Procure Blue Of Noon Authored By Georges Bataille Distributed As Softcover
Georges Bataille não é para mim, Pelo menos O Azul do Céu,
Excepto o título, tudo é negro neste livro:
Uma alcoólica chamada Dirty que não controla o sistema digestivo "superior e inferior"
Um homem que descobre ser necrófilo quando vê o cadáver da mãe
Cenas de sexo em cemitérios
E mais umas coisas que já esqueci.
. .
Nada disto me impressionou, apenas me enfastiou, Ou estou a ficar perversa, ou não entendi nada, Espero que a segunda hipótese seja a certa, . .
Na parte final tem uma referência ao Nazismo, mas já não me interessou fazer a ligação aos acontecimentos do cemitério e da taberna.
. . Most disturbing book Ive read in a while, “The train lost no time in departing, ” Very odd book. Took a while to catch the gist, Some context provided by a professor I met did help me understand this better, I was correct, as to the tradition, to connect this to Baudelaire, The Foreword by Bataille himself was enlightening, too, after having finished this read, This is one of the rare occasions on which it might have been better to actually read that before the book itself,
Definitely have not been reading much of the abject so far, but this is a good addition to the collection, Would add American Psycho to that category, although that somehow feels more like a thriller or detective, Would add Les Fleurs du Mal to that category, too, but its form is actually beautiful, whereas here the form is not at least in translation.
This was like a fever dreama wonderful joyride on the train of imagination that takes you through highly personal emotional and sexual dramas, playing within the backdrop of epic conflicts that eventually came to shape our world as we know it today.
As above, so below is one maxim that captures the idea of this novel: the macrocosm world ofth century Europe began to mirror the microcosm world of the characters each, in turn, influencing the other.
In a time and place of fear there is often a self portrait that emerges that can no longer be hidden and this is the true 'us' who we did not want others to see.
Excellent examination of that which we hide but that emerges in times of conflict, A haunting story that will stay with you, To a greater or lesser extent, everyone depends on stories, on novels, to discover the manifold truth of life, Only such stories, read sometimes in a trance, have the power to confront a person with his fate, This is why we must keep passionately striving after what constitutes a story: how should we orient our efforts to renew or, rather, to perpetuate the novel
A story that reveals the possibilities of life is not necessarily an appeal but it does appeal to a moment of fury without which its author would remain blind to these possibilities, which are those of excess.
Histoire de l'oeil was quite a bit better this one dragged on a bit, The lastpages or so, however, were sublime, Poor Xenie. Bataille, c'est l'obsession de l'érotisme et de la transgression dans un horizon de médiocrité, de petitesse et d'aigreur,
Comme il l'écrivait dans l'avantpropos à L'expérience intérieure :
N'importe qui, sournoisement, voulant éviter de souffrir se confond avec le tout de l'univers, juge de chaque chose comme s'il l'était, de la même façon qu'il imagine au fond, ne jamais mourir.
Ces illusions nuageuses, nous les recevons avec la vie comme un narcotique nécessaire à la supporter, Mais qu'en estil de nous quand, désintoxiqués, nous apprenons ce que nous sommes Perdus entre des bavards, dans une nuit où nous ne pouvons que haïr l'apparence de lumière qui vient des bavardages.
Cet état d'existence qu'il explore de manière qui paraît si authentique qu'il sera compris comme un malade nécessitant des soins par Breton qui en a pourtant vu d'autres, voilà qu'il l'expose ici par le biais d'un roman au titre on ne peut plus trompeur.
Le titre est en effet l'antithèse du contenu de la trame principale du roman, consacrée à la noirceur la plus plate et déchéante qui soit.
Lorsque quelque chose comme un ciel bleu apparaît tout de même, c'est par le biais de personnages secondaires féminins qui croisent la route du personnage principal et à chaque fois, c'est pour être contaminé, sali, rabaissé et finalement rejeté à l'extérieur des possibilités actualisées par le personnage principal.
Manifestement, pour Bataille, la femme comporte quelque chose de beau, de bien, de saint qui doit être rabaissé, traîné dans la boue, maltraité.
