’s awkwardly constructed; its inner monologues and dialogues are seldom persuasive; it doesn’t respond to the last fifty years of fiction except in glancing allusions to some other extremist authors; and its writing is often mechanical. Stokoe doesn’t seem to have thought about the fragmented consciousness of Naked Lunch or the ecstatic prejudices and violence of Céline. His rebellion is presented in the mold of conventional fictional forms and basic narrative devices.
I don’t think Stokoe is an especially good writer. But the book is more than memorable: it is, I think, entirely impossible to forget. And that is because of things that happen in it. I will mention just one: the main character breaks off his mother’s teeth, fixes his anus over her bleeding mouth, and shits, forcing her to eat. What matters in this book is extreme violence, perversity, and repulsion. I think those three shock effects (as Roland Barthes would have called them) are different. Extreme unexpected violence is repellent in one way; perversity works differently; and visceral repulsion is partly another matter. When these three are used together, the effects are disorienting partly because they are mixed in ways that are hard to separate. To make headway on this problem of extreme subject matter (or images) it is necessary to distinguish these, and probably others, and consider them one by one. (Barthes distinguishes five species of photographic “shock” in Camera Lucida, which I consider in What Photography Is.)
A purer version of COWS could be imagined, for example, in which nothing violent, immoral, psychotic, or perverse takes place, but the world is full of stench, slime, and opportunities for nausea. In that simpler version of COWS, it might be easier to see what kinds of narrative work would need to be done to bring those elements into dialogue with the rest of the book.
Another way to put this would be to say that COWS makes a rum mixture of a large number of important provocations: morality, ethics, sexuality, perversity, nihilism, sadism… every concept I have mentioned, including beauty and harmony, is contested. But that observation is just another form of the puzzle I mentioned at the beginning: why, if a book manages to combine all of them, is it not more or less automatically an important book?
A version of this problem has been studied in the case of Sade, where repetition plays a central part in the creation of the pornographic effect. But it strikes me a lot more work needs to be done to understand why a book as wildly imaginative and consistently extreme as COWS can be a minor novel, one that doesn’t need to be on the must-read list of everyone interested in contemporary writing. By the same token, more thought needs to be given to visual artists like Witkin to understand why they felt the need to work so hard on their extreme images in order to bring them into the domain of fine art.
Why, in the 21st century, should the extremely violent, disturbing, and repulsive need to be aestheticized? It has been almost forty years since the inception of the anti-aesthetic, and longer since Duchamp: visual art and writing have questioned nearly every sense of unity, harmony, and coherence, not to mention beauty, decorum, and moderation. So how do we know so clearly that COWS is not an important book?
c. 2011, revised 2024
September 21, 2024
Horrible
January 14, 2021
The best thing I can say about this book is it generated some great online reviews. Some of them are just flat out strange and didn't make a damn bit of sense. Others are thoughtful postmortems on how readers semi-apologetically intellectualized their enjoyment of the work. Still others ranked this one star or five depending on their emotional state upon writing their review. There were one-star rankings for people who were absolutely repulsed by it, and five-star rankings by folks who were absolutely exhilarated at having gotten through a book so brutal. I thoroughly enjoyed many of the witty and creative commentary from readers who felt compelled to talk about this book. But as I said, the discussion has been better than the actual subject.
Now having read this myself, I think understand the kind of responses this short novel has received. I should have known what to expect, as I have read extreme horror and bizarro before, but unlike similar works with reviews that simply state things like "Balls to the wall!" or "WTF?" or "Not for the squeamish," or just simply "Nope," this little dandy generated some long discourse and even some legitimate essays that probably earned someone a decent grade for a university class. That, for me, could have been a good sign. It showed that while "COWS" used "WOWS" to attract curious readers eager to test their mettle, something about the work stuck with them, made them think about it more deeply beyond the emotional impact of the cheap shock.
Unfortunately, I didn't see it. Perhaps I should have gone into it more blind. But I don't think it would have made any difference. First of all, I could not pinpoint any messages or themes in this novel that said anything that hadn't been said by 1997 less crudely and graphically but with more emotional impact. I felt like I was treading in familiar territory. Perhaps that is because I also have been a lifelong listener of some of the darker subgenres of industrial music, such as power electronics, which highlights sensory experiences otherwise abrasive and repellent and uses them in a way that somehow captures a bleak psychological concept or story, while also managing to capture the beauty behind the noise.
