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AGRADESCAN Y PIDAN

It's a fairly interesting novel and it's interesting to me because I encountered Duras's Indian pieces, shall we say, first. The Lover and the whole India Cycle. Only recently with The War and Yann Andrea Steiner have I encountered Duras's post-WWII life. Destroy, She Said brings in themes from both "lives." The tennis courts, sonambulant enigmatic thin woman, nearly empty hotel, intermarital affairs, roaming nomadic people as from the colonized Indian landscape. The forest, Jewishness, French- and German-ness of post-WWII traumatized Europe. It is meatier than The Malady of Death but there is a similar character, a dead character, in it. Here the dead character is female and she is very active (Alissa) instead of being dead and passive. I think "dead" here indicates a kind of emotional numbness the likes of which can only occur after some sort of trauma (and Duras's works are often post-traumatic or as-if post-traumatic even if there is no trauma) . The "living dead." I say that to evoke some sort of Twilight Zone grayscale futuristic space, which this novel evokes more than her others. It's an almost Surrealist novel. There is a film-- one that Duras herself directed. I'd like to see it.

The used copy of the book that I bought has no copyright or title page. I found this really disconcerting. I don't know if all the copies are missing those pages. Surely not. It changed the reading experience. I couldn't flip back to that nice almost-blank beginning page and clear my head. I couldn't look at the copyright page and think about when the book was written. I need those pages.

At the back of the book there's a long interview with Duras. I recall reading this interview before although I had not read the book before. Here Duras says,

Lacan had me meet him one night in a bar at midnight. He frightened me. In a bar in a basement. To talk to me about Lol V. Stein. He told me that it was a clinically perfect delirium. He began to ask me questions. For two hours. I more or less staggered out of the place. (129)

Lacan. He really knows how to woo the ladies. First tell them they can't access language or higher thought. Then corners them with questions in basements and tell them their work is insane. Duras turns to Blanchot:

Blanchot talks to me about Alissa... He sees her "in the first stage of the relationship with death, in the death that she deals, and that she continually meets." He says that we are all going to wreak capital destruction. He says wreak, make destruction. This wreak delights me. Blanchot is someone who fills you with love and joy.

Later Duras is talking with the interviewer about a new work:

JACQUES RIVETTE: Would it be written directly for the screen?

DURAS: No. Another one of those famous hybrid texts... And it would be a little like Destroy as well, that is to say a sort of superexposition of certain things--and the intrusion of the unreal, but not a voluntary one. That is to say that when it happens I leave it in. I don't try to pass it off as realism.

RIVETTE: I wouldn't use the word "unreal."

DURAS: I nonetheless believe that that word isn't far off. But when I say the word "superexposition," does it mean anything to you? And if I use the word "unreality," you don't see. How about if I use the word "surreality"?

RIVETTE: Yes, I'd understand that better, except that "surrealism" has the same connotations.

DURAS: Hyper-reality. Yes. But where are we? This film... is not psychological in any way. We're not in the realm of psychology.

RIVETTE: We're rather in the realm of the tactile.

This is interesting. I feel like Duras is screwing with Rivette a bit there with the discussion of the meaning of words. It's like the characters in her books sometimes talk to each other but aren't talking "with" one another. I think I understand what Duras means by "superexposition," and I disagree with Rivette that "surreality" and "unreality" are the same (in French? François?), especially following the Surrealists. There are Surrealist aspects to this book that don't occur in all her other books, although unreality or hyperreality is in all her work. I am wary to agree with Duras's rejection of the psychological. I think she's been traumatized a bit by Lacanian psycho(analyst)s trying to co-opt her work. I realize this opinion is psychological. And indeed in Destroy there is not so much psychology going on as in works like Lol V. Stein. But there is a trauma in Destroy and it motivates the action at some level, since one of the central characters (Elisabeth) would not be at the hotel if it had not happened. But the surrealist aspects of Destroy and the undefinable "insanity" (they themselves call it this) of the characters undermine any straightforward psychoanalytic reading. Actions and conversations occur out of joint with each other and themselves. It's not like Freud's neat spirals and circles. It's more like the "out of joint" geometry traced by Derrida.