Chacune des femmes qui croise sa route est détentrice d'une qualité beauté physique pour Dorothée surnommée Dirty dans le roman, empathie pour Xénie nom qui évoque l'étranger, l'extérieur, implication politique idéaliste pour Lazare qui ne ressuscite pas d'ailleurs que le personnage s'ingénie à entraîner dans son désarrois vers quelques mauvais quarts d'heures de mal être profond.
Rien ne résume mieux le contenu du roman que la citation suivante :
Un soir, à la lumière du gaz, j'avais levé mon pupitre devant moi.
Personne ne pouvait me voir, J'avais saisi mon porteplume, le tenant, dans le poing droit fermé, comme un couteau, je me donnai de grands coups de plume d'acier sur le dos de la main gauche et sur l'avantbras.
Pour voir Pour voir, et encore : Je voulais m'endurcir contre la douleur, Je m'étais fait un certain nombre de blessures sales, moins rouges que noirâtres à cause de l'encre, Ces petites blessures avaient la forme d'un croissant, qui avait en coupe la forme de la plume,
Ces méchants chapitres défilent en effet comme de petits coups sournois sur l'âme bonne, sur l'esprit serein, sur l'existence saine, pour en faire gicler le sang en le maculant d'encre noire et sale.
Bref, ce roman sans âme, souillé, rance, où la déchéance est si complète et dénuée de grandeur qu'elle en devient franchement ennuyante saura à coup sur affecter la bonne humeur la plus radieuse et ne décevra certainement pas son lecteur averti.
The nature of hot sex and fascism via the eyes of the one and only Georges Bataille, Now here's a man who knew how to have a good time, One cannot seperate the politics from the sex, Is lust an individual desire or part of the whole picture Brief, but scarringly debauched reminiscences of a man and his selfdestructive relationships with three women ugly Lazare, submissive Xenia and perverted Dirty set against the rise of Nazism and the Catalan riots in.
Abusive, drunken, dilettante Communism, selfharm and perverse with even a touch of necrophilia thrown in, this is not for the faint hearted, but it is powerful, nihilistic fare and despite the gruesomeness of it all, I wanted to go straight back to read parts of it again, so it definitely has something.
I love this, I love it just as much as his Story of the Eye and My Mother/Madame Edwarda/The Dead Man storyset,
Albeit more grim and nihilistic than anything else of his that I've read thus far, I can see a maturation in this work of his compared to his others.
His eroticism days were not forgotten but simply put on layby for being placed in a more precise part of the story, and although the necrophilic talk was a bit much for me he does wrap it in such a poetic way that it doesn't overwhelm the story.
The relationships in Bataille's work are always of a deep nature as opposed to many other writers' scratchthesurface works of erotica, and the detailing throughout is exceptionally vivid as always.
For me, personally, I've consumed enough of his work that I think it about time I got tucked into the biographical work that others have provided on him.
I'd suggest, for future Bataille fans, to leave this to last and get through My Mother/Madame Edwarda/The Dead Man first, followed by Story of the Eye, followed by this, but that could be my bias speaking.
Such gorgeous writing! Absolutely in love with Bataille! On to Nick Land's The Thirst for Annihilation, Bataille is one of those men you wish you had in your life, a distant cousin perhaps, or an unrequited love, And I'm so happy he gave a shoutout to Kafka in the appendix, So much alike, the two, And so very fascinating! A gruelling story set in the turmoil of thes, The story takes us on a journey of sexual depravity and excess with the rise of Fascism before the second world war, If is about the main character Troppmann who is out of control drinks drinking to excess and having affairs, womanises and is on the verge of despair, His wife Dirty leaves him for Brighton and he goes to Paris to go on a bender to end all benders,
Not an easy story to read and you need a shower after reading it, The characters are mostly sinking into drunken chaos with no future, The goal appearing to be trying to drink yourself to death while being as deprive as possible, A story of losing yourself to madness before the horrors of the Second World War, Unlike sitelinkStory of the Eye Blue of Noon doesnt boast excess of sexual symbols but there is a profusion of existential signs instead.
