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Reveries of the Wild Woman: Primal Scenes
All the time when I lived in Algeria, my native country,
I dreamt of one day arriving in Algeria.
Born in Oran, Algeria, Hélène Cixous spent her childhood in France's former colony. Reveries of the Wild Woman is her visceral memoir of a preadolescence that shaped her with intense feelings of alienation, yet also contributed, in a paradoxically essential way, to her development as a writer and philosopher.
Born to a French father and an Austro-German mother, both Jews, Cixous experienced a childhood fraught with racial and gender crisis. In her moving story she recounts how small events--a new dog, the gift of a bicycle--reverberate decades later as symbols filled with social and psychological meaning. She and her family endure a double alienation, by Algerians for being French and by the French for being Jewish, and Cixous builds her story on the themes of isolation and exclusion she felt in particular under the Vichy government and during the Algerian Civil War. Yet she also concedes that memories of Algeria awaken in her a longing for her home country, and ponders how that stormy relationship has influenced her life and thought.
A meditation on postcolonial identity and gender, Reveries of the Wild Woman is also a poignant recollection of how a girl's childhood is, indeed, author to the woman.
I dreamt of one day arriving in Algeria.
Born in Oran, Algeria, Hélène Cixous spent her childhood in France's former colony. Reveries of the Wild Woman is her visceral memoir of a preadolescence that shaped her with intense feelings of alienation, yet also contributed, in a paradoxically essential way, to her development as a writer and philosopher.
Born to a French father and an Austro-German mother, both Jews, Cixous experienced a childhood fraught with racial and gender crisis. In her moving story she recounts how small events--a new dog, the gift of a bicycle--reverberate decades later as symbols filled with social and psychological meaning. She and her family endure a double alienation, by Algerians for being French and by the French for being Jewish, and Cixous builds her story on the themes of isolation and exclusion she felt in particular under the Vichy government and during the Algerian Civil War. Yet she also concedes that memories of Algeria awaken in her a longing for her home country, and ponders how that stormy relationship has influenced her life and thought.
A meditation on postcolonial identity and gender, Reveries of the Wild Woman is also a poignant recollection of how a girl's childhood is, indeed, author to the woman.
104 pages, Paperback
First published January 12, 2000
11 people are currently reading
323 people want to read
About the author
Hélène Cixous
191 books846 followersHélène Cixous is a Jewish-French, Algerian-born feminist well-known as one of the founders of poststructuralist feminist theory along with Luce Irigaray and Julia Kristeva. She is now a professor of English Literature at University of Paris VIII and chairs the Centre de Recherches en Etudes Féminines which she founded in 1974.
She has published numerous essays, playwrights, novels, poems, and literary criticism. Her academic works concern subjects of feminism, the human body, history, death, and theatre.
She has published numerous essays, playwrights, novels, poems, and literary criticism. Her academic works concern subjects of feminism, the human body, history, death, and theatre.
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Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews
February 20, 2016
The whole time I was living in Algeria I would dream of one day arriving in Algeria, I would have done anything to get there, I had written, I never made it to Algeria, it is right now that I must explain what I mean by this, how I longed for the door to open, now not later, I had scribbled, in the fever of the July night, for it is now, and probably for dozens or hundreds of reasons that a door has cracked opened in the Oblivion Wing of my memory, and now for the first time I may be able to return to Algeria, therefore I must . . .
*
[...] my desire was nonetheless stronger than the stings of hurt pride.
*
I was going faster and faster, and not necessarily ahead, only at top speed,I didn’t realize immediately that I wasn’t getting there, I didn’t realize either that I would not get there.
On one side I was attacking on the other I was fighting back, I was going so fast, so blindly, that often like the wild horses in Macbeth I eat myself.
*
[...] but really I thought that one day had sufficed to mark me for life, [...] one is covered with scars in a night, for the whole of one’s life
[...] don’t move! says the author of everything-that-happens-as-if-it-didn’t, we don’t move, now there’s the photo, we see: the meeting whose other name is adieu. All that could happen and will not happen on this earth that is what leaves luminous traces in the Drive, we look at one another once and for all the times which will never be and we think simultaneously that it is too soon in our surroundings for That. Silently from lip to lip a yes flutters between Idir Kader my brother and me. Everything that is still unsayable is already readable. Brief wedding dream. The photo remains. We see the palm trees, the banana trees, the gate. To the right Fips the dog fades out.
