Clementine Cannibal is a grrrl who knows what she wants: good music, good porn and good sex. And like her role model-prophet incarnate, Courtney Love, she knows she’s hot. So get over it, jerks. This, her 11th issue, revolves around themes of heartbreak, abuse, disappointment and being, like, a goddess. It’s told through (mostly) prose that reads like hasty, half-drunk, dear diary reflections on the night before. Her intent is admirable, though: Clementine describes her fiery sexual encounters in great detail (not for preteens or g-ma!) for the sake of empowering girls to own their sexuality and celebrate their collective awesomeness. However, there’s something about Clementine’s raw attitude that feels slightly anachronistic. Maybe it’s because Courtney Love has been photoshopped to resemble a blurry 12-year-old on a recent cover of Dazed and Confused. Or maybe Clementine’s prose is completely self-indulgent and lacks any introspection, exemplifying the intellectually mediocre mainstream of the riot grrrl heyday. (An insight as to why the movement fell off our cultural radar in the late ’90s?) In any case, Clementine offers no more insight — or spellchecking — than what can be found in our own diaries. She’s aggressive in the extreme, neglecting the rawest aspect of her story: Clementine is a girl with a broken heart. (Sara Forsyth)
Perzine, Clementine Cannibal, 3003 Danforth Ave, PO Box 93540 Toronto, ON, M4C 5R2 [email protected], $3