All that nausea and sickness and squalor of living so cherished by sitelinkJeanPaul Sartre are already in this novelette, And the main heros obsession with necrophilia symbolizes an abhorrence of the pending stream of death,
In front of them, their leader a degenerately skinny kid with the sulky face of a fish kept time with a long drum major's stick.
He held this stick obscenely erect, with the knob at his crotch, it
then looked like a monstrous monkey's penis that had been decorated with braids of coloured cord.
Like a dirty little brute, he would then jerk the stick level with his mouth from crotch to mouth, from mouth to crotch, each rise and fall jerking to a grinding salvo from the drums.
The sight was obscene. It was terrifying if I hadn't been blessed with exceptional composure, how could I have stood and looked at these hateful automatons as calmly as if I were facing a stone wall Each peal of music in the night was an incantatory summons to war and murder.
The drum rolls were raised to their paroxysm in the expectation of an ultimate release in bloody salvos of artillery, I looked into the distance, . . a children's army in battle order, They were motionless, nonetheless, but in a trance, I saw them, so near me, entranced by a longing to meet their death, hallucinated by the endless fields where they would one day advance, laughing in the sunlight, leaving the dead and the dying behind them.
The tale is prophetic, In the tumultuous times hysteria prevails, Abjection, as Julia Kristeva takes it, is a brilliant and flexible effect/behaviour which I can see fruitfully applied all over from Sebald to Butler amp Deleuze but I think it bears the most weight when we retrofit it with Bataille.
Abjection can disturb Eroticism in the act of jettison discharge as a characteristic of mostly living bodies which extends and disrupts, appears as expulsion and entry.
It also challenges the sharpness of the Bataillan Symbolic: what is the legitimacy of death as a fixed state I think Blue of Noon is the text of Bataille's which most effectively anticipates the work of Kristeva.
Here we have expulsion and objection and as many fluids as you like
It's frankly bizarre that this exists because it's a novel entirely shattered by the fact of its author's inability to comprehend his own experience, almost entirely because of the encounter with Weil, Lazare in the text.
She strides into this and GB is shellshocked, What follows is a series of desperations, which is fairly par for the course with him but it's clear in this case that everything following their meeting is conditioned by her.
I don't mean to suggest that the book doesn't work, It does, and it's GB at a rather unique point of harmony between his novelistic grotuexcess and his theoretical work, It's that biographical twist that makes this unrepeatable, He makes himself escape.stars. Bleak, depraved, and nihilistic, but in an utterly gorgeous, razorsharp way, Far more potent and incisive than his Story of the Eye, Absolutely loved it.
Set against the backdrop of Europes slide into Fascism, this twentiethcentury erotic classic takes the reader on a dark journey through the psyche of the prewar French intelligentsia, torn between identification with the victims of history and the glamour of its victors.
One of Batailles overtly political works, it explores the ambiguity of sex as a subversive force, bringing violence, power, and death together in a terrifying unity.
Un libro magnético, lo he disfrutado mucho y es de los pocos libros que después de leerlo tenía ganas de volver a leerlo de nuevo.
Es breve pero tiene un poder de atracción muy grande, Me ha dado mucha curiosidad para conocer mas obras de George Bataille, Voornamelijk gelezen om te kunnen vergelijken met de vertaling van Cornips, uit ', Enkele prachtige zinnen zijn door Cornips vele malen pakkender opgeschreven, maar ik heb me tijdens het lezen van dit boek zo laten ontroeren en meevoeren dat ik vermoed deze vertaling te durven verkiezen.
Erg zwaarmoedig, soms frustrerend om te lezen, maar het heeft me eigenlijk geen moment losgelaten, A gruesome premonition. Written inand quickly superceded by events that left it unpublished foryears, this is a record and product of a collective erotic death drive gripping interwar Europe.
We all know where it lead, but the feverish personalpolitical particulars are all the more haunting for cutting off before, I was gripped with nausea as I read this today, and though I don't think this was in any way caused by the book, it seemed the appropriate state in which to fall into it, and I pressed on through the discomfort.