*
[...] my desire was nonetheless stronger than the stings of hurt pride.
*
I was going faster and faster, and not necessarily ahead, only at top speed,I didn’t realize immediately that I wasn’t getting there, I didn’t realize either that I would not get there.
On one side I was attacking on the other I was fighting back, I was going so fast, so blindly, that often like the wild horses in Macbeth I eat myself.
*
[...] but really I thought that one day had sufficed to mark me for life, [...] one is covered with scars in a night, for the whole of one’s life
[...] don’t move! says the author of everything-that-happens-as-if-it-didn’t, we don’t move, now there’s the photo, we see: the meeting whose other name is adieu. All that could happen and will not happen on this earth that is what leaves luminous traces in the Drive, we look at one another once and for all the times which will never be and we think simultaneously that it is too soon in our surroundings for That. Silently from lip to lip a yes flutters between Idir Kader my brother and me. Everything that is still unsayable is already readable. Brief wedding dream. The photo remains. We see the palm trees, the banana trees, the gate. To the right Fips the dog fades out.
October 24, 2022
J’ai essayé de lire ce mémoire profond pendant de nombreux mois, mais je n’ai réussi en faire qu’en trois jours derniers. Les premières années d’Hélène en Algérie vues des décennies plus tard en France, et stimulées a l’aide de son frère et de sa mère. ça pourrait être le meilleur mémoire court de moins de 150 pages. Vous rêvez d'écrire votre journal comme elle le fait ici. Je suis tombée amoureuse de son histoire et de son esprit brillant.
December 5, 2024
Ha sido toda una experiencia, por la historia que cuenta, por la voz de la autora, por su estilo tan experimental y propio. Leer a Cixous ha despertado en mí emociones de calma, de empatía, de aflicción.
En el libro la autora viaja al pasado, a sus recuerdos, y retrata su niñez en Argelia, lo que vivió y cómo nunca se sintió aceptada del todo. Hablará desde su voz, desde la voz de su hermano y de su madre, y todo con un estilo directo, emocional y diferente a todo lo que he leído.
En el libro la autora viaja al pasado, a sus recuerdos, y retrata su niñez en Argelia, lo que vivió y cómo nunca se sintió aceptada del todo. Hablará desde su voz, desde la voz de su hermano y de su madre, y todo con un estilo directo, emocional y diferente a todo lo que he leído.
January 29, 2025
«Lo esencial permanece imperceptible» o «la belleza de lo blando es dura y difícil». Maestra en describir lo frustrado y el estar entre culturas! Bravo por esas descripciones de Argelia con sus sombras y sus luces
October 31, 2022
“Jag steg alltså upp i den stilla gryningen, beslutsam, upplyst. Uppfylld: hela natten hade Algeriet, genom det rikliga flödet av drömmar och civilisationernas kaos, sänt mig paket fulla av spår, visioner, försändelser hade förmedlats över tusentals hinder, återuppväckt helt glömda människor till liv, du tror att det inte finns någonting bland spillrorna men kom och luta dig över rampen, vad ser du?! Mohamed! Jag såg: Mohamed! som måste vara död sedan länge, och jag inte bara såg honom utan kunde känna hans doft och jag tänkte att jag är nog inte så fattig och övergiven som jag tror (...)”
En julinatt återvänder Cixous plötsligt till sin barndoms Alger. Medan hon ligger tankspridd på sitt mörka rum börjar en dörr till det förflutna att försiktigt öppna sig på glänt inom henne. En ljusstrimma uppenbarar sig, och den bär på en mängd olika känslor och händelser från den tid som flytt. Av rädsla att någonting ska gå förlorat börjar hon febrilt att anteckna sina minnen. Hon greppar tag om dem, målar upp händelseförlopp, och ger allting mening och betydelse utifrån sin nuvarande erfarenhet. Hennes återvändo är på samma gång både efterlängtad och skrämmande, just på grund av att hon förenar sig med det som så länge legat förborgat inom henne.
