SCUM Manifesto.
First Edition
—
Scarce
Solanas, Valerie. SCUM Manifesto. N.p.: Self-published, 1967.
4to.; twelve leaves, 21 pages plus cover; mimeographed; staple-bound upper left. In a specially made cloth slipcase.
First edition. Scarce; one of the original mimeographed copies of SCUM that Solanas sold on the streets of Manhattan in 1967; which was later published in book form. Solanas’s identity as a child abuse survivor and one-time prostitute inform her seething anti-male treatise. SCUM (the Society for Cutting Up Men) is a fierce call to arms for the destruction of the male sex; a manic re-imagining of the world economy, in which capitalism will be undone from within by women’s “unwork”; and a vision of the coming utopia – technological, artistic and political – whose main selling point is an un-definable female “grooviness,” a kind of lesbian sublime: “ …in a female society the only Art, the only Culture, will be conceited, kooky, funky females grooving on each other and on everything else in the universe.”
This copy bears a name in pencil on the verso of the final leaf: “C.J. Scheiner.”
Valerie Solanas moved to New York City in 1966. The following year, she wrote and published SCUM, catching the eye of Maurice Girodias of Olympia Press (French publisher of Lolita, Candy and Tropic of Cancer) who gave her an advance for a novel based on the manifesto. 1967 also marked the year in which Solanas first met Andy Warhol, whom she initially approached with a copy of her script “Up Your Ass” with the hopes of convincing him to produce the play. Warhol Factory Superstar Ultra Violet, who had read SCUM, described Solanas as, “…a hot water bottle with tits.” Warhol ultimately wasn’t interested in the script, and lost the copy, sparking a finance-fueled animosity on the part of Solanas, who began telephoning Warhol incessantly, later dropping by the Factory. Nevertheless, in July of the same year, Warhol paid Solanas twenty-five dollars for performing in “I, a Man,” a feature-length film he was making with Paul Morrissey. Valerie appeared as herself, a tough lesbian who rejects the advances of a male stud with the line that she has instincts that “tell me to dig chicks — why should my standards be lower than yours?” Solanas also appeared in a nonspeaking role in “Bikeboy,” another 1967 Warhol film.
Solanas’s contentious relationship with Warhol came to a head the following year. In the spring of 1968, Solanas approached underground newspaper publisher (The Realist) Paul Krassner for money, citing her desire to shoot the publisher Griodias, who, in Solanas’s increasingly paranoid mind, had gained too much control over her work. Krassner gave her $50, enough for a .32 automatic pistol. On June 3, 1968 at 9 a.m. Solanas went to the Chelsea Hotel where Girodias lived: she asked at the desk for him and was told that he was gone for the weekend. She remained there for three hours. Around noon she went to the relocated Factory and waited outside for Warhol. Undeterred by Morrissey’s attempts to get rid of her, Solanas gained entry and shot at Warhol three times while he was on the phone; the first two shots missed their mark, the third ripped through Warhol’s left lung, spleen, stomach, liver, esophagus and right lung. He was pronounced clinically dead at the hospital, but eventually regained consciousness and ultimately recovered.
That evening at 8 p.m. Solanas turned herself in to a rookie traffic officer in Time Square; as she did so, she stated that she had shot Andy Warhol and in way of explanation offered, “He had too much control of my life.” After being taken into custody, an awaiting mob of journalists and photographers greeted Solanas as she was brought to the 13th Precinct booking room. When queried on her motives, Solanas offered the following tantalizing tidbit, rife with self-promotion: “I have lots of reasons. Read my manifesto and it will tell you who I am.”
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