John-Ivan Palmer’s Hypnotic Control is a raw and riveting memoir-meets-manifesto that dives into the eerie, absurd, and often unsettling world of stage hypnotism. Palmer, a long-time practitioner of the trade, combines autobiographical storytelling with cultural critique, historical digressions, and philosophical musings. The book is divided into sections like “Trance,” “Self,” and “Culture,” all orbiting the central idea of influence—how it’s wielded, received, and distorted through the lens of performance. With a voice that swings from sardonic to poetic, Palmer recounts his life in seedy nightclubs, hypnotic disasters, poetic longings, and surreal encounters, all while slowly peeling back the bizarre mask of control, revealing the performer—and the man—behind it.

Reading Hypnotic Control left me equal parts entertained and disturbed. Palmer’s writing is sharp, self-aware, and brutally honest. He doesn’t romanticize the act of turning people into barking dogs or washing machines; he owns the sleaze, the shame, and the addictive thrill of power. That tension—between the absurdity of staged trance and its profound implications—is where this book shines. He’s not just recounting tricks. He’s exposing something darker, messier. He calls out fellow performers, skeptical academics, and even his own reflection. His descriptions of failed shows, abreacting subjects, and the emotional fallout feel like confessions you’re not supposed to hear. Yet through all of this, there’s a kind of sad humor that stitches the chaos together, and I couldn’t look away.

The personal stories hit hardest. Palmer’s yearning to be a poet in a world that demanded cheap laughs is deeply affecting. The chapters about dancers like Jenny Private or the guarded, tragic Veronica Vixen linger long after reading. They’re not caricatures, they’re wounded souls orbiting a hypnotist who isn’t sure if he’s helping or hurting. His lyrical passages aren’t just window dressing, they’re a counterweight to the grotesque, a way to show that beneath all the lunacy lies a thoughtful, haunted mind. At times, the book felt like a fever dream. The historical digressions into Mesmer and bizarre 19th-century hypnotic stunts added a delicious sense of horror. It’s funny. It’s bleak. It’s uncomfortably real.

If you’ve ever been fascinated by cults, control, live performance, or the ways people bend under the right suggestion, this book will grab you and not let go. It’s a memoir, yes, but also a warning, a weird history, and a meditation on what it means to be human in a world constantly trying to shape us. I’d recommend it to artists, skeptics, performers, and anyone who’s ever laughed at someone doing something embarrassing onstage and later wondered what that laughter meant. Palmer’s world is not pretty. But it is honest. And unforgettable.

Pages: 180 | ISBN : 0982933517