Jag älskar Cixous sätt att uttrycka sig på. Hon har en sådan otrolig förmåga att gripa tag i en och kunna förmedla det innersta på ett så naturligt och poetiskt vis. Samtidigt tillåts läsaren att själv fundera vidare på det som uttrycks. Och det här med minnen, och kanske framförallt strävan efter att få ett grepp om dem är så himla spännande. Överlag möjliggör ju just skrivandet för att kunna konkretisera ens minnen och tankar. Men risken finns också att man inte alltid gör det hela rättvist, eller ens helt sant (inte för att det skulle innebära att det blir falskt, men man får liksom inte alltid tillgång till hela bilden, det kan alltid vara något som blir liite annorlunda varje gång man minns (eller risken finns i alla fall)). Jag tänker lite på det Fateh Moudarres sa om skapandet och återskapandet: “(...) each dream has a specific physiology: a specific time: a specific place: specific reactions… It is extremely difficult for an artist to repeat himself, in my whole life I have not been able to imitate a painting that I had once made. I may come close, but exactly like it… I never succeeded.” och lite så är det ju med återskapandet av minnen också. Alla ens upplevelser och känslor i livet går inte att återskapa på exakt samma vis som de en gång var, och ännu mindre går det att uppleva dem igen. Minnena inom oss strömmar liksom lite huller om buller, och de kommer alla från vitt skilda skeden i livet. Jag kan exempelvis idag romantisera en viss tidpunkt i mitt liv, samtidigt som jag förmodligen där och då upplevde den på ett helt annat vis. Jag vet inte riktigt var jag vill komma med detta, förutom att jag tycker att det är spännande. :)) Och det kan ju faktiskt vara ganska fint att kunna återvända till något eller någon, även om det bara är i minnet. Nostalgi över det som aldrig kommer bli. Typ.
En julinatt återvänder Cixous plötsligt till sin barndoms Alger. Medan hon ligger tankspridd på sitt mörka rum börjar en dörr till det förflutna att försiktigt öppna sig på glänt inom henne. En ljusstrimma uppenbarar sig, och den bär på en mängd olika känslor och händelser från den tid som flytt. Av rädsla att någonting ska gå förlorat börjar hon febrilt att anteckna sina minnen. Hon greppar tag om dem, målar upp händelseförlopp, och ger allting mening och betydelse utifrån sin nuvarande erfarenhet. Hennes återvändo är på samma gång både efterlängtad och skrämmande, just på grund av att hon förenar sig med det som så länge legat förborgat inom henne.
Jag älskar Cixous sätt att uttrycka sig på. Hon har en sådan otrolig förmåga att gripa tag i en och kunna förmedla det innersta på ett så naturligt och poetiskt vis. Samtidigt tillåts läsaren att själv fundera vidare på det som uttrycks. Och det här med minnen, och kanske framförallt strävan efter att få ett grepp om dem är så himla spännande. Överlag möjliggör ju just skrivandet för att kunna konkretisera ens minnen och tankar. Men risken finns också att man inte alltid gör det hela rättvist, eller ens helt sant (inte för att det skulle innebära att det blir falskt, men man får liksom inte alltid tillgång till hela bilden, det kan alltid vara något som blir liite annorlunda varje gång man minns (eller risken finns i alla fall)). Jag tänker lite på det Fateh Moudarres sa om skapandet och återskapandet: “(...) each dream has a specific physiology: a specific time: a specific place: specific reactions… It is extremely difficult for an artist to repeat himself, in my whole life I have not been able to imitate a painting that I had once made. I may come close, but exactly like it… I never succeeded.” och lite så är det ju med återskapandet av minnen också. Alla ens upplevelser och känslor i livet går inte att återskapa på exakt samma vis som de en gång var, och ännu mindre går det att uppleva dem igen. Minnena inom oss strömmar liksom lite huller om buller, och de kommer alla från vitt skilda skeden i livet. Jag kan exempelvis idag romantisera en viss tidpunkt i mitt liv, samtidigt som jag förmodligen där och då upplevde den på ett helt annat vis. Jag vet inte riktigt var jag vill komma med detta, förutom att jag tycker att det är spännande. :)) Och det kan ju faktiskt vara ganska fint att kunna återvända till något eller någon, även om det bara är i minnet. Nostalgi över det som aldrig kommer bli. Typ.
