Increasingly, I find myself a skeptic of the notion that prevalent social media use has had a net positive on human civilization. It’s being used as a platform for genocide in parts of the world, its users’ data seems to be the product being sold, and it gives a boost to misinformation; millions of people are still logging in every day. While its continued use as is doesn’t give me and others much hope, it can still be used to connect people like no other form of human communication before it. It was through a Facebook book club on House of Leaves that I learned of Jess Hagemann’s debut novel, Headcheese. Like Danielewski and Palahniuk before her, Hagemann crafts a narrative evocative of found-footage films that have the reader share in the action. She doesn’t employ the supernatural paranoia that accompanies Johnny’s first person narrative or the lived-experience vibe with the reader cast as a co-conspirator in Haunted, but instead uses authorial fourth-wall breaks and digital technology that exists today as mediation. The found document becomes the very book that readers hold in their hands, making Headcheese a very unnerving, nuanced piece of literary horror.

Opening with actual quotes from an online message board, Hagemann takes us into the world of body integrity identity disorder (BIID) and amputee fetishism. She also starts with a list of characters, like at the beginning of a play, reinforcing that the narrative is a work of fiction. By marrying the fictional cast to evidence of the nonfictional subject matter right out of the gate in such a blatant fashion, readers are informed of just how blurry the line between reality and fantasy are going to be in this book. And early on, when the author herself makes an appearance, a small spout of first person narration inside a third person narrative, the audience’s expectations are cemented in Headcheese just being a work of fiction. This author appears throughout the text in short bursts, thus reminding us every so often that it’s just a book based on a small part of the real world. It isn’t until close to the end, after readers have been subjected to detailed descriptions of self-mutilation and ritualistic amputation and discomforting illustrations of body parts and sexual fetishism,

Spoilers when this author is revealed to be one of the characters. when this author is revealed to be one of the characters.

That moment of realization is both subtle and powerful, a chill breeze that will settle into your very bones and refuse to leave. Hagemann crafts a very engaging novel that plays on innate fears without resorting to more shock and awe tactics.

Headcheese is more than just a novel of horror, however. It is a beautiful character study on people with BIID or who have an amputee fetish. Hagemaan shines a light on a very small segment of the human population, using a tight style and suspenseful tone to keep readers’ focus right where she wants it. The piece as a whole might be disturbing, but she handles the condition and the fetish in a very respectful way, never once diminishing or belittling people in this community. Her characters are well-rounded and complete, the introspective nature of each one coming through in brilliant ways. No character seems out of place or overdone, but necessary to the overall text. Reality meshes with fantasy so deeply because these are real people who might have just had their names changed for the book.

The use of footnotes is the centerpiece that completes Headcheese so perfectly. These aren’t fake notes that refer to nonexistent works, nor are they references to obscure details readers might have a hard time understanding; these are explanations of everyday things—like what a Purple Heart is, the Trans-Pacific Partnership, Dallas Buyer’s Club and Ke$ha—facets of reality that are part of the general knowledge landscape right now. Hagemaan knows that these things won’t be common knowledge in just a few years, that humanity’s collective memory is short and some of these things will become obscure as time marches on. Headcheese acts as a sort of fictional time capsule in this regard, a novel provocative and indicative of its place in history peppered with references to the early 21st century.

Social media is a reality; its use and abuse will likely continue existing at least into the near future. Jess Hagemann’s outstanding debut, Headcheese, might be frightening and disquieting, but it shows us what social media could be used for to a much greater degree. Instead of letting it be a vehicle for pushing merchandise or promoting the wholesale slaughter of a people group, let’s use it as Hagemann’s characters: making connections, helping people find a place to belong, reminding people that they aren’t alone, and facilitating community. She offers one vision of social media use, one of communication in support of face-to-face interaction, one that could probably be copied in the real world. Minus the cult of course.

Buy Headcheese (Cinestate, 2018) here.









Author Details Jay C. Mims Contributor Jay C. Mims is a writer living and working in North Texas. He holds an MFA in Fiction from Columbia College Chicago and a BS in Politics from Texas Woman’s University. His first novel, ‘Skin Eater,’ is available on Amazon and other online retailers, and his short fiction can be found at emptyshelves.wordpress.com. When not working on fiction, you can find him on the back of his motorcycle or lifting heavy things.