I am also interested in Rivette's recourse to the tactile, of course. We could do a little Lacanian jig with Rivette's name and that desire, the desire to secure the precise word, the precise truth of writing from Duras, and to push her toward the tactile. But we will not tease Jacques. It is interesting to point to the tactile. I feel like Duras's films are very tactile, although I have only seen one film that she directed herself. I am not a film expert so by saying that the films are tactile I am not sure I am speaking properly. They are not tactile the way Structuralist films are tactile. I do not mean that they are tactile on the level of the film. I mean that they convey a sense of tactility through the meaning of the image, i.e. metaphorically.

Ah, Structuralism. You do make it hard to talk sometimes.

1. Not be shot in black and white, but have desaturated colors nonetheless. I think there are colors in the work but they're desaturated, exhausted-- grays, pale gray-blue, gray-green, black, beige. The color of the beach on an overcast day.
2. Be extremely elongated if not in actual real time. I think the course of events is over something like 2 weeks? So that would be a very long film. But let's say the film lasts far too long-- 4 hours-- and very little, almost nothing, happens. There is very little speech. I'm thinking here of the opening 22 minutes of India Song, in which nothing happens. Maybe the sun's position changes a little? Maybe there is birdsong? But there's not "action." It's more like watching Andy Warhol's Empire, but it's differently contextualized because it's part of a film in which something will happen, is expected to happen. And 22 minutes is an excruciatingly long time to wait for something to happen (not that there's literally "nothing" happening, any more than 4'33" is really "silent").
3. The only sounds in the film besides the characters' occasional conversation would be the sound of the sea through a wall, the static of a quiet room, perhaps a breeze, and breath (which moves as different speeds and is louder or softer depending on whether the characters are fucking or sleeping).

I grant that this would probably be a painfully slow movie to watch. Knowing that Duras is comfortable with the painfully slow in film I think it would suit her. And I think it would provide a layer of exhaustion for the viewer that is not attained in the book because the book is so short. But the book is definitely "about" that threshold-- exhaustion, love, death, the sea-- I just felt that it needed to take more time.

On retrouve, entre autres, Christophe -Rouxel- comme metteur en scène et acteur de "La maladie et la mort" de Marguerite Duras (20 au 24 octobre).

En attendant de vous dire ce que j'ai choisi, n'hésitez pas à ouvrir le programme du Grand T.

It was fine. Not the best Duras but interestingly done, one of her novels that could just as easily have been a play. I like how she is not quite comfortable with the smoothness of genre. My favorite Duras also happens to be the book she considered her best, The Vice-Consul.

Today I woke up, did not go to work, instead went to Spot Coffee and wrote in my diary, in which I have not written in two weeks. It is Saturday, and in the summer in Charlottesville there is the fantastic Saturday farmer's market. I missed that. I missed Charlottesville. Sometimes I also miss the lover I had in Charlottesville, John. Of course I miss my friends, Michael's (bar), the summer market, the wineries, the cicadas. But this morning I was thinking about the market and John.

The weather was more beautiful today than it could ever be in Virginia, as it is too hot there in the summer. I picked wildflowers along the curb as I walked back from Spot. I picked three kinds of flowers. I thought about the Swedish folk trick of putting seven kinds of flowers under your pillow on the Solstice and dreaming of your future husband. I did that three times, three different years. I always dreamed of the same person. He is not someone I would marry.

Whenever I read Duras I think about what an idiot Lacan was. Duras scholarship is generally owned by Lacanians. But her work could just as easily fit with Derrida or Deleuze. At least they, unlike Lacan, did not try to co-opt her. It is Duras and not Lacan or Derrida or Deleuze. L'Amante Anglaise is kind of like that too. It's the story of a woman who murders her cousin. The story is told in a series of interviews. The interviewer is a man. The first two interviews are with men. The final interview is with the murderer. One sees that none of the men, not even the interviewer, has got her right.