This is probably the least pornographic Bataille book I've read, Which means the kinky sex isn't constant, merely occasional,
When I read L'Histoire de l'Oeil, I was an aciddroppingyear old, and extremely receptive to all things transgressive and French, I was somewhat afraid that an older, soberer self would be unimpressed by Bataille, But, if anything, he's become more powerful, The Blue of Noon is a fairly remarkable, fairly funny novel about everything and nothing, And the ending oh my, what a portent,
Of this I am sure: only an intolerable, impossible ordeal can give an author the means of achieving that wideranging vision that readers weary of the narrow limitations imposed by convention are waiting for.
Georges Bataille, Authors Foreword,,
In Blue of Noon as in all his fictions though, to my knowledge, Blue of Noon is his most explicitly personal Georges Bataille put his money where his mouth was.
Agree with his manifesto or not and Ill admit the older I get the more restrictive it seems, the less adventurous, the less admirable you cant miss his singleminded dedication to it, which gives his best work a thrust normally felt in thrillers, though it is powered almost entirely by this strange writers obsessions.
True, its not just the suffering but his warped take on sex thatll compell you, but in Blue of Noon, like Hitchcock, he seems to have perfected unseenfuelled suspense, and theres no need to explicate what is manifest in his characters actions.
In London, in a cellar, in a neighbourhood dive the most squalid of unlikely places Dirty was drunk, Utterly so. I was next to her my hand was still bandaged from being cut by a broken glass, Dirty that day was wearing a sumptuous evening gown I was unshaven and unkempt, As she stretched her long legs, she went into a violent convulsion, The place was crowded with men, and their eyes were getting ominous the eyes of these perplexed men recalled spent cigars, Drunkenness had committed us to dereliction, in pursuit of some grim response to the grimmest of compulsions,
What I love about Bataille is his clearsightedness, And his resolve: to tell the truth about the processes at work on his dissolute narrator a truth which we presume, and Bataille does as much as acknowledge, he could only know by having endured it even at the nadir of that barelysketched characters infamy.
Blue of Noon revolves around the axis of humiliation, In scene after scene we witness the urge to humiliate in the hurt and unhappy in the narrator Troppmann, whose failed marriage has led him via a series of prostitutes to an impotent codependence with the cruel but beautiful or, in his eyes, beautiful because cruel Dirty, and then into bored victimising of the lost Xenie.
That despite himself hes drawn also into the orbit of the wouldbe revolutionary Lazare though more because he requires “a bird of ill omen” to keep him company than from any social conscience, which would be trite seems merely another instance of his bullying, since one thing he knows in his bones is that Europe is doomed, and every time he purges himself in confession to this good Christian virgin he cant help but shock her with doomladen pronouncements out of shame at his own helplessness.
Its ugly, but powerful. Hes far, far from a hero, but equally no villain, no deaths head, no gargoyle, What Bataille does here and I dont think its been done often is reveal just how vulnerable a cruel man can be, Sensitive too. And aware of his own cruelty, All of which just compounds his suffering,
For readers of thePenguin edition and probably theedition, Will Self pens an impressive introduction, comparing the novel to an outofcontrol car.
“It is as if some cloaca God were to descend to someone who was labouring on the torture throne of constipation, and deliver them a laxative balm.
” He also compares “Batailles own view of lust as an annihilator of human difference, . . to the way the Nazis lust for power threatened humanity with annihilation, ” Blue of Noon is set, in various European cities, in the leadup to the Second World War,
For those unfamiliar with Bataille, The Story of the Eye is in English his most famous work, though My Mother / Madame Edwarda / The Dead Man a novel and two short works published by Marion Boyars inand, and again by Penguin inis equally rich, startling and powerful.
His Eroticism also comes highly recommended, but I started to grow away from his vision before I read it and have only revisited him recently from an urge to consolidate that period and set something of it in writing.
Call him an influence but not a favourite, Brilliant because unique, because so few have attempted what he attempts, But doomed to circle the same terrain ad nauseum, much as it may be his own, .