In fact, I think many readers, whether familiar with things like power electronics or not, were trying to make a similar association with this book, transcending aesthetics. And in some ways, I get it. Certainly this book, with its nonstop brutality and descriptions of repulsive sensory experiences, attempts to desensitize the reader much as the main character in this story becomes desensitized and becomes a serial killer.
"The cows kept coming, and each one took something from him; shavings of sensitivity, perception, care. He was being robbed, violated. One of the few parts of himself he wanted to keep was being cauterised into hard scar tissue."
I can't help but find allegory here for our modern life. We in Western society are so numb to violence, so used to being lied to in our media, so used to extremes in our entertainment, that we behave as those living in war-torn nations. There is an apathy and numbness in even the most privileged of us that drives us to further instant dopamine hits from our social media and from our fentanyl-laced heroin.
To me, "COWS" is just another experiment in how to override the desensitized limbic system of Americans and Europeans, many of whom have never experienced true trauma and torture, who read stuff like this over their Starbucks espresso, all to squeeze out a dopamine hit sure to generate buzz and a few dollars for the publisher. Granted, this book came out in the 90s when we weren't so scarred. But this certainly wasn't the first of its kind.
Anyway, in total I didn't find anything deep, or moving, or intellectual here. I didn't find any inner beauty that only those who "get it" can see. I didn't find this to be an important novel in any capacity. You can paint a canvas with shit, and in the right place at the right time, you'll find enough influential people to convince others of its genius that you have a following. That's what "COWS" really means to me.
Do yourself a favor and read something more uplifting. We all need it.
Now having read this myself, I think understand the kind of responses this short novel has received. I should have known what to expect, as I have read extreme horror and bizarro before, but unlike similar works with reviews that simply state things like "Balls to the wall!" or "WTF?" or "Not for the squeamish," or just simply "Nope," this little dandy generated some long discourse and even some legitimate essays that probably earned someone a decent grade for a university class. That, for me, could have been a good sign. It showed that while "COWS" used "WOWS" to attract curious readers eager to test their mettle, something about the work stuck with them, made them think about it more deeply beyond the emotional impact of the cheap shock.
Unfortunately, I didn't see it. Perhaps I should have gone into it more blind. But I don't think it would have made any difference. First of all, I could not pinpoint any messages or themes in this novel that said anything that hadn't been said by 1997 less crudely and graphically but with more emotional impact. I felt like I was treading in familiar territory. Perhaps that is because I also have been a lifelong listener of some of the darker subgenres of industrial music, such as power electronics, which highlights sensory experiences otherwise abrasive and repellent and uses them in a way that somehow captures a bleak psychological concept or story, while also managing to capture the beauty behind the noise.
In fact, I think many readers, whether familiar with things like power electronics or not, were trying to make a similar association with this book, transcending aesthetics. And in some ways, I get it. Certainly this book, with its nonstop brutality and descriptions of repulsive sensory experiences, attempts to desensitize the reader much as the main character in this story becomes desensitized and becomes a serial killer.
"The cows kept coming, and each one took something from him; shavings of sensitivity, perception, care. He was being robbed, violated. One of the few parts of himself he wanted to keep was being cauterised into hard scar tissue."
I can't help but find allegory here for our modern life. We in Western society are so numb to violence, so used to being lied to in our media, so used to extremes in our entertainment, that we behave as those living in war-torn nations. There is an apathy and numbness in even the most privileged of us that drives us to further instant dopamine hits from our social media and from our fentanyl-laced heroin.
To me, "COWS" is just another experiment in how to override the desensitized limbic system of Americans and Europeans, many of whom have never experienced true trauma and torture, who read stuff like this over their Starbucks espresso, all to squeeze out a dopamine hit sure to generate buzz and a few dollars for the publisher. Granted, this book came out in the 90s when we weren't so scarred. But this certainly wasn't the first of its kind.
Anyway, in total I didn't find anything deep, or moving, or intellectual here. I didn't find any inner beauty that only those who "get it" can see. I didn't find this to be an important novel in any capacity. You can paint a canvas with shit, and in the right place at the right time, you'll find enough influential people to convince others of its genius that you have a following. That's what "COWS" really means to me.
Do yourself a favor and read something more uplifting. We all need it.