Then the girl spoke to the child. She told him she'd rather it remain this way between them.

That she'd rather their story not move from this place, even if the child didn't understand her; that it remain in this desire, even if that meant she put herself to death. Not a real death, mind you, but a dead death, where you don't hurt, where you're never sad, you're never punished, nothing.

She said, "It should be completely impossible."

Tonight I read Yann Andrea Steiner.

Esta busca que acabei de fazer no Google com com a palavra-chave Marguerite Duras foi uma desilusão por perceber que nada de muito interessante sobre a obra ou sobre a autora tinha aparecido na última década na WWW. Esta crónica (carregar na imagem para aumentar) foi escrita no ano em que a escritora morreu, em 1996, publicada a 13 de Abril.

As páginas de Kimmo de que falava nessa época já não estão actualizadas mas ainda podem ser encontradas aqui e têm uma nota do seu autor onde explica que por falta de tempo e de recursos as deixou de actualizar.

"Our life is frittered away by detail - simplify, simplify, simplify." HD Thoreau

It was Jorge Luis Borges who demonstrated that the majority of stories told as novels could more powerfully be told as short 'meta' fictions. It is British authors who regularly feature in the Booker Prize shortlists who continue to prove the premise behind Borges particular style of writing. There is, however, one nation whose authors have consistently demonstrated that great authors must first learn brevity: France.

Some of the most memorable stories to have come from France are also beautifully short: Marguerite Duras, 'The Lover'; Francois Sagan, 'Bonjour Tristesse', Albert Camus, 'The Outsider'. It is the latter short novel that has perhaps been most influential on Anne-Sophie Brasme's debut novel, 'Breathe'.

I have just spent a very pleasant couple of hours reading this debut novel. It was written when the author was just 17. Usually, I would argue that a teenager simply hasn't lived long enough to experience to sufficient depth the many joys and pains of life that they may write as a mastery of their craft. I am one of those readers who will stop as soon as they become bored, as soon as they find a character's emotion life to be implausible, as soon as the background appears too poorly researched. The trick perhaps, is to cleverly marry a style of writing to the story being told.

In 'Breathe', the main character is a 19 year old girl and reflecting upon the obsession that led to such tragic consequences. As an obsessive personality, Charlene Boher is incapable of feeling regret for the actions that freed her from her obsessions. She coolly – and simply – analyzes those decisions made and refused that led to extraordinary bid for freedom from the tyranny of a very overbearing friendship.

In telling the story as a first-person narrative with all semblance of judgement stripped from the narrative, the voice of a very troubled teenager comes across with crystal clarity. On the border of adulthood, Charlene understands herself with the same acute understanding that her friend Sarah once possessed.

One passage stood out clearly for me: “When you go mad you don't notice because it doesn't hurt. The most painful part is when the madness is over.” Remember that this short novel was written when the author was 17. There must surely be more great stories to come from this author and yes, I am immensely jealous.

To view the book on Amazon, click here: link

('Breathe' was translated by Rory Mulholland) 

Just wanted to share this opening sequence with you.

Jules Dassin and Marguerite Duras' 10.30PM SUMMER is available to rent or buy in the U.S. It contains passages of incredible Pure Cinema and the whole thing is pitched at a level too shrill and hysterical even to be called Camp. It's just Something Else.

Apart from the heightened looniness of Melina Mercouri's diva performance, there's a sense that the film looks both back to the intensity of silent cinema melodrama and forward to the more delirious aspects of '60s art-house. There's a night drive through narrow streets, lit only by car headlights, that directly prefigures Terence Stamp's Ferrari jaunt in Fellini's episode of SPIRITS OF THE DEAD. Almost identical! And there's the rather surprising nudity and sexual frankness. And this wild opening, which has Giallo tendencies, plus that mysterious symphony of sounds. Watch it, then watch it again with your eyes closed. I mean, LISTEN to it.

The editing is superb, even when it goes into paroxysms of anti-continuity to control the amount of Nudity Level. I love the three quick shots of thunderous sky which make the heavens alive and menacing.

