Inside Jean Genet’s Queer Parisian Underworld
‘His life is an underground heaven thronged with barmen, pimps, queers, ladies of the night, and Queens of Spades.’ This quote from Our Lady of the Flowers could quite easily be describing the existence of its author, Jean Genet. Journeying from prison cells to the Parisian side streets of Montmartre and Pigalle, Genet’s largely autobiographical work immerses his reader into the demi-monde of the French capital, in all its odorous, erotic, and perverse glory. By combining the filthy and camp with witty social observation, Genet depicts a queer community that is as accepting as it is transgressive.
Written as masturbatory fantasies from Genet’s jail cell, Our Lady of the Flowers follows a drag queen called Divine, and the ‘hoodlums of the worst sort’ that she spends her time with. It’s no coincidence that she shares the same name as the Divine – John Waters borrowed the name from the novel. The similarities don’t end there: Divine’s character in Pink Flamingos commits all manner of crimes and morally dubious acts with her entourage (in order to maintain her title as the ‘Filthiest Person Alive’), just as Genet’s ragtag group of criminals did thirty years prior.
The lifestyles of Our Lady’s characters, including Divine, the pimp Darling Daintyfoot, and the drag queen Mimosa II, are not presented as a choice, but rather as a necessity. The stigmatisation of homosexuality in the 1940s pushed queer people into the margins of society much like criminals, leading to disproportionate levels of homelessness and poverty.
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In this situation, many naturally turned to crime or sex work, and formed tight communities with others in the same situation. The idea of ‘chosen family’ was, even then, of vital importance for many queer people; it provided support for those who had been rejected by their families and heterosexual culture at large. These communities often featured unique nicknames, vocabulary, fashion, and music, lots of which have since seeped into mainstream pop culture.
“Multifaceted queer characters, with complex storylines that rival the calibre of their heterosexual counterparts, are a sign of true representation in the media.”
Freed from the constraints of the nuclear family, many took the opportunity to redefine morality, away from the influence of traditional institutions. Genet expresses this sentiment by saying ‘Our domestic life and the law of our Homes do not resemble your Homes’, warning the reader to abandon any preconceived notions they may have about intimacy, sex, or crime. In particular, Genet’s work seems to suggest an inherent relationship between queerness and criminality – both being acts that, at the time, pushed one into the shadows of society.
Indeed, there is a longstanding link between queer people and organised crime. In 1960s New York, the mafia owned and ran gay bars such as the Stonewall Inn, paying off police so they wouldn’t be raided (or would at least be told in advance). This was primarily a transactional business venture, with the mob selling dirt-cheap alcohol in venues seen as dangerous to increase revenue. Despite this, there was an inherent solidarity between two groups of people living outside of the mainstream – both with contentious relationships to the law and the police.
A pivotal moment in the modern gay rights movement – the Stonewall Riots – was borne of this friction. When people rioted against a police raid of the bar, it triggered days of protests, and was a catalyst for enormous progress. Naturally, the strained relationship with the legal system, and those that enforce it, stems from homophobic and transphobic laws, but also from the continued suppression of marginalised groups. Many believe police do not belong at pride parades or queer venues, solidifying an inherent incompatibility between the two groups. Genet himself was often at odds with authority for political reasons, and actively fought against police brutality towards Algerians in France.
Having said this, it is naïve to believe crime is by nature a revolutionary or political act – it varies largely based on the type of crime and the motives behind it. Yet, the depiction of queer people as villains or criminals is by no means a bad thing – in fact, multifaceted queer characters, with complex storylines that rival the calibre of their heterosexual counterparts, are a sign of true representation in the media. Though sweet contemporary media like Heartstopper are also important, it is infantilising to only ever portray queer people as good or innocent, when this is of course not the case. Genet’s characters and their crimes emphasise the need to examine every aspect of history, not just the comfortable ones.
The marginalised communities Genet depicts are in a vulnerable position; when living outside of the law, one is not protected by it. (Trans sex workers, such as Divine, remain particularly at risk of violence today.) So, why are people so fascinated with the ‘underbellies’ of cities and those that live within them? The fetishisation of poverty is a huge factor, particularly within urban areas such as London or Paris. The desire to live in ‘gritty’ or ‘bohemian’ neighbourhoods has led to rapid gentrification, out-pricing locals, and making the idea of finding community in big cities increasingly far-fetched for anyone without wealthy parents.
As queer culture has become more accepted legally and socially, it is increasingly pressured to sanitise itself, to align with heterosexual moral values. The provocative nature of a life on the fringes of society is being forgotten, and the work of artists such as Genet must be revisited in order to preserve the legacy of ‘bad taste’, filth, and camp – the products of community-centred morality.
Words: Isobel Knight