April 7, 2022
This is the Citizen Kane of extreme gross-out horror novels.
Yes, Cows is utterly awful and deranged in all the worst ways. Yes, this book is disgusting and sick beyond measure. But I’ll be scissored in two if it isn’t a compelling read. Like Citizen Kane, it’s a “rags to riches to rags” story, and these are hard to pull off because they don’t obey classic storytelling beats.
Few are the gross-out books and movies that properly utilise gore in service of the story. This book is a shining example of how to do it. The wretched set-up is necessary to prime our suspension of disbelief for what is yet to come. Every horrible incident that follows thereafter is a stepping stone on Stephen’s path towards becoming cow Hitler (I don’t know what else to call it). Once he is the one committing the atrocities instead of having them done to him, the gruesome scenes acquire a new timbre; they are stepping stones no more, but milestones in his evolution.
I cannot put too fine a point on this. To me, Iain Banks’ The Wasp Factory fell flat because the protagonist’s sadism was justified with childhood trauma, one of the cheapest tricks in the book. In Cows, Steven’s violence is the result of his being born into hellish circumstances and his struggle to break free from them only makes the situation become all the more fucked up. Extreme violence feels like an appropriate response when you see it performed all around you with flagrant unaccountability - and that’s an unsettling thought.
Also, you know, kudos to the creativity put into some of the gore in this stuff. The author must really have dug deep into the darkest recesses of his mind to put some of this shit to paper. And to do it while at all times advancing a thrilling story at a good clip - chapeau.
A couple of ideas I found interesting: what both Cripps and his acolyte Steven are lacking entirely is remorse. In fact, remorse is quelled by the thrill of killing. This all owes a lot to Sade and his ideas about the interplay of sex, power and violence.
As a vegan, I also like the idea implied by the cows turning carnivorous that our own consumption of animals is the mark of Cain of our hypertrophied ego, the result of our abuse of our majesty over other living beings. Of course this is absolute poppycock, but as a literary device it’s quite powerful. The cows in this book are clearly not cows, so their meaning is up for grabs. They can be seen to represent man-in-nature’s transition to hunter-gatherer. Or the herd mentality of the masses under the sway of a charismatic dictator. Or maybe they're just cows.
Yes, Cows is utterly awful and deranged in all the worst ways. Yes, this book is disgusting and sick beyond measure. But I’ll be scissored in two if it isn’t a compelling read. Like Citizen Kane, it’s a “rags to riches to rags” story, and these are hard to pull off because they don’t obey classic storytelling beats.
Few are the gross-out books and movies that properly utilise gore in service of the story. This book is a shining example of how to do it. The wretched set-up is necessary to prime our suspension of disbelief for what is yet to come. Every horrible incident that follows thereafter is a stepping stone on Stephen’s path towards becoming cow Hitler (I don’t know what else to call it). Once he is the one committing the atrocities instead of having them done to him, the gruesome scenes acquire a new timbre; they are stepping stones no more, but milestones in his evolution.
I cannot put too fine a point on this. To me, Iain Banks’ The Wasp Factory fell flat because the protagonist’s sadism was justified with childhood trauma, one of the cheapest tricks in the book. In Cows, Steven’s violence is the result of his being born into hellish circumstances and his struggle to break free from them only makes the situation become all the more fucked up. Extreme violence feels like an appropriate response when you see it performed all around you with flagrant unaccountability - and that’s an unsettling thought.
Also, you know, kudos to the creativity put into some of the gore in this stuff. The author must really have dug deep into the darkest recesses of his mind to put some of this shit to paper. And to do it while at all times advancing a thrilling story at a good clip - chapeau.
A couple of ideas I found interesting: what both Cripps and his acolyte Steven are lacking entirely is remorse. In fact, remorse is quelled by the thrill of killing. This all owes a lot to Sade and his ideas about the interplay of sex, power and violence.
As a vegan, I also like the idea implied by the cows turning carnivorous that our own consumption of animals is the mark of Cain of our hypertrophied ego, the result of our abuse of our majesty over other living beings. Of course this is absolute poppycock, but as a literary device it’s quite powerful. The cows in this book are clearly not cows, so their meaning is up for grabs. They can be seen to represent man-in-nature’s transition to hunter-gatherer. Or the herd mentality of the masses under the sway of a charismatic dictator. Or maybe they're just cows.
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