And Gabor Pogany's lighting is something I can only describe using beatnik parlance (dons beret): he "blows my mind," "flips my lid," is "real gone," etc.

Entrambi abbiamo cominciato a bloggare all'inizio dell'anno.

Da allora, i colori di Attilio mi fanno ciao ogni mattino.

Che dire? È il bello della rete.

Bientôt le temps des crottes. Une recette pour animer les réveillons où l’on s’emmerde à 100 sous de l’heure : la crotte Marguerite, à base de cacao enrichi de tétine-de-chèvres et d’oreilles-de-tortue. Deux plantes natives des Monts d’Arrée dont je tairai le nom latin et breton pour ne pas avoir d’ennuis. En plus les raveurs de permanence à Botmeur seraient capables de nous les bouffer toutes.

Réveillon de Noël 2006, transcription d’un enregistrement.

Je vous dis tout le temps des mots.
Rien que des mots.

Vous comprenez ?

Non, des phrases. Je vous dis des mots, à vous, ça fait des phrases.
A la longue je dis des phrases.

Comment vous faire comprendre ?

Ce que je dis c’est que les mots seuls ne font pas des phrases.
Ce qu’ils font n’est pas encore inventé.

Mais qui êtes-vous qui ne comprenez pas ?
Comment cela se peut-il faire la non compréhension de choses simples ?
Comment cela se fait-il peu ?

Moi je ne sais plus !
L’explication elle est perdue.
Ça vient le moment que je ne vous aime plus.
Un cloisonnement est franchi, là.
Le moment que je me tais il vient.

Un cri.

Ecoutez, le chat.
Il ne s’appelle pas Aranahancha.
Vous l’entendez ?
La queue de Aranahancha, c’est le chat, elle est sous mon pied de la chaise.
Qu’est-ce que c’est faire la queue du chat ?

Là, je suis intervenu parce qu’il y a des limites à la confiserie. Si vous voulez égayer vos invités sans les droguer, lisez du Marguerite Duras, ou encore mieux, Marguerite Duraille l'auteuse de "Mururoa mon amour, et de Virginie Q, découverte par Patrick Rambaud.

- - -

notice the empty chair that the professor keeps trying to fill

and the little boy's words that repeatedly dislodge him from his position of mastery.

"un nouveau method" he says

the teacher never learns what he does not know

the little boy, Ernesto, earnestly and wordlessly tries to convey a different sense of the world. finally, frustrated, he leaves. His empty chair evoking the withdrawal from a position of submission in relation to knowledge. His empty chair is yet still more full of potential than the empty chair that the professor-master attempts to occupy.

- - -

what the child knows cannot be conveyed through the same words that the professor uses. the de-linked sound-image couplet suggests that the new method of knowing is between: between sound and image, between word and thing, between sense and meaning.

- i - - Sueños Vertiginosos y de Ritos -

- ii - - Sus facciones eran duras y muy masculinas -

- iii - - Si abres las ventanas de tu corazón alguien podría constiparse -

- iv -- La otra cara del Miedo… es el miedo a la Felicidad -

- v - - VIENTOS CÁLIDOS LLEGADOS DEL SUR -

- vi - - ¿Se sueña en colores? ¿y las migrañas? -

- vii -- SATURACIÓN DEL UNIVERSO EMOCIONAL -

- viii - - Hay personas que nacen con algunos dones -

- ix -- Bajar la guardia y los que no quieren Negar -

- x - - GOLPEAR LA RABIA NO ES UN CUENTO -

- xi - - LAS PERSONAS KANTIANAS, LAS ‘PUELLAS’ Y LOS CARCINOMAS -

- xii - - EL SARCASMO Y LOS DEMONIOS DE LOS HUMORES INFERNALES -

- xiii - - LA DISCRECCIÓN ES UNA FORMA DE COBARDÍA -

- xiv - - El silencio es un arma que se transmite -

- xv - - Asestar un golpe antes de recibir un golpe. Esa es la mejor ofensa -

- Romuald Hazoumé -