January 17, 2019
I don't think it's a bad book, at all, but it's just really not my sort of book. Found it very hard to stay focused on, partly because of the writing style (I appreciate the idea behind it but it's just not for me).
August 14, 2024
"Entre ataque y ataque, yo leía. Me subía a un libro, me sentaba en la rama más alejada del suelo, me hundía en las hojas del libro, despegaba."
March 16, 2018
It's always a bit daunting to see a book with lots of five stars and then you just can't connect with it. Kind of gives a feeling of having missed something. Now, I read an excerpt of the book, regarding the fate of Fips the dog, as well as articles on Cixous' style, and I was fascinated and drawn in by these. Her language was witty, rich, and evocative. It made me really excited to get to the book.
Now, there is a lot of good in this book, but over all, I just found it dull. It was so much of the same, over and over again. Her playing with words were probably the best part for me, but mostly I wished for something more, something that made me feel like I wasn't just trapped in a self-indulgent ramble.
I'm sure plenty of people would say that I'm missing secret depths or not getting her method etc, maybe that's true. But even though it's a short book, with a few high lights I enjoyed, I won't be revisiting it to find out.
Now, there is a lot of good in this book, but over all, I just found it dull. It was so much of the same, over and over again. Her playing with words were probably the best part for me, but mostly I wished for something more, something that made me feel like I wasn't just trapped in a self-indulgent ramble.
I'm sure plenty of people would say that I'm missing secret depths or not getting her method etc, maybe that's true. But even though it's a short book, with a few high lights I enjoyed, I won't be revisiting it to find out.
December 25, 2024
A veces se adueña de mí una sensación de vértigo cuando me enfrento a determinadas autoras. Y es precisamente esa sensación la que me invadió antes de leer a Cixous. Sin embargo, me quedé atrapada entre sus páginas porque, Cixous, escribe desde la entraña y te atraviesa. Al igual que le atraviesa a ella el desarraigo y sus múltiples identidades.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Y desde ahí, desde la añoranza que se gesta en la distancia; tras haber abandonado Argelia, condicionada por la sensación de no pertenencia al lugar que se habita, Hélène se busca. Trata de encontrarse a través de la escritura. Transformando el significante y el significado e invitando al lector a que también lo haga.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Y, mientras lo haces, te ves envuelta en un flujo incesante de palabras del que ya no puedes escapar y que necesitas seguir leyendo. Seguir leyendo para que Cixous se encuentre, se reconcilie y se defina desde su país de origen como hija de madre alemana judía asquenazí, de padre argelino judío sefardí y como mujer nacida en la Argelia francesa. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
"Durante todo el tiempo que vivía en Argelia soñaba con llegar un día a Argelia" repite la autora en una especie de mantra que la desvela durante la noche. El inicio y final de una catarsis que se impone, con una fuerza formidable, al discurso hegemónico y colonialista.
Por favor, leed a Cixous. Sin duda, leerla ha sido el mayor descubrimiento del año. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Y desde ahí, desde la añoranza que se gesta en la distancia; tras haber abandonado Argelia, condicionada por la sensación de no pertenencia al lugar que se habita, Hélène se busca. Trata de encontrarse a través de la escritura. Transformando el significante y el significado e invitando al lector a que también lo haga.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Y, mientras lo haces, te ves envuelta en un flujo incesante de palabras del que ya no puedes escapar y que necesitas seguir leyendo. Seguir leyendo para que Cixous se encuentre, se reconcilie y se defina desde su país de origen como hija de madre alemana judía asquenazí, de padre argelino judío sefardí y como mujer nacida en la Argelia francesa. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
"Durante todo el tiempo que vivía en Argelia soñaba con llegar un día a Argelia" repite la autora en una especie de mantra que la desvela durante la noche. El inicio y final de una catarsis que se impone, con una fuerza formidable, al discurso hegemónico y colonialista.
Por favor, leed a Cixous. Sin duda, leerla ha sido el mayor descubrimiento del año. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
June 17, 2024
I appreciated the words from Hanna Nordenhök at the end of the book as it helped me make sense of the book.
This is not my type of book, the structure of the texts and the chaotic writing is not to my liking.
As I read I kept getting the impression that this was written by a masterful author who attempted to write as an inexperienced, confused writer - but the author still felt the need to make sure that the reader understood that she did this on purpose. I'm probably wrong about this.
The text is written as if written in a fever (this is on purpose) but even so I do not enjoy it, I do not find pleasure in it and it keeps me from grasping all the symbolism and allegories that I can tell that the author has included.
To me this book felt like one that is meant to be read more than once and that you will keep finding treasures as you do. I won't but many others will enjoy this I assume.
This is not my type of book, the structure of the texts and the chaotic writing is not to my liking.
As I read I kept getting the impression that this was written by a masterful author who attempted to write as an inexperienced, confused writer - but the author still felt the need to make sure that the reader understood that she did this on purpose. I'm probably wrong about this.
The text is written as if written in a fever (this is on purpose) but even so I do not enjoy it, I do not find pleasure in it and it keeps me from grasping all the symbolism and allegories that I can tell that the author has included.
To me this book felt like one that is meant to be read more than once and that you will keep finding treasures as you do. I won't but many others will enjoy this I assume.
February 10, 2025
Leyendo “Las ensoñaciones de la mujer salvaje” no podía “pensar” en el dolor del exilio, sino solo sentir, flotando en él. La honestidad y crudeza con las que Hélène Cixous emprende su viaje de vuelta a Argelia, reviviendo sus días en el Clos-Salembier, parecen ser la única forma con la que poder acercarse a la lejanía de esos días, en un acto de sincericidio, en un acto de amor.
Este pequeño texto, escrito en una brillante prosa poética, ofrece un acercamiento al pensamiento -tan atravesado por el dolor- de la autora.
Leer a Cixous es siempre un viaje maravilloso, pero el viaje de la lectura de “Las ensoñaciones de la mujer salvaje” no tiene regreso posible.
Leyendo este texto sobre la Argelia natal de Cixous, solo podía sentir el sol quemando mi piel en los días que pasé en mi Clos-Salembier, en mi ciudad, Melilla.
Cixous, más viva que nunca, es tan imprescindible como impresionante, y lo demuestra una vez más en este precioso texto.
Este pequeño texto, escrito en una brillante prosa poética, ofrece un acercamiento al pensamiento -tan atravesado por el dolor- de la autora.
Leer a Cixous es siempre un viaje maravilloso, pero el viaje de la lectura de “Las ensoñaciones de la mujer salvaje” no tiene regreso posible.
Leyendo este texto sobre la Argelia natal de Cixous, solo podía sentir el sol quemando mi piel en los días que pasé en mi Clos-Salembier, en mi ciudad, Melilla.
Cixous, más viva que nunca, es tan imprescindible como impresionante, y lo demuestra una vez más en este precioso texto.
August 10, 2018
Ho letto questo libro durante una splendida vacanza in Marocco, e vivere le esperienze algerine dell’autrice, filtrate dal lirismo della sua soggettività, è stato straniante.
Il libro è un flusso di pensieri che fa rivivere l’Algeria del dopo guerra da parte di una famiglia di origine europea ed ebrea. Ci sono molti passaggi ben scritti e immagini che rimangono in mente, certo, ma spesso l’autrice si incaponisce in dettagli tutto sommato poco interessanti.
Il libro è un flusso di pensieri che fa rivivere l’Algeria del dopo guerra da parte di una famiglia di origine europea ed ebrea. Ci sono molti passaggi ben scritti e immagini che rimangono in mente, certo, ma spesso l’autrice si incaponisce in dettagli tutto sommato poco interessanti.
October 18, 2025
Sometimes the stream of consciousness works but in this case I thought it was frustrating and suffocating. Some passages are incredible and it’s still worth your time if you’re interested in colonial and patriarchal hierarchies in Algeria. It’s just not for me
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April 9, 2021Canon Letraheridos Revista #16 (abril de 2021).
July 22, 2012
I cannot stop thinking about the dog biting her foot and the "ticks swollen like chickpeas." The images emerging from the scenes in the Clos-Salembier and beyond convey a troubled existence in a troubled time. She plunges the reader in the Wild Woman Ravine and leaves us there to think. She's not quite there anymore though and so we experience her both embodied and deconstructed. This is my first experience with Cixous and her work, but I am certain that it will not be my last.
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December 27, 2016* Understanding Oppression: Gay Rights
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